An Invitation from the Imperial University Mage Tower
Three days later, at Deharem Manor.
Scrub, scrub.
The elf lowered her cleaning cloth and stepped back from the window. The glass was so spotless that she could see her face reflected in it.
For some reason, the sight made her smile.
She had been working as a maid at the manor for some time now. Lately, even these modest household chores had begun to give her a curious sense of satisfaction.
With magic, she could have cleaned the window in less than a second. Doing the work with her own hands, though, made the result feel different.
She inspected the corners of the frame and nodded.
That should do it.
She had finished everything the chief chamberlain had assigned for the afternoon. Once the bucket and hand cloth were returned to the supply closet, she would have free time.
Which meant she could go and talk to Theorad.
Whether Theorad would call that an enjoyable way to spend his time was another question.
I should get moving.
Carrying her bucket, the elf turned—then stopped.
A witch on a flying broom was descending toward the manor's front yard.
The witch landed gently, took a letter from her shoulder bag, compared the address with the one on the mailbox and slipped the letter inside. Her errand complete, she mounted her broom and flew away.
Curiosity was enough to send the elf outside.
Who's written to the manor?
She opened the mailbox and drew out the letter. At the sight of the mark pressed into the sealing wax, she frowned.
The Imperial University Mage Tower…
The seal bore a spire, the emblem of the University Mage Tower.
Why would such an institution write to Theorad?
The elf considered the artificial-rain magic they had recently perfected. Roylen was a full professor at the Tower. If Roylen had reported that accomplishment to the Tower's leadership, interest from the institution was hardly surprising.
But an invitation from the Tower did not necessarily mean good intentions.
Ignoring it could be troublesome too. The letter would have to reach Theorad.
She was studying the envelope when someone spoke behind her.
“Planning to have a look inside?”
It was Beynon.
The knight was holding an astonishing quantity of Balgeum chocolates. He wore an irrepressibly pleased grin.
The elf gave him a sullen look.
“I know better than that.”
“Good. Knowing is enough.”
An awkward silence followed.
Beynon broke off a piece of chocolate, put it in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. Then he broke off another.
The elf watched him in disbelief.
Apparently mistaking her expression for interest in the sweets, he held one out.
“Have one. There's plenty.”
She accepted it, then looked up at him with a new question.
“Sir Knight, why are you carrying so much chocolate from Balgeum?”
“Hah! Ha ha!”
Beynon laughed so hard that tears appeared at the corners of his eyes.
“Don't misunderstand. It isn't because I'm a glutton. Grandfather was nagging me, so I thought I'd annoy him a little.”
“Grandfather?”
“The chief chamberlain, to you. The young master said I could eat as much chocolate as I liked, but Grandfather keeps telling me to stop. Imagine that—someone else trying to overrule the master!”
He clicked his tongue with theatrical indignation.
“So I took all the chocolate in the drawing room while he was watching. I'll put it back when I've teased him enough. He's probably searching for me already.”
“…Isn't that embezzlement?”
“Do you think I could eat all this? I told you, I'll return it.”
The elf could only stare. It was remarkable how a grown man could take such pleasure in a childish prank.
“Oh, before I forget.” Beynon stroked his chin. “The young master isn't feeling well. Why don't you look after him when you deliver that letter?”
“Master is ill?”
“Nothing too serious, I think. He spent most of last night preparing measures against diseases and pests on the farm. He went to bed late and woke up with what looks like a cold.”
That explained why she hadn't seen him all day. She'd thought he was avoiding her as usual.
The realization left her feeling strangely hurt.
“Grandfather and I told him to stay in bed, and it seems he's listening. But a little company would help. Besides, the young master likes you.”
That last part was surely Beynon's misunderstanding. The elf chose not to argue.
“I'll see to him.”
“Thanks. And if Grandfather asks, you haven't seen me.”
Beynon patted her shoulder and went around the side of the manor, apparently intending to circle through the back.
He had barely disappeared when Havid hurried out of the front door, red-faced.
“Have you seen Beynon?”
The elf pointed toward the side wall.
“He went that way.”
“Thank you for being honest. That Beynon…!”
Havid marched off in pursuit.
The elf watched him go.
How peaceful.
Perhaps it truly was an ordinary, peaceful afternoon.
“Master?”
She opened the door to Theorad's room and looked in.
The antique furnishings were arranged with the quiet refinement expected of a nobleman's chamber. Her eyes moved past them to the bed.
Theorad lay there, breathing heavily, a folded towel on his forehead.
Is he suffering that badly?
It was supposed to be a cold, but he looked thoroughly worn out.
Holding the letter, the elf went to his bedside.
“Master, a letter has arrived from the University Mage Tower…”
No answer came. His breathing remained labored.
She placed the envelope on the bedside cabinet and knelt beside him.
Something about seeing Theorad in pain made her uneasy. She wanted to do something, if only to keep her troublesome toy from breaking.
She touched the towel.
It's cold.
It looked as though Havid had replaced it recently. There was no need to change it again.
She considered using healing magic, but that seemed excessive for an illness which, as far as she knew, was not life-threatening.
Should I leave?
There was little point in remaining just to watch him suffer.
She began to rise.
Theorad frowned in his sleep and lifted one hand.
“Don't go…”
His outstretched hand hung in the air.
Then, in a faint, strained voice, he added:
“Father… Don't go…”
Is he dreaming of the day Wellion died?
The words sounded too full of grief for her to walk away.
She remembered a time long ago when she herself had suffered a nightmare. Theorad had stayed beside her then.
I suppose this is my turn.
She reached out and took his hand.
Almost at once, the tightness in his expression eased.
“Father…”
His voice dwindled. He closed his fingers lightly around hers, drawing her hand nearer.
There was hardly any strength in the gesture, but it was clear that he was reaching for comfort.
Perhaps he thinks I'm his father.
Theorad had lost his mother when he was very young. Wellion had raised him almost alone, and had been a loving father until sudden illness took him away.
Even now that Theorad had grown into the head of his household, that grief could hardly have vanished.
The elf looked down at their joined hands.
She held his hand a little more firmly, saying nothing.
Elsewhere, in the director's office at the Witches' Academy—
“D-Director?”
Pares stood before Weedra, looking thoroughly bewildered.
She had been working on her graduation thesis when the summons arrived. A sudden call from the academy's head was enough to frighten any student.
But Weedra scarcely seemed interested in her.
The director was inspecting herself in a full-length mirror. She wore an expensive new robe and a broad, rather puffy witch's hat, striking pose after pose as she admired the effect.
On someone so small, the elaborate outfit was almost comical.
After an extended private fashion show, she finally turned.
“Well? What do you think?”
“Pardon?”
“This is supposed to be fashionable among witches working in the system. I paid a fortune for it. How does it look?”
The accessories certainly looked costly. Whether they suited her was another matter.
Pares hesitated, then made the sensible choice for a student summoned by an important superior.
“W-wow! It looks wonderful! You look like a star. No, even better!”
“Really? That good?”
“Absolutely! Magnificent. You look incredible!”
Weedra's brows rose and fell with delight. The praise was excessive, and she must have known it, but she showed no desire to correct Pares.
“Excellent. You pass.”
“…Pass what?”
“I have a business trip to the Imperial University Mage Tower. I need an assistant, and I want to take you. You're someone who actually saw the Black Flame Witch.”
“The University Mage Tower?”
Pares stared.
Relations between the Witches' Academy and the University Mage Tower were famously poor. Their exchanges of magical knowledge often ended in arguments, each side determined not to concede anything to the other.
Why would the academy's director visit the Tower now?
Weedra took a letter from inside her robe and unfolded it. At its foot were the seals of the imperial family and the University Mage Tower.
“The Tower wants to discuss the Black Flame Witch. And Princess Benelia wants to meet me personally. I can't see much reason to refuse.”
“Even the princess asked to see you?”
Weedra folded the letter away with a smile.
“War with the Demon Lord is drawing closer. Perhaps they're desperate enough to ask even us for help. There's no harm in hearing what they have to say.”
War? Again?
Pares went still.
Weedra turned back to the mirror for one final inspection.
“Besides, you never know.”
Her voice took on a note of anticipation.
“Perhaps we'll meet the Black Flame Witch there.”