“Bryony?”

  “Purity, I’m certain,” said Mia, who always spoke without thinking, never afraid to sound stupid.

  “That’s wrong. And you, Serra, what do you think?”

  “I think…” She paused. Hers were always lengthy pauses, for she was always too afraid to sound stupid. “It has broad symbolism, depending on culture, region, nation, province, and possibly time period. Its characteristics also allow a great range of interpretation depending on the onlooker.”

  “If I wished to be serenaded by meaningless braying, I’d have a conversation with an ox,” Diantha sighed. “Indeed, an ox would be a worthy intellectual adversary to the two of you. Combined. The bryony is the source of mandragora, so wherever it grows folk have associated it with vital forces. But it is poison as well, bane of many an alchemist. It is a useful essence, however, both medicine and poison, as the most potent reagents tend to be. Shamans and wise women have learned to use its ominous properties to bottle delusions for ritual purposes.”

  “So… It represents vitality?” Mia asked.

  “Fertility. Abundance. The life that flows beneath the soil. That is its principal symbol, almost universal amidst cultures.”

  “I did not know that,” said Mia.

  “You would if you had read the scriptures I assigned you,” said Diantha. Fool of a girl. Both of them, in fact. Serra is no less foolish for keeping her mouth shut. “Up until the Lyerne Conclave of 1813, the Academy made use of corporal punishment in the upbringing of a Blossom. When I look at the two of you, I find myself almost able to understand what it was that led a Blossom to beat a pupil bloody,” still, caning a student to death had been a step too far, even for the sorriest of lots. But her two apprentices could do with a little intimidation.

  “The Conclave was held after that girl died, right?” Asked Serra.

  “So you know something, at least,” said Diantha, eyes drifting towards the landscapes outside. Traveling by motivus engine always made her feel sick, but it was the swiftest way to reach Vaduria. “The girl did not die, she was killed. An important distinction, wouldn’t you say? It was barbarism, of course, the Conclave had the right of it. Still, I find that a student must be nourished with plenty of food for thought.”

  They said nothing, for a while, though there was no silence at all. This might be a private coach, but there were a dozen other wagons behind, and a motivus was a shrieking, heavyset monstrosity. Far be it from me to question progress, but some of us have grown too comfortable with being swallowed by a contraption of metal, steam and arcanima. Most of the Empire had not yet received these veins of steel, but their adoption was a fast boon to commerce and industry, and, hopefully, to transporting Blossoms across two kingdoms in good enough time that Vaduria might not dive into war. A contentious people, these Vadurians.

  “Lady Maglora?” Mia asked, raising her voice. I’m not a Lady, Diantha thought, annoyed. “You were making a point…?”

  “Ah, of course,” she said. Diantha had a way of being distracted by stupidity. She had spoken too harshly; she regretted some of her words, when she remembered that the girls before her were fourteen years old. I only truly became a Blossom when I came of age. These girls are too young. “Buds beyond the rose bloom from the soil. Some centuries ago the bryony was the symbol of the orders of alchemic arts within our Rose. The rose subsumed it. And the imperial fritillary?”

  “Uh…” Mia was about to say something foolish, so Diantha braced for it. “Could it be… Imperial power? Dignity? Authority?”

  “Those who see the flowers as golden crowns might agree,” said Diantha, pleased that Mia was merely imprecise rather than entirely in error. “But more pertinent to us is the way its shape is reminiscent of a bowing head, as though weeping, shedding tears of nectar. They grieve for all that is gone from the world, be it old magics, beasts hunted to extinction, great heroes and forgotten lands. There was a memorialist order within our Order, whose sigil was the fritillary. Some centuries of our oldest archives were penned by the hands of Mourning Sisters long ago. They no longer maintain those archives, however.”

  “What happened to them?” Asked Serra.

  “The rose has subsumed them,” she said simply. “That is its wont. The rose is a predator among symbols. It has come to represent anything, everything, nothing. There is strength in that, for there is strength in words, and I don’t mean it only in terms of magic, but in thought. There is no specificity to the rose, for it consumes all meanings. It symbolizes so richly and abundantly that it has come to symbolize nothing. And whatever you desire. A useful symbol, a useful idea, for our noble Order. The rose is love, mystery, grace and gratitude and desire and sorrow, a broken heart. It is a symbol of agony and of ecstasy.”

  “So…” Serra’s eyes met her. It was rare for her not to avoid other people’s gazes. “If the rose is anything, if that makes it everything and nothing, what does that mean for the Ruby Blossom?”

  “It is as I told you. Words carry power, a fact that you as a magical girl must never forget, because magic, too, is a language. When we think of magic, we imagine fire and light, miraculous displays of might that alter the world, and that is true enough, but most importantly it is change, and words allow transformation. Our magic is so powerful because the rose has eaten all other symbols, absorbed them unto itself. Thus it has altered the world in a concrete way, shaping beliefs and ideals. Do you follow?”

  “Not really,” said Mia. Though it was hard to find cause to praise the girl, none could deny her honesty.

  “You will,” Diantha sighed. “Continue studying. Hedge wizards, children and outsiders have the luxury of seeing magic as tools, as formulae, but as Blossoms you are expected to cultivate a more profound understanding of magic. For we do not wield it as though it were purely external, but we become it in Efflorescence.”

  The two girls nodded, swore they would study, Serra making a point of reaching for a heavy tome by her side, then opening a page at random. With the motivus at full speed, however, she quickly grew sick with the motion, and set aside her book. Mia, meanwhile, stared at the world outside with fascination. Diantha saw no need to interrupt. This private wagon was comfortable enough for a lengthy journey, though nowhere near as long as horses would require, and machinery did not need rest like pegasi, nor did it involve the laborious process of changing steeds. Even if a journey required passage through multiple stations, a train was, supposedly, entirely reliable and predictable.

  Certainly this was a more luxurious and comfortable form of travel, once one got used to the strangeness of it all. My buttocks are not sore or numb from being atop a saddle all day, she thought, nor am I expected my full attention at all times. And no girl would spill her first blood upon these fine cushioned seats the way Diantha did while horseback, all those years ago. Such a mercy to be spared the embarrassment.

  She turned her gaze outside, to the countryside of Vaduria. Her own grandsire would tell her what a shock it was to see Vaduria adapt to modernity so swiftly. When he was a boy, the only tales of Vaduria that would reach the rest of the world were whispers of how it was a backwards, miserable country, a land and people full of pride and little else. Its population was, for the most part, one step above chattel, composed primarily of serfs bound to the land and eking out an existence hardly worth living. Here reigned the world’s longest lasting unbroken royal dynasty… But that was before Diantha’s time. By her birth, that bloodline had already been consigned to history, snuffed out to the last child who could claim the name as inheritance, the same name as the land they governed. Vaduria the nation lived on, Vaduria the dynasty had seen its members hanged, beheaded, immolated.

  What does it say about the world that, following such barbarity, Vaduria quickly made progress towards prosperity, towards justice? Now its people were truly free, citizens of the Empire, and they chose their own rulers. Train tracks spiderwebbed the country, as did telegraph wires, both to a limited extent but to a greater degree than even many wealthy, stable nations. Most of the world relied upon letters and messengers, so in Vaduria one could see an image of the future.

  Though Mia and Serra stared in awe at the metal spires and abundance of opulent stopping stations for the flux of motivi, Diantha knew better than to see only the surface. The road from Cartasinde to the capital Eluriel was an exuberant display of progress and the promise of a new world, but it meant that now there was even less of a reason to stray from the principal trade routes. Vaduria was huge, and these newfound bounties did not come to all of its provinces equally. If things remained this way, all Diantha could accomplish would be postponing the brewing conflicts.

  They were the minority, those who enjoyed the gains of progress. Within the cities and the townships blooming around the railroad, houses were erected in steel and concrete, adorned by glass panes, buildings large, tall and proud, but in the rest of Vaduria, far from the eyes of outlanders, the common folk of the land dwelled in daub-and-wattle shacks as their fathers before them. The future bore no fruit for them.

  “Lady Maglora,” Serra whispered, though there was no one to hear. “Do you think there’ll be war here?”

  “Without action from our part, yes,” she said bluntly. “Elsewise we would not be here. Ours, however, is a diplomatic mission. We were not granted Efflorescence to wield our magics against unruly peasants. But diplomacy is its own battlefield. It is easier to kill someone than to understand them and to reach an agreeable conclusion.”

  Far easier, that’s the truth of it. Killing monsters was one thing, fellow humans something else entirely. It was too grim a deed to expect from such young girls only recently blossomed. It was, in fact, a harsh thing to demand of anyone, even if some of her bloom-sisters thought little of it.

  The rest of their journey was silent, unremarkable. If they would not do their required readings, there was no point in attempting to educate them. Diantha had never been a great teacher, either, and neither had she the slightest desire to instruct anyone. Alas, it was not by choice that the Ruby Blossom found itself so direly diminished. We require someone in Vaduria, Valchenza had told her, and I’ll assign some initiates to remain under your care. See that they are taught all that a Blossom must know.

  Teach them yourself, was what she wanted to say. Grief was still with her, and, still bearing that pain, how could she move forward? How could any of them? She could scarcely fault Dorthea for breaking.

  They slowed down as they neared the station in Logrorem, but some hundred paces from the old graveyard that had been the city’s lone claim to significance for most of history. Now that it had the good fortune of being directly between two grand capitals, it at last saw enough visitors to once again be more than a withered corpse. Like Vaduria herself, this city had been mighty once, but that was long ago, in another counting of years entirely, when Vaduria was not province but empire, when its greatness was neither a fading memory or a prayer for the future. The station was pristine and clean, but not far from it the graves were overgrown with weeds and thorns and worn stone markers memorialized ancient rulers of whom naught remained but their names in writings so old one could scarcely recognize it as the same language they spoke today.

  “Is this the same city as it was then…?” She wondered out loud. Her pupils did not answer, merely staring at her, puzzled. “That’s true, you wouldn’t recognize the importance of Logrorem. This was a great city, then a ruin, then a husk, and now this. There,” she pointed at the large banners at the entrance of the station, blue on green and adorned with three black hounds.

  “What are we looking at, Lady Maglora?” Mia asked.

  “Must you call me Lady?” Diantha snapped. “I work for a living, you lackwit, and, because I have no say in the matter, we are bloom-sisters now, light preserve me. You would have seen that banner before if you used what little wits you were given to study the most superficial of histories. They are the colors of Ancient Vaduria, and every fool of a noble in this country claims this heritage some way or another. That was thousands of years ago, so the symbols have eroded to the point of nullity, but the Vaduria of old was oft at odds with our Rose, with Tesmaria, which did not call itself an empire then. The blasphemies had a hold here, in the Cult of the Hound, or the Ravenous Mouth, or the nameless heresies in the coast, where stunted infants were given to the seas. The country has died and has been reborn again and again. I told you about the power behind symbols and words and ideas. What say you of a symbol that was broken, then mended, then broken again, its pieces lost, scattered, before being made whole with disparate fragments?”

  “I take it that there is a strange sort of pride amidst Vadurians,” proposed Serra. When she actually had the courage to speak, she usually was not wholly ignorant. “To cling to the past takes a queer drive to force the symbols to endure. Our Rose is old, too, is it not?”

  “Our Rose?” Diantha was amused. “I see what you mean. We have endured millennia unbroken, however. That is our difference. Our forebears have remade themselves, reshaped our Order, but it has never ruptured like Ancient Vaduria. The Vaduria of today is… A wight, an animated corpse. Thousands of years ago, the midnight hound was the sigil of emperors, but when their line was extinguished in battle and the nation fell to ruin, the hounds devoured the dead and became ill omens, pariahs killed on sight, despoilers of the perished. Now they grace these banners before us. Loyal beasts, these hounds of kings and emperors. I would like you to keep these considerations in mind during our time in Vaduria. This is a nation which clings to a past that was never real, at the same time that it desperately reaches for a future it is yet to invent.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I understand,” said Mia. Diantha hoped she wasn’t lying. This would be an unfair burden to place on the shoulders of two young girls even if they were bright and reliable. These two… “A tumultuous land, a troubled people… They need us, don’t they?”

  They all do. Like it or not, they all do, even those who don’t realize it. Those need us most of all.

  As the train stopped, Mia hurriedly got to her feet, before Diantha told her to remain seated. The girl did not understand it yet, but in time she would: a Blossom was sought, never the seeker. Valchenza might have gone to the Basileus a beggar, but I’ll be feeding the worms before I show any deference to pigfucking parvenus who only some decades ago learned that cutlery is for dining and not for combing one’s arsehole hairs. That girl Teana, oldest of her wards and tasked with inspecting the other coaches to ascertain who else might be journeying to Vaduria, was not good for much but she was a marvellous cook. Diantha would have rather hanged herself than eat the dishes of this sty of a nation, so she was quite grateful that someone was of use.

  “We wait,” Diantha told her pupils. “We wait for Teana, that we needn’t be caught unawares by unwanted companies as we leave. And we wait for our esteemed host to come receive us.”

  “I thought we were supposed to meet Sir Petri in his estate,” said Mia. “I thought-”

  “Thinking ill suits you, sweetling. Traditionally, the noblest party waits for the lower to make their way for the meeting. You may believe it a meaningless formality, and you’d be correct, but outsiders treasure their formalities, and must be made to remember their place. For a prince perhaps we might meet halfway, but for a man who married into a low rung of nobility? That would be undignified. Petri aims to bolster his station and to test us in our moment of weakness. He is free to do so. Our Rose can outlast the likes of him and his backwards country. Give him the smallest concession and he will pay you with further disrespect, and his masters will think us abased. And make no mistake, he will be disrespectful when he comes to us, for he is a prickly man, as are all insignificant men who overreached for ranks and stations they are too small to fill. Keenly aware that his name and heritage are but raindrops to the storm that is the Rose and her millennia.”

  Her Lillia had taught her that. She had been the daughter of some Crecenzan noble of no real import, and knew well how this sort of ambition and arrogance could sprout. Those who stand higher than most men but gain little concrete power from it are desperate, impatient. They’ve tasted prestige and in doing so grew hungry, aware of a world that most folk never would, but as they are, they would only ever feel like mere guests. Just two years ago, Lord Nironi had attempted to use his daughter’s esteemed position as a Blossom to gain access to his uncle the Marquis of Adernia and assassinate him, as a sequence of tragedies had left him with no other heirs. Lillia denounced him herself, and watched his hanging with no emotion. Afterwards she merely stated that her pride was worth more than a mere Marquis.

  She couldn’t help a sad smile. Such memories made the waiting go faster, and Serra and Mia seemed content to converse among themselves, so Diantha afforded them some space, rising to her feet and waiting on the other side of the coach, reaching for a pitcher of water.

  Two knocks on the door announced Teana’s arrival. She always knocked twice, even when it was wholly unnecessary. That was her idea of politeness, even after being told that when she was expected, she was free to simply walk inside and that her knocking was loud and annoying. Diantha told her to come in, and Teana did so shyly, her every movement fraught with an odd servility, the obsequiousness of someone eager to please, as if afraid they were not good enough for the station they occupied. For Teana, that much was true, of course, but that didn’t make her any less irksome. A Blossom ought to carry herself with pride, because no matter how she might struggle inside, to the world their Order must be immaculate, effortlessly powerful and noble. Just because one is a fool, one mustn’t carry oneself as a fool. Her Lillia was fond of saying that. She had been the cleverer of the two, but that did little to spare her from death. It fell on Diantha to be wise and strong, now.

  “Sir Petri won’t be long,” said Teana, standing before her companions. She always avoided Diantha’s gaze. “It seems that he quickly realized that you expected him to come to us.”

  “We expected that,” Diantha corrected her. “To outsiders, we ought to present an united front, stalwart and formidable. Be that as it may, I expected more resistance from him, a certain stubborn pride. It may well be that Vaduria is more desperate for assistance than I had guessed.”

  “Does that change any of your- our intentions?” Mia asked.

  “If that is indeed the case, then perhaps it does. If nothing else, it would make it easier to navigate the political games here. Whenever us Blossoms are called to other lands, things rarely are as simple as merely defending the country and its people from darkness - or from themselves, more often than not. Always we are tangled in interests, and woe if a Blossom in turn tangles her task in her own inclinations.”

  “It feels as though it would be easier to simply do what we are tasked with doing,” said Teana. She either stated what was plain to see or absurdities that Diantha scarcely comprehended. “We just have to pacify the growing discontent-”

  “Are you stupid? Be grateful you have me or you’d be taken advantage of by any louse out there speaking with a measure of authority. Kings and lords and fools alike all wish to use us to their advantage, so if you actually embrace the tasks they give you then you’ll be a catspaw who furthers their ends. Pacify those rebels, they’ll tell you, and if you are a good little obedient pawn you might just be crushing some starving peasants or some inconvenient lordlings. Our so-called allies would borrow our authority to better their positions, so if you never learn anything from me - and you seem determined not to - please learn not to trust these dirt people. These outsider lords are ticks in men’s clothing. Rather than blindly listen to them and do as they bid, our authority is to be wielded so as to perform our own investigations and studies and reach our own conclusions, our own solutions.”

  “I see. I suppose I ought to focus on gathering intelligence.”

  “Desperately,” she said, and looked outside. Sir Petri approached in his finery, accompanied by pompous-looking attendants. “I’ll speak, you will do so only if spoken to, and Sir Petri may find it beneath him to exchange words with initiates. That shall be to your advantage, now and in the future. Remain unassuming, meek, and men may reveal more to you than they otherwise would. Now, quick, these are our arrangements. Three Blossoms will be hosted in a property of Sir Petri’s ownership, a fine hotel not far from this station. It receives a fair bit of patronage from travelers on their way to the capital, who must stay the night in Logrorem. But we have our sweet Teana with us, and Sir Petri had not accounted for her, but as a most gracious host, and eager to stay on the graces of our Rose, he will generously invite you to his own estate on the outskirts of the city and far from the noise of engines and of the populace. He may not actually like doing so, but he will do it, and you will strain your wits to learn as much as you can there about the political affairs of Vaduria.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  I suppose that’ll do.

  “The two of you will share a bedroom,” Diantha explained. “They’re spacious and comfortable, I’m sure you’ll have a fine rest. You’ll need it, as tomorrow our journey will be lengthy and tiresome.”

  Mia nodded curtly, but Serra did not hide her smile. It was fortunate that Diantha had been tasked with mentoring two girls who were so close. Such bonds ought to be cultivated, so Diantha would push them in that direction. Just like Lillia and I. Their mentor had been a harsh woman, too, who wielded her tongue like a lash and was never known to say a kind word. That was for the best. Diantha found comfort from such torments in Lillia’s arms, in her lips, in her bed. Lillia was so kind, she thought, recalling the way that, whenever Diantha was deserving of scorn, Lillia would appear an even greater disappointment to their teacher, so that all punishments would befall her rather than Diantha. Madam Faschial never cared that corporal punishment was abolished, Diantha remembered that very well. Even Lillia’s efforts hadn’t fully spared her the beatings, but Diantha was grateful for her efforts anyways. At times she thought that perhaps this might further Mia and Serra’s bonds as it had hers and Lillia’s, but she never found it in her to raise a hand on her wards.

  These two stand more evenly, both of them almost useless. Lillia was special, my better half. I owe all I am to her. The tradition of coupling Blossoms had faded thousands of years ago, but Diantha saw that as folly. None fought more fiercely than one with her lover at her side. None more wrathful than one who watched her lover die.

  Lillia faded in her sleep. At night we held one another, but come dawn I was all alone in bed.

  Sir Petri was ushered in by his attendants, whom he dismissed upon Diantha’s request. He wasn’t even pretending to smile. That was for the good: annoyed people were thoughtless and ill-suited for diplomacy, and may well reveal more than they should. The sooner they learned the details behind these talks of rebellion, the sooner Diantha would figure out what was to be done here.

  “Good Sir,” she extended a hand, offering him to sit. He refused to, preferring to stand. He was awfully tall, and perhaps proud of it. He did quite impressively tower over three teenage girls, while Diantha compensated for some of her disadvantage with her large, wide-brimmed hat. “Greetings to you. I am so thankful you have come to receive us,” she offered him her hand, her rose ring gleaming with magic. A simple spell, but it was impressive how much a little light could do to impress and cow an outsider.

  “Lady Maglora,” he said, reluctantly taking hold of her hand and kissing her ring. The tip of his warm lips brushed up against her finger. Unkind thoughts swam in Diantha’s head. “You are enchanting. And these are, ah… Your little seeds?”

  “I’m no Lady, though you would be a gentleman even if you had not been knighted,” she said. He would not fail to be stung by those words. “These are my pupils, Mia, Serra and Teana.”

  They greeted him shyly, but pleasantly enough. Children were always far more agreeable when they did not speak. Still, as expected, the sight of a fourth Blossom visibly displeased Sir Petri.

  “You are a professor, am I correct?”

  “It is one of my duties, though I am primarily a Blossom, and merely a guest lecturer at Rosa Aeterna.”

  “I understand. I presume that you do not teach arithmetics, then? You informed me to expect three guests, and so I made such arrangements at the Hotel Calipetri, but I count four Blossoms here. Surely you would not mistake three and four.”

  “Is that an impediment, Sir Petri?”

  “I would not like it to be said that I have failed to offer my guests the hospitality of Vaduria.”

  “My, that would be vexing indeed. Surely you have quarters at your own estate? My sweet Teana is not demanding. I’d rather you find private quarters for my darling, but we would never want to inconvenience you-”

  “Fine,” he said. So this was all the extent of his patience? His courtesy did not last half a dozen sentences. “Lady Maglora, I’ll be honest.”

  “I would not expect otherwise, Sir Petri.”

  “We need more than three novitiates to uphold the peace. I understand you have suffered difficulties, but my liege lords would have desired more experienced hands…”

  “You’ll have no cause to doubt the worth of my most capable wards, Sir. I selected them myself, and I have an eye for greatness.”

  “I’ll be the judge of your boast,” he said. “You, girl.”

  “I’m Serra Ablya, Sir.”

  “Do you know anything of Vadurian history?”

  “I have several books on the topic. Though I must admit they are not of Vadurian authorship.”

  “Books such as…?”

  “I, well…” She faltered. “Well, they are… Basic textbooks, really… Introductions to finer details of the lands of Siodrune. I haven’t really reached Vaduria, though. The chapters are ordered alphabetically.”

  “I see. And you did not consider prioritizing the study of the land you would be defending?” When she had no answer for that, his annoyance grew, and he approached her companion instead. “You?”

  “Mia Svenilah, my lord! I mean, I’m sorry… Sir. Sir Petri.”

  “You appear to be quite warm. Too warm, I’d say. But it is not winter, and, besides, Vaduria is not a cold country.”

  “I-I see… I thought it… Ah, I apologize for making… For making assumptions. Of course Vaduria is a warm country. You have, I think, uh, beautiful… Deserts, no? Not too distant from Tel Ubaitha…?”

  “Mercy,” he sighed, then turned to Teana. “Your hair is the color of lively grass… A Crecenzan?”

  “Yes. I’m Teana Precci, my lor- Fuck.”

  “Hm. Yes, a most impressive crop,” he said, looking down on Teana. “Are you a sproutling, child? You have the look about you, the gormless airs of children stumbling. Are you what the Rose has to offer, now?”

  “I… What…?” Teana began to stutter. “I… You… What… What are you…?”

  “Splendid, they sent me a…” He grumbled, and for a second seemed to consider his words. Alas, he failed to consider them long enough. “I did not know that Rosa Aeterna had begun to accept retards-”

  Diantha smacked his face so harshly she could have killed him had she only mantled her armor and magic. He was fortunate that it was mere silk that struck him. Nevertheless it had been enough to scatter blood and teeth along the beautiful brown floors beneath their feet. It had been too long since she last had the pleasure of hurting an outsider. As Petri tried to recover and get back up, Diantha looked down on him with disdain.

  “Your owners do not value your tongue, Sir Petri, so there would be no protests if I pulled it out with my bare hand. It is your good fortune that I’ve no desire to touch such a repulsive worm. If you think yourself valuable enough for your masters to antagonize my Order for your sake, you may go ahead and try me. There are cells in the depths of the Tower of Rebirth shaped just like a man, quite uncomfortable for lads far slimmer than you,” that was a lie, but it did not matter. Fear, for the nonce, strengthened the Rose’s position. “These maidens have traveled far to safeguard Vaduria and your lives, your families, and your precious rocks and rags and cowpies. They are to be treated with more respect than the whores you’ve fathered.”

  “You… You…!”

  “Me? Have you words to say to me?” She placed her foot in front of his head as he struggled to his feet. “No? Then run along home, have someone escort Teana, and pray tell your masters that I will save your country for you, and won’t even require thanks. As fine a bargain as you can hope for. Now begone from my sight. I want only to see you again as a figure seeing us off as we depart, shrinking as you become more distant.”

  Grumbling, protesting, he still obeyed, a hand on his cheek, quickly leaving the Blossoms alone once more. Their relief was evident, as, even if Sir Petri had not been such an unpleasant host, it was far too soon to cast these girls into diplomacy, at lands far from home. Teana approached her, embarrassed, showing a hint of a smile.

  “Thank you, L-Lady Maglora-”

  “I’m not a Lady, you simpleton” she repeated, annoyed. “And you needn’t thank me. I plainly could never abide insults towards my sweet, treasured wards.”