“After what happened later that night, I understood,” Abigail said. “I wasn’t in any danger, but you very well could have been. So… you don’t need to apologize,” she finished, her face as stoic as ever.

  Isabella smiled without saying anything. They sat in a private room in the archduke’s estate. Randolph stood behind her, keeping his promise of staying silent. It was terribly cold here—there wasn’t so much as a single fire lit in the whole mansion. Isabella supposed that their family and all of their servants were far more accustomed to the cold.

  “I don’t really like it here,” Abigail confessed. “And I don’t want to marry the king. At least… not the one that I met. I… shouldn’t say this, but… I’m glad it won’t happen. I’ve heard Claude is a better man, but he’s already married.” She went silent, staring ahead. “My father told me you’re living with the Duke of the Isles now.”

  “I am,” Isabella confirmed with the faintest of smiles.

  “Why?” Abigail asked.

  Isabella pondered that for a moment. “Because I think that it’ll be better for everyone. And… I’m finally going to learn magic today,” she said joyfully. “I wouldn’t be able to do that so freely in the royal palace.”

  Abigail smiled. “I’m very happy for you.”

  Isabella blinked in surprise. She was touched. She’d never seen Abigail smile before… and the first time she had, it was when she wishing someone else happiness.

  “I met someone very nice at my debutante ball,” Abigail continued. “I think… he was one of your brothers. He looked a great deal like you.”

  “What was his name?” Isabella asked.

  “I couldn’t get it,” Abigail said. “But he was quite gaunt, and he coughed very frequently. He’s going to die soon.”

  Isabella thought on that point. “I believe that could be… Prince Rupert,” she said uneasily. Bernadetta’s fiancé? It was hard to swallow. “But what do you mean he’s going to die soon?”

  Abigail looked away. “That’s just how it seemed like.”

  When Isabella thought on the matter… she honestly couldn’t recall when Prince Rupert died, only that he did. He was the half-brother closest to her in age, but she’d never interacted with him. He had no political clout, and no desire to gain any. He was one of many that slipped through the cracks.

  “What do you want your future to be like?” Isabella asked Abigail.

  Abigail didn’t need to think for a long while. “I just want to live freely.”

  Isabella related to those words more than most could, she suspected. But now…

  “I think you can do a lot more than that,” Isabella said. “In fact, maybe we can do it together.”

  Abigail looked at Isabella. She didn’t seem especially spirited by those words. “I believe my father wanted to speak with you. It sounded important, so I won’t hold you any longer. I’m glad to hear from you again.”

  Isabella almost gave a sigh of disappointment, but held it in. She almost couldn’t explain why, but she liked Abigail a lot. Perhaps it was because she saw something of herself in the young woman. She wished that Archduke Felix would be more open about why he wanted so desperately for Abigail to become the queen of Dovhain. Perhaps she might be able to work out some long-term compromise.

  “I’m glad to see you again as well, Abigail.” She stood up. “I hope you can visit me in Valerio’s estate soon.”

  ***

  Isabella and Archduke Felix sat in the two couches for guests in his study, opposite one another. There were teacups between them, but neither had touched them quite yet.

  “Since that council meeting, I’ve gotten a few more inquiries about the artwork utilized there, Your Highness,” the archduke said, looking at Isabella. “I’ve instructed them to send future inquiries to your new domicile. There was only one real bit of genuine trouble—the late king’s arbitrary claiming of some pieces. The artists had mixed feelings about it. Fortunately, at my request, Claude has agreed to return them.”

  Isabella bowed her head slightly. “You’ve gone above and beyond for me. I very much appreciate that. And with that in mind, I’d like to bring a business proposition before you today.”

  “Your Highness wishes for me to invest in an auction house to rival Duke Albert’s,” the archduke finished. Isabella wasn’t entirely surprised he’d guessed correctly. “After seeing the stir you caused at Abigail’s debut, I can see why you were so confident in your success. Am I right in assuming that’s what you wanted?”

  “You are,” Isabella confirmed with a nod. “But I don’t want to be a minor partner or a manager. I want this to be a joint venture.”

  “Considering your resources…” The archduke leaned in and grabbed his cup of tea. “It would have to be a smaller venture, then.”

  “No. Duke Valerio will source the funds,” Isabella said, and Felix paused before the tea cup reached his lips.

  Felix lowered the cup. “Why would he do that?”

  “I can’t speak for him,” she said with a shake of her head.

  Felix took a long drink and then set the cup back down. “I know for a fact that he has the resources. He owns many successful businesses. But… if he’d, with you… hmm.” The archduke seemed to be calculating something. “Do you have something in mind?”

  “I believe I’d need help in sourcing personnel. I’m sure you’d like to find people that are loyal to you,” she said. “But beyond that, I’d like to manage the house’s initial policies for myself.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to copy Albert’s model?” Felix pointed out.

  “It’ll use that as a foundation, yes, but I’d like to make some key changes,” Isabella said. “To begin with, I’d like our auction house to permit the use of credit and installment payments for purchasing art.”

  “Credit,” Felix repeated. “Why?”

  “One, it’ll allow for larger, record-breaking sales. And two, I don’t believe these people would be buying the art without significant care about their reputation. They should be trusted, by and large, to make their payments. And if not, we’ll be well within our rights to retrieve the artwork, or another form of collateral. Including political leverage.”

  Felix listened, but didn’t agree outwardly. “And if it’s the king that decides to renege on credit offered?”

  “Claude isn’t like that,” Isabella said. “And I believe his reign will be more enduring than Edgar II’s, though that doesn’t say much.”

  “And I suppose you think I’ll be able to collect on any defaults with my resources,” Felix finished.

  “…along with Duke Valerio,” Isabella admitted.

  “It seems reasonable, Your Highness,” Felix said with a nod. “What else?”

  “I might suggest my guard, Randolph, as an auctioneer,” she said, looking back at him briefly. He froze up a little, but she had only been joking. She looked back to Felix, then continued, “…but I actually had someone else in mind to handle things. As I said, I’m happy with you picking all of your other employees, but for the success of this auction house, this man is essential. I want him to manage advertising, catalogs, promotion, and the auctions themselves.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “His name?” Felix pressed.

  “George. He’s common-born. He goes by the name Mr. Robins. He’s presently a playwright, actor, and comedian in the Gold Missive Theater,” Isabella said.

  Felix furrowed his brows. “I know the man. Wasn’t he… almost executed for carrying out an affair with a baron’s wife?”

  “A count’s wife,” Randolph interjected.

  “Do you know him?” Isabella asked Randolph.

  “Not the count, but Mr. Robins? Sure. The man’s second only to myself when it comes to wit,” Randolph said. “But unlike me, he’s handsome enough for it to inspire affection in the ladyfolk. I’m told he stayed the count’s wrath as the man wielded the sword to cut his head off, but perhaps the man is aggrandizing himself.”

  Felix rubbed his chin. “Won’t that lower the dignity of the auction house, hiring such a man? Our primary clients would be nobles.”

  “He’s a more-than-perfect match for the art style,” Isabella insisted. “And I can say with certainty that none are better at promoting artwork than he was.”

  “You say, ’than he was?’ Has he done it before?” Felix asked.

  Isabella cleared her throat. “Excuse me. I’m simply saying that he’s already a writer, and beyond eloquent. Provided that we give him a small percentage of the sale’s proceeds, I can almost guarantee he’ll be one of the best investments we’ll ever make.”

  The truth was, Isabella had already seen his success in her past life. Mr. Robins was such an efficient salesman and auctioneer that he eventually purchased peerage. His flamboyant stylings and ostentatious advertisements were perfect framing for the shift in art. The future of auction houses was to make them more theatrical—she intended to herald that change early. So long as she moderated the transition, she was confident in her success.

  “Very well then,” Felix said, rising to his feet. “I have some other business to attend to. I’ll send an invitation to Duke Valerio for a meeting in the future, working out the financial details of the arrangement. I’ll expect to see you there as well.”

  Isabella stood. “Thank you, archduke. I’ll look forward to it.”

  And she was looking forward to it. But not as much as her appointment later today.

  ***

  “My son assures me that your ability to create mana locks is sufficient to make one on your own,” Igraine said, sorting through some things. “If that’s true, and provided your mind hasn’t become too constrained to welcome a mana lock, this should proceed without incident. I have artifacts here for every eventuality, and a few that should cover novel, theoretical situations.”

  Looking around, Isabella could tell that Igraine was taking this incredibly seriously. This was a day that she had dreamed about many, many times. Would it live up to her expectations? She thought that it would.

  “I’ve never seen you like this,” Valerio commented, watching from the background. He sat backwards on a white chair, resting his arms on its back.

  “Like what?” Isabella asked.

  “Effervescent,” Randolph supplied, and Valerio nodded. “You’re exuding an almost saccharine joie de vi. You’re alight with an ostentatious ebullience, as if sustained by an unspoken cosmic levity.”

  Both she and Valerio looked at Randolph strangely. Without context, she’d be clueless about what he said.

  “About bloody time you acted your age,” Randolph concluded. “Me grandmum’s less austere than you, and she’s got arthritis bad enough she can’t hold a cup.”

  Valerio looked ready to reprimand Randolph, but Isabella knew it was in good nature and laughed. She had to admit that she was having to restrain herself from bouncing on her feet like a little girl.

  “Shut up, both of you,” Igraine commanded, then walked up to Isabella. “You need to focus. Ignore them. They won’t say another word. Now… I’m going to open your body up to the forces of mana.” The older woman deftly put a bracelet on Isabella’s wrist, a ring on her finger, a necklace around her neck. “These artifacts will help stabilize you, ensure that you have the best possible conditions for welcoming magic.”

  Isabella took a deep breath, running through the procedure again and again. How many times had she practiced this? Too many to count, even. But in the face of so much practice, would the real thing prove more difficult, or less? She would do it again and again, no matter how much it took out of her, until she did it.

  Igraine held her hands out. “Remember that lesson, girl. Patience. Patience, and you’ll do fine.”

  Arthur’s mother pressed her hands against Isabella’s temples. A few moments later… it was as though the window had been pulled open in the midst of a great storm, and the wind blew through her. A deluge of ambient magic entered her body. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar. What was unfamiliar was the gap in her mind, in her psyche, where the magic stabilized. It was small—perhaps no larger than her fist. But after the attempts of her prior life, it seemed like a vast void where she was free to practice whatever she willed.

  Isabella seized the magic with her will. She fell upon old training, routing the area around to chart out where in her mind the mana lock would reside long in advance. Once the area was cleared, she began sculpting the magic as the finest clay. She could feel guidance—it felt as though invisible hands supported her, both that of Igraine’s and Arthur’s. Eventually… she completed it.

  She waited for it to crumble, searching for points of error in her design. What had she done wrong? What should she improve? She tried to observe every little detail, so that her next attempt could be better. She’d done this in her previous life. This attempt would be better.

  But… Igraine removed her hands. Isabella opened her eyes, blinking.

  “It’s done,” Igraine said.

  Isabella blinked, dumbfounded. She looked to her right, where Valerio and Randolph watched proudly, and then back to Igraine. In a moment of exuberance, she lunged and hugged the woman, who grunted in complaint before patting Isabella on the back.

  Isabella pulled away. ‘Are you sure? I mean—how do I know it won’t… how can I…”

  “Do you know any spells?” Igraine inquired. “That’s the only way to test it.”

  A childhood memory surfaced. The very first spell that she’d tried to learn. As punishment, the teacher had put her hand on the wooden table, and then slapped her knuckles with the very book that had the spell. But… its simple magic was still in her head, somehow.

  “I… think I do,” Isabella said, holding up her hand.

  “Then try,” Igraine urged.

  Isabella raised her hand up, prepared to try and cast magic for the first time in her life.

  Magic was a strange thing to manipulate. It was, by its very nature, a fickle and fleeting force. One had to catch it and stabilize it with the use of their mana lock, and then, pluck it and weave it like the finest tapestry. The mana lock might be likened to the dreamcatchers that she’d hung up around her room as a little girl—and now, she plucked that dream from the confines of her mind and wove it as she remembered.

  A string there, a thread there, a twist here, a finesse there… she handled magic like a delicate string, weaving art in her head from memory. And when it finally fit together…

  Isabella opened her eyes just in time to see a bird of light dance up out of her hands, taking to the sky. Isabella felt her own heart soar far faster and higher than it did. It rose up, up, up, to the ceiling of the ritual chamber that Igraine had occupied. And when it hit the ceiling, it scattered. Isabella couldn’t feel any disappointment. Rather, she felt an elation that could scarcely be put into words. It was nothing more than a beginner’s spell—a trick used to awe children. But it was magic. Her magic. That meant more than could be described to her.

  “Congratulations, Princess Isabella,” Igraine said. “You’re now a spellcaster.”

  Isabella took in the feeling, smiling broadly.

  “It’s a shame that you aren’t younger,” Igraine said regretfully. “I do believe you’d be a very promising student. You created your mana lock on your first try, and with such confined mental space… it’s quite fantastic. Nevertheless, you’ve succeeded. This is a day to celebrate.”

  “Could you continue to teach me regardless?” Isabella asked eagerly, then shook her head. “No… I’m sorry. I forgot myself.”

  Igraine stood there silently, but Valerio spoke up, saying, “I can get you anything you need related to magic, Isabella. The Republic of Ambrose has a hardy magic culture, and a great deal more freedom in exercising it than the people here in Dovhain. I can import some books for you.”

  Isabella looked at Valerio with unadulterated joy. In her mind, that was the best gift that he could give her. But… she hesitated. He was spending an awful lot of money. Was that prudent?

  “If I have the time… I may stop by occasionally,” Igraine said coyly. “I do find myself with much less on my plate now that my children are grown.”

  “Really?” Isabella said excitedly. “If it’s not an imposition… I’d love nothing more.”

  “For a few days, at least, I’ll be a constant presence. It’s not uncommon for new mages to fall quite ill—especially ones that became mages older. It’s nothing life-threatening, but it helps to have a more experienced spellcaster looking after you,” she said, then looked to Valerio. “That’s no trouble for you, I trust. Or your mage friend.”

  “My mage will be watching you closely,” Valerio said. “But if Isabella trusts you, I’ll permit it.”

  “It’s settled, then,” Igraine said, looking back. “You have a great deal of catching up to do, princess. Can you handle it?”

  Isabella nodded. “Eagerly.”