"Such a scoundrel," the red-haired girl murmured helplessly.

  "The lady seems to find herself in a spot of bother." A tall, bearded man with a mature demeanor approached the two women. A tracery of fine lines graced his face, hinting at the cusp of middle age. His impeccably tailored attire fit him perfectly, without a thread out of place. He brushed back his oiled, slightly curled black hair and said, "Perhaps I should offer my assistance to this lady."

  "Which lady are you addressing, exactly?" Deborah asked with undisguised contempt.

  "Why, this esteemed young lady with the captivating red hair, of course." Monica Dunston hesitated briefly before smiling and extending her hand for him to kiss. (He has a strangely comforting presence...) she thought, (relaxing... trustworthy...) Her eyelids began to grow heavy. (And... captivating...)

  "Augler, are you planning to devour her hand?" The chestnut-haired sorceress interrupted sharply. "Take your lips off Monica's hand this instant!"

  The man released the red-haired girl's hand with visible reluctance. "What a pity. Even through the glove, I could sense the passionate fire within you." He executed a formal bow. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Augler Prescott, a mage of Brigar, just like your friend Deborah Borealis."

  Ordinarily, sorcerers meeting for the first time guard their full names carefully. Augler's willingness to share his represented a gesture of trust toward Monica. "I'm Monica Dunston," she responded with a warm smile, "from Cynthia."

  Observing Monica's apparent rapport with Augler, Deborah felt a stab of jealousy. She decided to seek conversation elsewhere to suppress the emotion. "I apologize for my outburst. Augler is a court mage of Brigar, exceptional in every respect," she told the red-haired girl. "He's the second person at this banquet you can trust, after me. Enjoy your conversation—I should greet my colleagues from other regions." Without waiting for a response, she departed.

  "She's acting... peculiar," Monica remarked, frowning as she watched Deborah walk away.

  "Perhaps I interrupted your tête-à-tête," Augler Prescott suggested, spearing a plump shrimp with his fork. "No one enjoys sharing their companion, especially one as enchanting as yourself."

  "You possess a most persuasive tongue, do you not?" The red-haired girl narrowed her eyes, accepting a glass of red wine from a passing server. "Is this flowery speech typical of all Brigar mages?"

  "Certainly not, Miss Dunston," he replied earnestly. "If my words have caused umbrage, I offer my most sincere regrets."

  Monica laughed softly. "I'm merely teasing, Lord Prescott. On the contrary, I find our conversation most enjoyable." She took a delicate sip of wine. "Please, call me Monica, Augler?"

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  "It would be my honor."

  Across the hall, Deborah Borealis was engaged in conversation with a short-haired woman. They occasionally whispered to each other, sharing quiet laughter. Deborah's gaze frequently darted toward Monica and Augler—subtle glances that Monica nonetheless detected. She deliberately stared back, hoping to discomfit the chestnut-haired sorceress.

  "That short-haired lady is Chloe Dinara, a sorceress from Duviliel," Augler murmured, leaning close enough that his breath tickled Monica's ear. "Her cobalt blue hair is rather striking."

  "I believe... it's infused with magical dye?"

  "Indeed—mixed with arcane potions. If she wishes, she can transform her hair into five or six different colors in the span of a heartbeat."

  "So you're acquainted with her?"

  "No, not personally." The mage smiled. "Deborah handles the invitations and hospitality. I'm merely a passing observer, lingering for the exquisite food and," he paused meaningfully, "for your company." Noticing her sidelong glance, he continued, "Though I haven't been formally introduced to tonight's sorcerous delegation, I know all their names—courtesy of Brigar's intelligence apparatus."

  Monica Dunston nodded thoughtfully. She was in the midst of extracting meat from a shrimp shell when she suddenly realized the impropriety of her behavior. (Don't bring your dining hall manners to a royal banquet, for goodness' sake.) She offered the mage an embarrassed smile. Augler towered over her, and as she tilted her head upward, her attention was drawn to the ceiling's magnificent display—nine enormous chandeliers, each with three tiers densely packed with countless candles. Only such lavish illumination could banish every shadow from the vast hall.

  "In this place, concealment is impossible," Augler observed, glancing upward. "These flames illuminate every corner, leaving no darkness in which to hide. They're beeswax candles—King Royce has spared no expense." He adopted a thoughtful expression. "If memory serves, each chandelier holds approximately one hundred twenty candles. At half a Biroze per candle, the chandeliers alone would cost... would require..." The man's brow furrowed in calculation.

  "Five hundred forty Biroze coins."

  "Most impressive, Monica," Augler Prescott applauded. "The hallmark of academy training, indeed. Might I inquire—is this also magic?"

  Monica Dunston set down her fork and regarded him with displeasure. "It's mathematics, not magic. I fail to understand why 'academy-trained' is always emphasized as though it were something disgraceful."

  "Peace, Monica," the mage replied. "You're well aware that Cynthia pioneered the first magic academy in the North. Such innovation inevitably drew criticism. Every practitioner of the arcane arts believed themselves unique—chosen or favored by destiny. The establishment of academies threatened to flood the world with sorcerers, bringing competition, displacement, even conflict. That's the root of their resentment."

  "In truth, Illuviλofer established the first school of magic. Now even Ellytra has founded an academy. Yet the dire consequences once feared have failed to materialize."

  "Indeed. They now acknowledge overlooking the critical factor—innate talent. Mere enrollment in a magic academy doesn't create a sorcerer. Without aptitude—without the capacity to touch and channel the Primal Source—decades in an academy would yield nothing. Having conceded this point, they've simply shifted to different criticisms of 'academy-trained' mages. They decry that academy graduates merely parrot knowledge, devoid of practical experience and innovative flair. They maintain that the proper development of a sorcerer requires traveling the world with a mentor, experimenting with magic in diverse environments—just as practitioners did in bygone days."