The Last Daughter; Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

Descending Fire, Realm Year 764,
Twelve months after the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress

The Port of Chanos, Chanos Prefecture,
The Northern Blessed Isle

"How was your family about everything?" you ask.

"A lot of handwringing," Sola says. "I wouldn't be getting away with this, if it weren't for everyone who actually matters being off killing Icewalkers or too busy covering for them to bother with me. It helps that we were actually heroic."

Maia nods, making a bit of a face. "'Too successful to publicly punish for disobeying instructions,' was what I was told."

You frown. "Privately, though?"

Maia shrugs a little helplessly. "I'd rather not discuss it." You suspect this is both because Sola doesn't have the entire context with Maia's family, and also because, based on your past experience with Maia's grandmother, the full truth would make you furious, and she wants to avoid that.

You're all together again after some weeks apart, having been deposited in a comfortable sitting room, waiting for your host to come collect you. Your collective servants and attendants are in the next room, accessible through an adjoining door. You stand by a large window, hands clasped behind your back, looking out over the rooftops of Chanos. Nearby, Sola stretches out on a plush sofa, dressed in everyday finery — for once, her sword is nowhere to be seen. Maia had taken up a seat in a nearby chair, but now gets up, crossing the room to stand beside you. She raises a hand to your shoulder, leaning her slight weight against you.

It's not the kind of gesture you ordinarily make for one another in front of others, but Sola is a Hearthmate now. She's certainly entitled to complain if you overdo it, but things that wouldn't be acceptable in more public settings feel natural in her company.

"My father is exasperated," you say, "and proud. He had larger concerns to convey, however."

Sola looks up, a question on her face, but it's just then that the knock comes on the door. She subsides, smiling wryly. Maia takes her hand away from your shoulder, and moves away to a respectful distance. "Enter," you say.

The door opens, and a woman in V'neef attire appears there, bowing low to you all. Without straightening, she says: "My ladies, this humble servant apologises for any inconvenience the delay may have caused your personages. My Lady L'nessa bids you join her in the garden, for conversation and reflection." It's a little excessively formal for a casual gathering, but you suppose that the presence of an Imperial daughter can overwhelm some mortals.

"Well, if it's for conversation and reflection," Sola says, stretching out long limbs as she disentangles herself from the sofa and sits up. Maia hides a smile behind a hand, and you all follow the servant woman down the hall.

The hall opens up after a time, one wall replaced by a series of elegant pillars carved from the dark local stone. This provides a charming view of the estate's little garden — well tended flowers and greenery surrounding a small pool. L'nessa is immediately visible, perched on a carved wooden bench, wearing a pale blue gown, and enjoying a cool drink from a silver cup. When she sees you, she smiles, and gets to her feet.

L'nessa drains the cup in her hand, airily tossing it to the servant who had led you to the garden. The woman hadn't been quite prepared for this dramatic gesture and fumbles it for a moment, but manages to hang onto it in the end. L'nessa takes no notice of this, already coming toward the three of you, all silk and exaggerated incredulity. "You," she says, looking at you directly, "get into the most absurd scrapes."

"It was my idea," Sola says.

"Of course it was, you're as bad as she is!" L'nessa says, waving this off.

"I am not," Sola says, forcefully enough that you shoot her a bit of a look.

"Well, granted," L'nessa says. "Still, congratulations on your Hearth. You both certainly need someone to pull you down to Earth a little, if this is how you're going to act." Then she steps around the two of you to where Maia stands by the door, actually clasping her by the shoulder. "I genuinely shudder to think of the things you're going to let these two drag you into," she says.

Maia struggles against a smile. "I'm capable of getting into trouble well enough on my own."

"Yes, you are," L'nessa allows. "But a different kind of trouble. Not usually involving sleeping in a miserable army tent and fighting three Anathema, of all things."

Maia gives a slight shrug. "Maybe." Her eyes slide over to you, and she stops holding the smile back. "The sleeping arrangements weren't so bad, though."

L'nessa takes her hand away, giving a long sigh. "Please, in future," she says, her face a study of mock despair, "do you think you could refrain from fondly reminiscing about your nighttime activities with my aunt to my face, while she's standing there, while I'm trying to be gracious and compassionate?"

Maia laughs, the mirth pulled out of her almost against her will. "If my lady requests," she says.

"Hello," says a quieter voice, speaking from near to the pond. You hadn't noticed Sesus Amiti, at first. She sits on the smooth stone border around the edge of the water, curled up with a book cradled in one hand. With the other, she reaches into a bowl of black grapes, tossing one of them into the pond. There's a flurry of bright-coloured fins and scales as the resident koi fish vie to eat it first. The impression that she's been drained of colour is even more powerful amid her bright surroundings — especially since someone apparently thought it was a good idea to dress her in grey.

"Oh, hello, Amiti, I didn't realise you were here," you say.

"L'nessa invited me yesterday," Amiti says. Then adds, earnestly: "I'm very glad that you three weren't all killed by Anathema. And Vahelo, of course, but that at least would have just been sad, not sad and a little my fault!"

"Like I said, it was my idea," Sola says, dropping down onto the bench nearest to Amiti. "Ambraea and Maia came along to keep me out of trouble, of their own accord. We're our own women and make our own decisions, it isn't your fault."

"That's what Kasi said, when I wrote her about this," Amiti admits. "And that sending three skilled young sorcerers to aid our cousin was only doing my duty to my house, even if it was by accident. Which was a little surprising, coming from her, she doesn't care for Val very much."

You blink at that. From your encounters with both young women, you hadn't gotten the sense that this should be the case. "Why not?" you ask. It's a little like chasing after gossip, but Amiti has already brought it up.

Amiti shrugs, tossing another grape to the koi. "Well, all three of us saw a great deal of one another, growing up — we were almost the same age, after all, and we went to primary school together at the Hall of Excellence Untested, even if Val was the only one who really took to military life. I had an awful time there, of course."

"And your sister dislikes her for that?" L'nessa prompts, with patience born of many years' experience of Amiti as a storyteller.

Amiti blinks, frowning. "What? Oh, no. Kasi Exalted very young, and so I was a leftover child for years before Mela decided to make a mess of things and choose me anyway. Vahelo was rather cruel to me, when we were children because of that. Especially as she got older and didn't Exalt herself. It wasn't pleasant, but it's understandable."

You frown — however common it is to look down on leftover children, you don't enjoy the thought of Vahelo having mistreated Amiti to such a degree. "Your sister didn't put a stop to it?"

Amiti looks a little surprised. "Oh, well, she might have, if I hadn't told her it was fine. She wasn't stupid, she knew what must be going on anyway, but, when you're a mortal Dynast, you don't set a Dragon-Blooded relative on someone carelessly. It was all years ago, we've all grown up, I don't hold any grudge. And Val's stopped expecting me to do something horrible to her now that I could get away with it — I don't actually think I could do anything to her worse than what I already did just by Exalting when she didn't, I remember her face when she first saw me. Kasi is still a little protective, though, and I don't think she ever quite forgave Vahelo for the whole thing."

You suppose it would be unkind to hold something Vahelo did as a child against her, if Amiti herself is so quick to forgive.

Sola frowns down at Amiti's book, looking at it sidelong. "Wait, you're reading The Thousand Correct Actions of the Upright Soldier?"

"Yes," Amiti says, not exhibiting a tremendous amount of enthusiasm, for all that she's going through the text at her usual rapid pace. "A gift from my mother when I saw her last. It's a copy of one of the appended and annotated versions Sesus gave out to all her daughters — I don't think you'd like it." Your half-sister, Sesus, was a famed general and hero of the Realm who died on the field of battle. The tactics she employed, however, were often more than a little underhanded by reputation, and formed the basis for the way that her descendants carry themselves as a military house to this day.

Sola makes a bit of a face. "Probably not," she says. "You don't seem like you're enjoying it particularly either."

Amiti shrugs. "I am to continue brushing up on strategy and tactics, so that I can coordinate with our forces at need. It's not interesting, but I'm not going to complain, if it means I get what I need to pursue my work. Proving myself useful is important."

You think back to the Anathema witch you'd fought over the summer — the forces she'd called up from a pile of murdered peasants had been a mob, but they'd been a mob that knew neither pain nor fear. With the benefit of hindsight, you're absolutely certain now that if Vahelo hadn't put their backs toward the cliff the way she had, the legionnaires would have broken in the face of them. You've found the prospect of the things Amiti's house might call on her to do disquieting for years now, but actually witnessing what a powerful Exalted necromancer can do first hand is a different thing entirely.

Sola seems to be thinking along the same lines. "If you're half as useful as that Ogre we met, they'll get a good return on their investment over the years."

Seeming to completely miss Sola's troubled tone, Amiti immediately perks up, setting her book down on her lap. "Oh, good, I wasn't going to bring that up, because it seems like the kind of thing that people find off-putting! But since we're already talking about it, what was she like?"

Sola blinks. "What was who like?"

"The Ogre," Amiti says, leaning forward with a bit of an unwholesome gleam in her eye. "It was a she, wasn't it? I suppose it barely matters, with a dead Anathema — but it would have been fascinating to see her work, even if she had been trying to kill me at the time. What was it like to fight her? And what spells did she use? And what was her magic like? School has endless volumes about different sorcerous traditions and odd initiations, but so much less about necromancy, if you can believe that."

Sola, who had opened her mouth at several points during this without getting a chance to really answer any one question, takes a moment to consider her words. "Well, I wouldn't say 'fascinating'," she says, moral qualms warring with a desire to boast about a victory against the very literal forces of evil. "But it was something about blood. It had it all over itself — hair, skin, clothes — on purpose. And its casting... tasted like it, when I was trying to counter its necromancy..."

Amiti is instantly and completely enraptured. After a moment, Maia drifts over to contribute her own, less direct recollections. You might have joined them, but you become aware of L'nessa giving you a meaningful look. She takes a step away, drawing you a short distance off from the others. You follow her, and she moves closer to you, looking up at you with the most grave expression you've ever seen from her. As she does so, it becomes obvious just how hard she'd been trying to put on an unconcerned face. "Have you had much news from the Imperial City?" she asks.

You understand what she's really asking. You look at her for a long, quiet moment, thinking about how much to say. "My father is worried," you say, speaking equally quietly. "I don't think he's seen any sign of her. Or heard anything, and he's a famous court gossip."

L'nessa nods slowly, a distinctly troubled expression coming onto her face. "That could mean a great many things to more than one of us," she says.

In the way that you increasingly have when you think too hard on this general topic, you feel a little as though the ground you've stood on your entire life is turning to sand beneath your feet. Unbidden, your mother's voice drifts into your head:

"I'll be interested to see what comes of your last two years at the Heptagram, daughter. I believe I shall have more words for you then."

Had that been the last thing she'd said to you? Very nearly, you think. That near-promise, and a sword from her own hand. It's not as though she hasn't broken much stronger commitments than that to countless others in the past, when it's suited her. But as much as the prospect of something being wrong, of her being gone makes you terrified for your future, there's another part of you that can't help but feel genuinely betrayed.

For six long years, you've laboured to become a sorcerer worthy of the name, to make yourself into someone who can survive in the Dynasty, carve out a life for yourself and your loved ones. But you've also done it because at the far end of your time at the Heptagram, you might earn the acknowledgement of the woman who first inspired you to pursue this life to begin with. The thought that she might simply not be there at all after graduation feels profoundly unfair to you, in a very small, almost childish way.

You cannot, of course, say this to L'nessa, who is standing before you, contemplating her fledging house being left to the scant mercies of its powerful enemies. House V'neef has been relying on the Empress's protection and personal patronage while it grows wealthy and powerful enough to survive on its own. For a moment, as she looks up at you, you see past the exaggerated air of good humour she's been putting on, and it's all too obvious to you that L'nessa is just as afraid for the future as you are. "Can I rely on you, Ambraea?" she asks, voice almost silent.

You blink, taken aback. "Have I given you reason to doubt my friendship, in the years you've known me?"

She turns that answer over in her head, her frown deepening. Like that isn't quite what she meant. In a real sense, you'd known it wasn't. "Forget I asked," she says, "it's too early to put you on the spot like that." You watch as she puts her smile back on, forcibly returns the sparkle to her eyes, and takes a step away from you.

"I have to wonder if the hardscrabble life of an intrepid shikari hasn't robbed you of all your manners completely," L'nessa says, voice returning to its normal volume. "You haven't asked me a thing about my summer."

You make yourself smile back. "What was it?" you ask. "Meeting with sensible marriage prospects while juggling two other boys on the side?"

L'nessa laughs. "No, in fact. Mother made time to have me go over my likely plans for after graduation with her, and then had me demonstrate my skills before our house's other sorcerers — they're an incredibly eclectic lot, I'll admit, but there is some expertise between them." She lets that sit, before admitting: "It was three boys, this time. One gorgeous, one adorably eager, and one, rarity of rarities, actually intelligent to hold a decent conversation. I'll spare you the details, though."

You can't help but notice that Maia, although she outwardly appears to still be listening to Sola and Amiti's conversation, has gone very still, her expression carefully schooled. You're entirely certain that she heard every word of your conversation with L'nessa. You're also sure, looking at her, that she's every bit as disconcerted by the situation as the two of you are.

---

Year 7: Uncertainty

Descending Earth, Realm Year 764,
Nearly fifteen months after the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress

The Isle of Voices

The early months of your senior year at the Heptagram pass by shockingly quickly in a haze of anxiety and hardscrabble effort. You're kept nearly as busy as you were in your first year, but this time, the work is almost entirely self directed. You still have lectures it's wise to attend and advanced rituals to help maintain, but most of your time is now dedicated to researching and experimenting toward the completion of your graduation project.

You almost welcome it. As the anniversary of last year's disastrous, tumultuous Calibration nears, so too does the anniversary of the last time anyone you know of saw any sign of your mother. When you let yourself, your mind sometimes drifts to the cryptic message the Anathema swordsman had delivered to you during your fight, and you almost regret killing it before you could wring out more of an answer. You hadn't given it enough credence, at the time, but the creature had been in the Imperial Manse last Calibration. It may have seen something.

It's just past noon and you're out on the school grounds, conducting yet another experiment on the sorcerous modification of Earth elementals. A small mercury ant stands nervously in an elaborate summoning circle, the place where it had first come into the world at your call. The circle is surrounded by a complex array of figures and symbols chalked onto the stone. Important catalysts — crystals and special herbs — are laid out at the five corners of the array. You're just in the process of pouring out a vial of Blessed Isle sand at one of them when the very ground beneath your feet shakes.

You manage to catch yourself before you drop the vial entirely, but you spill the sand outside of the necessary pattern in the process. You look down at the resulting mess in plain annoyance, carefully stoppering the vial again and putting it into your belt pouch. As you straighten up, the ground shakes once more. Verdigris hisses in quiet alarm on your shoulder. In its circle, the mercury ant chitters in agreement, metallic antennae quivering wildly.

"This isn't a natural quake," you say, to yourself or to the two non-verbal elementals. As if proving your point, another comes almost immediately afterward. They're not strong, really. The scrubby trees around you only tremble a little under the force of them. What they are is entirely too close to not be deeply annoying. "Wait here," you tell the ant, as if it can do anything else. You scoop up your daiklave, holding the sheathed blade in your hands rather than spending the time to secure it to your belt, and you make the brief journey to what feels like the epicentre of the tremors. You'd heard an increasing number of voices from this direction as you'd worked, but it hadn't been so aggravating when it was just noise.

You crest a ridge, passing through a narrow stand of pines that runs along its peak. Just as you emerge from the trees again, a further tremor might have sent you sliding down the other side, the stability of your element all that keeps you firmly on your feet. You cast a gimlet eye down at the collection of students below.

Assembled here is a good portion of the student body, most of the fifth years, with one or two sixth years and a smattering of younger students. You recognise one of the sixth years as Sola's cousin, Tepet Lapan, who has very recently been knocked flat on his back. A young woman stands on a rough expanse of rock in the centre of a thickly-chalked hexagon drawn at her feet. Beyond the hexagon's border, the rock and earth surrounding it for several metres is crazed with cracks and small fissures, presumably where the spell she's practicing had caused the very ground to heave up against Lapan.

You recognise the girl standing in the hexagon as Ragara Falik Cara — the vein of sparkling lapis lazuli that winds through her dark hair and down the golden brown skin of her face on one side is hard to mistake. The rest of the students are arrayed around the area, taking advantage of the relatively mild day just as you had been, almost certainly one of the last before winter begins to set in in earnest.

With how busy everyone is, it isn't that unusual for Heptagram students to seize on some sort of momentary distraction to serve as entertainment — even if it's only one student demonstrating a spell at another's expense.

"You know," Cara says, "I really thought that jump was going to work. Sometimes, I exceed my own expectations, I suppose. Or maybe it's just Air Aspects being good at flying in more way than one."

There are a few scattered groans from the students. One fifth year boy, Cynis Mana, pointedly, gives a long, dutiful laugh from where he's sitting a safe distance away on a fallen log. The movement sends up trailing embers from skin that seems to faintly glow from a fire within his body. It's a little desperate, you think, but Cara is uncommonly beautiful. She's delicate for an Earth Aspect, with the kind of figure that draws the eye, even concealed as it is beneath the Heptagram's unisex school uniform.

Lapan picks himself up with a groan of his own, but he's grinning, despite what must have been a bruising impact. "Congratulations," he says. "The spell definitely works." His eyes flick to Mana, who is trying very hard to master himself, with mixed results. "Do you want to give it a try, Mana? You're certainly well rested, to this point."

"Oh, no, you look like you're much more qualified to get the stuffing knocked out of you, Tepet," Mana says. "This game is just too rough for me. Do carry on."

"Just don't have the stamina for it?" Cara asks Mana, a bit of a challenging tilt to her smile. "I am learning many useful things, today, I think." This time, it's Lapan's turn to laugh, along with most of the others.

You wouldn't have thought that someone with Mana's furnace-lit complexion could colour with embarrassment, but he manages it, his face literally glowing. He gets to his feet, presumably to defend himself against the implication, but he's the first to see you coming down the hill, and loses track of whatever he'd been intending to say. Cara follows his gaze, her smile dying a little as she sees who he has, and your expression.

Lapan leaps to his feet, seemingly not too worse for wear. He's grown up over the years, now a stocky, broad-shouldered young man standing a little taller than you do. Pale and blunt-featured, he still looks almost nothing like Sola, but the breeze that always seems to stir around him reminds you of her Aspect Markings. "Hello, Ambraea," he says. You must have a particularly forbidding look on your face, because he seems suddenly a great deal more nervous than before.

"Lapan," you say, by way of brief acknowledgement. You turn to look at Cara, putting a hand on your hip. Your annoyance makes your phrasing indelicate: "I know it's exciting to have just initiated, but I think you've proven that a basic Earth spell works the way it's meant to," you say. "You're making an excessive amount of vibration while I am trying to conduct an experiment."

Cara bristles at this. You think she's going to swallow her indignation, for a moment, but she glances from you to her audience, all looking on with clear interest. She straightens herself up to her full height — at least a head shorter than you, but you can't get close enough for that to matter without triggering her Stalwart Earth Guardian and making yourself look like a fool. You're certain that enforced distance factors into what she chooses to do next. "Well, I'm very sorry," she lies, "but, as you can see, we are in the middle of something. It seems a little much to expect all of us to move just to please you."

You blink, taken aback. That's ridiculous, obviously. You're a senior student conducting serious research. Cara is simply practicing a spell. Even without seeing your setup, it should be obvious to her and everyone that it would be much less effort for her to move. You're still trying to decide what, exactly, to say to her, when Cara actually turns her back on you, looking back toward Cynis Mana. "You looked like you were about to change your mind, a moment ago. Would you like to try and make it through?"

You try very hard, without success, to think of the last time that you have been outright ignored by anyone you're speaking to. Your grip on your daiklave's sheath tightens, the raised characters gilded onto it biting into your palm. "I can't easily move my array. You should be able to simply cast that again a reasonable distance away from here, it isn't that small an island. Unless more than one spell in a day is beyond you."

Cara looks back to you, her smile showing an uncouth amount of teeth. "My lady Ambraea, you are very imperious for a woman who doesn't have so much as a house name." You don't know why you thought she was pretty, before — the asymmetry of her Aspect Markings just serve to make her features look crooked, and her hair is a very drab shade of brown.

It's both extremely rude, and something that would have been absurd to suggest to you even a year ago. "You will apologise." Your voice is like iron, and you take a step forward, only stopping when the ground in front of you rumbles ominously. Verdigris bares her fangs, letting out a furious hiss as she twines around your shoulders.

Cara's eyes flick to the snake on your shoulder, to the sword in your hand. Her smile stays stubbornly in place, though, as she continues to push her luck: "I've been curious: Which of your sisters' skirts will you try to hide behind when you graduate, if they're even feeling so generous? Or perhaps you intend to flee to the far Threshold to take refuge in obscurity with your father's heretic family?"

You look past her to the small crowd, searching the assembled faces for any sign of support. To your dismay, no one looks particularly outraged on your behalf. Lapan looks mortified by the whole affair, but he won't meet your eye. Cathak Garel Hylo, standing near the back, actually smiles when you look his way. Seemingly, he still holds enough of a grudge to enjoy this.

You look back to Cara. "Say that to me again while you're not cowering behind that protective circle. There are things your mother's money will not protect you from." You drop one hand from your daiklave, giving serious thought to hurling a bolt of Earth into her chest. Just enough to throw her clear of the hexagon. Duels have been fought over smaller insults than what she's just delivered. Cara seems to be increasingly aware of her very real physical danger, unwilling to take her eyes away from you for a second. A terrible, loaded silence has settled over the area, broken only by Verdiris' hissing.

"Well, this doesn't seem very friendly at all!"

Heads turn to look at L'nessa, seeming almost to drift her way into the midst of the scene. She looks at Cara, raising her eyebrows. "I'm so sorry, I have only arrived a short time ago, I must be misunderstanding — surely, you're not trying to pick a fight with Ambraea, of all people, over something as silly as her asking you to move a quarter mile away."

"She didn't ask," Cara says, tearing her eyes away from your sword to regard L'nessa, "she commanded."

"Oh, dear," L'nessa says. "That does change things. However, I wonder if you've quite thought this through — you do recall that Ambraea fought and killed a Solar Anathema over the summer, yes? That she is even now holding the daiklave she used to do so? If you are attempting to bait her into doing something regrettable, you're doing an impressive job at it, but I think we both know that if she wanted to, she would snap you like a twig. My dear, 'pretty and empty-headed' is an attractive trait in a pleasure slave, not a Dynastic lady attempting to train as a sorcerer."

This draws shocked laughter from several of the crowd. With a strange sort of sinking feeling, you can see students taking heed of L'nessa's presence in a way that they simply hadn't for yours.

Cara stares daggers at L'nessa, face noticeably paling with outrage. "You..."

"... will apologise?" L'nessa asks. "Well, ordinarily yes, but that doesn't seem to be the custom with this little gathering. Perhaps you would like to be a little more sensible, toward my poor, abused aunt?"

Cara grits her teeth on whatever first comes to mind. After a further long, strained silence, she turns to you. As though with physical effort, she says: "My apologies, lady Ambraea. My conduct was unkind."

It was far more than unkind, and you would like to throw the apology back in her face, but L'nessa catches your eye in a way that stops you. "All is forgotten." Your tone does not make this statement sound particularly believable, but you simply aren't trying that hard.

Cara jerks a nod. Gathering her dignity, she steps out of her hexagon. "I believe I have work to do in the library," she announces, glancing around the group. "Is anyone else going back to the school?" Several students, including Cynis Mana, agree. The rest drift off as if it were their own idea, leaving only you, L'nessa, and Tepet Lapan.

"You have my apologies," Lapan says, voice quiet, "I'm not sure what got into her." He isn't quite meeting your eye.

"A little late to speak up, I think," you tell him. He flinches slightly at your look.

L'nessa lets out a delicate sigh. "Lapan, if you're going to let vicious women knock you around for fun, that's entirely your affair. But try not to let her drag you into anything this foolish again, in the future."

He lets out a half indignant laugh, still not quite looking at you. "I... yes," he says, ducking his head apologetically. Then he leaves, shoulders hunched.

You watch him go, not trusting yourself to speak for a long, miserable moment. "I was going to beat her face in," you admit.

L'nessa snorts. "Well, yes, obviously, I have eyes, and I'm familiar with your temperament — Earth doesn't move until it does, and all that. Which would have quite served her right, but I was a little worried that some of the hangers on might have taken her side, and then things would really have gotten out of hand." She lets some of her levity slip. In a quieter, more serious voice, she adds: "Dragons, Ambraea, please be more careful than this."

You frown down at her, forcing the hand that holds your daiklave to finally relax. The fingers have been tensed for long enough that it sends a sharp pain through your hand as blood rushes back into them. "I didn't think I'd need to be, quite so much."

To L'nessa's credit, she doesn't tell you that you didn't think at all. Instead, she gives you a sympathetic look. "We have less than a year before graduation," she says. "Try not to make a target of yourself."

You look at her bleakly. "I didn't realise they all hated me this much."

L'nessa waves a dismissive hand. "No, they don't," she says. "Most of them are not your friends, though, and don't gain anything in particular by coming to your defense at the moment against someone better placed. I obviously find you to be good company, but you can be a little clannish, Ambraea — and along with being intimidating and an Imperial daughter that works, until people start questioning whether you're acting too big for yourself, in the current political circumstances."

"Unlike you," you admit.

"Yes, unlike me," L'nessa says. "I've gone out of my way to make friends outside of my roommates and two other girls. And my mother is a seated Great House matriarch and appallingly rich, which still counts for quite a bit even if our position may become precarious at a later date. I'm sorry, Ambraea."

You nod, feeling a little numb and overwhelmed. "Why were you out here? Other than saving Cara from my temper."

L'nessa relaxes, taking the change of topic in stride, and holds out a bundle you'd barely noticed her carrying. "Bringing my dear old aunt a meal, since she decided to skip lunch today. Maia asked me — she's been roped into doing something or another for Instructor Zadaki. I'm quite glad it was me finding you like this rather than her, now. I'm very fond of our Maia, but she is not a calming influence in that sort of situation."

You laugh, although you don't quite feel it, accepting the food from her. You're very hungry, now that she mentions it. "Thank you," you say, meaning more than just for the food.

L'nessa nods. "I'd like to think you'd do the same for me, given the opportunity. Would you like to show me this very important experiment of yours? Maybe I can help get it back into working order so you can salvage a morning's work."

"Alright," you say, and begin to lead the way, the bundle in one hand, your daiklave in the other. L'nessa falls in beside you.

You spend the next two hours with your array and your summoned mercury ant, neither of you bringing up the unhappy events that had transpired earlier. Still, they hang over you both. When you go to bed that night, you fall into a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams you can't quite remember.

Despite only having spoken to her twice in the past seven years, you keenly miss your mother.

Article:

You have been confronted with the harsh realities of your changing situation. What is the worst part of all this for you, when you've had a chance to think it over?

[ ] The uncertainty of the future you've worked toward all your life

[ ] Your inability to protect or preserve anything without social standing

[ ] Promises that you've made to those closest to you that you may no longer be able to keep