Marina never liked the Snow Dancer.
She never liked anyone, but she was a special case. The elven woman was utterly without conviction.
She knew from the first day they'd met that this was someone devoid of goals. It was preposterous to her. An A-rank elven sword saint had more to achieve than anyone else, for the simple reason they could actually do it. Ophelia was incredibly gifted. And yet she was as blasé about her aspirations as she was about her talents.
The way she acted, it was as if she was some common sellsword resigned to accept whichever offers came her way.
The truth was that few could afford her skill set.
Because not only was she exceptional with her sword, but she also boasted sleight of hand to match the most disreputable of thieves.
Ophelia the Snow Dancer could, quite easily, kill or rob her way to any life of luxury she desired. Instead, she was content to be the errand runner of a duke. Not even the King or Queen of Tirea. But a mere glorified provincial administrator.
And that infuriated her.
So much so, that even when Marina should be poring over these final books in Castle Aquina's stately library, she was instead seething with indignation at the injustice of it all. Marina had worked herself tirelessly to become who she was. And it still wasn't enough. Not now. Not yet.
Her eyes paused halfway down the page.
She couldn't finish it. Not when the object of her irritation was making a mockery of the library more than even the duke and all his ancestors by ignoring the pages within this trove of hidden knowledge.
“So, like I said, dinner,” said Ophelia, her feet perched atop the table as she leaned back in her chair. “The Duke wants your magic advice before you leave. Oh, and he also wants to know when you're actually going to leave. I don't think harbouring a wanted criminal looks good on his already patchy record.”
Marina tightly pursed her lips as she eyed the feet beside her.
She held herself back.
Not now. Not here. She had other concerns. Even if she dearly wished to see how swift elven reflexes were when faced with an [Infernal Tornado] at a distance of half a metre, she couldn't incinerate this woman.
At least not while all the books were here.
They were useless for her needs, true. She could see that now. But they were still works of lifelong study. Many erroneous, yes, or hopelessly inadequate. But poorly written texts were by no means meritless. It served as important frameworks and references when directing future scholars on how not to conduct a study.
Marina was, above all, a researcher. And she did not distinguish between failures and successes. Each was a step on the same ladder. And at the very top was a goal further than anyone had reached for centuries.
Although others had gotten close.
Her mother closest of all.
Very, very close.
Marina's fingertips loosened against the pages of her book. Her temper settled as swiftly as it flared. A memory. An emotion. Things she didn't need, dredged up like a corpse from the bottom of a lake. She blanketed her mind, then focused on the elven woman tapping her heel against the table. A distraction for a distraction.
Sometimes, Marina wondered how she got any work done at all.
“I'll leave tonight,” she said, snapping one of the few unread tomes to her side with little more than a wish. “Tomorrow, if I find a writing which doesn't cause my eyes to bleed. Rest assured, Snow Dancer, I won't overstay the Duke's hospitality.”
“If you need hospitality, you should visit my cottage.”
“Your cottage?” Marina looked up from her book. She did not understand this woman. No more than she understood the fae's love of eating bricks. “Do I take it you'd be willing to harbour a wanted criminal, then?”
“Not me. My ducks, though. Those two are friendly as marshmallows in the sand.”
“The words you just said made no sense under any context.”
“They're really nice. If I'm out and you need a place to stay, you can visit. If I'm in, I'll probably shoo you away, though. And by that, I mean snip off your head. To be honest, I'm almost tempted to do it now. I definitely think we're going to fight at some point.”
For a moment, Marina was almost taken aback by the sheer casualness of the remark.
Almost.
Because the people she'd cast her lot with were nothing if not lunatics to a fault. She'd become accustomed to erratic personalities. Marina had no doubt she was the only sane person in the entirety of Lotus House.
And if not, well.
She was at least the sanest person in this room.
“You may try,” said Marina, whose [Molten Barrier] could be erected faster than the Snow Dancer could sweep her feet off the table. “But it will end as well for you as it would this terrible treatise on overcoming the 2nd Maxim principle in modern alteration magic.”
The Snow Dancer merely replied by blowing a tuft of her silver hair away from her shoulder, as though she hadn't heard her reply.
It was, in fact, likely the case.
In a duchy … no, a kingdom more famed for its plentiful cottage market than its skilled warriors, Ophelia the Snow Dancer stood out like a crystalline tree of the Winter Court in a field as barren as the Withering had left the lowlands.
And as a result, she'd been struck by the curse of the strong.
Ophelia simply no longer cared about anyone or anything. At least nothing normal. And certainly not the Duke. As one of only two active A-rankers in the kingdom, she had few rivals and even fewer equals. It was more than likely she was going along with the Duke's scheming on a whim than actually having any genuine stake in this exercise in madness.
“And dinner?” she asked.
“What?” replied Marina, incapable of reading more than two words without being disturbed.
“You didn't answer. What about dinner?”
Marina purposefully flicked through the tome she knew had no answers for her. Fewer and fewer now offered anything tangible. She was close. And even fate knew it. These last pages, words … they were the final piece to unlocking the puzzle.
“I will decline. These poorly written ramblings of Mage's Guild failures have already destroyed my appetite.”
“—And how glad my court mages will be, knowing that their ramblings have been of service.”
Marina barely turned in her chair. Neither she nor the Snow Dancer rose.
Duke Valence, ruler of the Duchy of Aquina, northern dominion of the Kingdom of Tirea, stood in the doorway to his private library.
Despite this, Marina knew he had never set foot in this place for reading. It was a meeting room decorated with books, meant to present an image of learnedness and high intellect.
The man needn't have bothered.
Despite his greying hair, he proudly boasted of his ability to be a nuisance to the royal family like a child still yet to finish playing. The armour he wore was a gold trimmed tunic barely covering the length of his stomach. At least it had the unintended effect of ensuring the sigil of his duchy was prominent wherever he waddled.
No, he was certainly no scholar.
He was an imbecile. And the only reason why dust didn't greet Marina's eyes with each page she turned was due to the tireless work of the castle's attendants.
“Duke Valence.” Marina returned to the book in her hand. It was useless. But so was the Duke. “Thank you for allowing me use of your library. My ability to efficiently identity meaningless dribble has greatly accelerated due to the work of your court mages.”
He broke into a humourless smile.
“Your gratitude is unnecessary, Miss Lainsfont. Only your expertise is. I take it you are quite done with ransacking my alcoves?”
“That was done without my assistance. There is neither rhyme nor reason to this library's bibliography. The organisation of these volumes match the thoughts of those who wrote them.”
“Then I shall convey this to the steward. He'll doubtless appreciate the knowledge that his life's work while still a Royal Institute mage was mistakenly placed on the wrong shelf.”
“No need. I've placed it in its proper place.”
Marina waved towards the direction of a rubbish bin in the corner. It was overflowing with books. Had the Duke not now decided to personally usher her away, it would have continued to be filled with the entirety of his library.
She wondered why she was even invited to dinner.
“Ophelia,” said the Duke, the absurd arrogance in his eyes present even when speaking to his own greatest asset. “You were due to spar with the squires, were you not?”
The Snow Dancer shrugged, still with her feet on the table.
“I did. I sparred with them mentally. I won.”
The next moment, those feet were on the floor, skipping past the Duke and out towards wherever this woman went at will. None in this castle could stop her.
The Duke's expression was hard as he watched the elven woman's retreating figure.
“And where are you going?”
The Snow Dancer gave a carefree smile as she twisted and waved.
“Home. I need to feed my ducks.”
“The Tournament begins tomorrow.”
“I'll be back. Maybe. I mean, I still need to register, so who knows? But eh, probably not. I'll think about it.”
“You will what?”
And just like that, the Snow Dancer had left.
Marina had to acknowledge her indifference to authority. Even for an A-rank sword saint, impudence at this scale was an ill-advised venture. All the more reason why it infuriated her that she still accepted the tasks given to her.
But then again, she was not the only one who wore impertinence on her sleeve.
“... Speak, Miss Lainsfont,” said the Duke, nodding with the least amount of respect his station could provide. “Should you wish to voice your thoughts, I encourage you to do so while you still have an audience with me. Why, for someone whose magic has been instrumental in my endeavours, I would offer my ear if I can, given the debt I carry. I certainly feel ill at ease offering only my library.”
Marina let out a scoff of derision.
Her true reward would come later. And not by him.
After all, Marina did not sell out her services to Lotus House for the wage they didn't even bother to pay her. No, this man's library was all she wanted from him.
But as that was currently proving fruitless, then his distance would also suffice.
“I have nothing to say,” said Marina, irritated at herself for knowing that she very well did. “... After all, your work speaks for itself.”
The pride in the Duke's eyes lit up.
“Why, thank you.”
“That wasn't a compliment. Your … court mage's initial attempt at penetrating the Winter Court's domain was so clumsy that it resulted in snow pouring through a breach. Had I not stabilised the gap, your plans would be floundering as much as your duchy as it tried to survive an all-consuming blizzard.”
In response, the Duke merely smiled.
“A blizzard will still come, Miss Lainsfont. The fae will arrive in short order, bringing the ruin of winter with them.”
Marina nodded. For once, she found this fool's prediction perfectly accurate.
“Correct. Your duchy will be destroyed.”
“I merely said they would bring the ruin of winter. Not that Aquina would be destroyed. You underestimate the will of my people. Ours is the spirit of fortitude and perseverance. Qualities to match winter.”
And now came the time for Marina to roll her eyes.
“None but the Winter Queen can master the Crown of Winter,” she stated with simple bluntness. “I don't know why Lotus House humours you. I'm far too disposable to know that. But whatever your grand scheme is, it will fail. But at least you may buy some time with your hastily arranged tournament to escape. I imagine they would pause in their rampant destruction to enjoy the spectacle of a few starry eyed fools dancing for coins.”
The Duke of Aquina merely chuckled. Yet although his eyes remained filled with the glint of hubris, they were not altogether lost to madness.
Only then did Marina note the absence of the Crown of Winter on his person.
She thought this man would carefully guard it, clutching it in his hands even as he slept. And yet the precious artifact was somewhere else. That meant it had another purpose. One which didn't require the Duke's constant fawning.
That was good.
If the Crown of Winter was here, it may very well react to the shard she'd snapped off when distracting the Snow Dancer with her staff.
“A shame that for all your magic, you are still lacking in creativity,” said Duke Valence, nodding once more before turning from his own library. “... I came to ask a question, but now see that the answer is beyond you. I expect you to leave in good time, Miss Lainsfont. Do ensure that my expectations are not misled.”
And so the Duke left, following in the footsteps of his most powerful asset.
When he did, Marina could only break out into a self-deprecating smile.
And why not?
Despite being an imbecile, he'd spoken truly. Marina did lack creativity. She was poring through tomes written by historians, when she strove to be history itself. What more did she have to learn from failures whose ambitions peaked at the feet of a duke?
And so she needed to return to where stories and dreams interwove. To a place where problems only existed to be solved.
She needed to return home.
Just one final time.
"......"
But first—
Marina picked up another book atop her table.
The Snow Dancer had finally left to do … whatever it is that sword saints did when they weren't stabbing things. If Marina was lucky, she'd never see that elven woman again.
But then again, there were so many people Marina hoped never to see.
And as she spied a teasing playing card dropping from the book she opened, she realised with a click of her tongue that luck was never something she had in droves.
Marina never liked the Snow Dancer.
She never liked anyone, but she was a special case. The elven woman was utterly without conviction.
She knew from the first day they'd met that this was someone devoid of goals. It was preposterous to her. An A-rank elven sword saint had more to achieve than anyone else, for the simple reason they could actually do it. Ophelia was incredibly gifted. And yet she was as blasé about her aspirations as she was about her talents.
The way she acted, it was as if she was some common sellsword resigned to accept whichever offers came her way.
The truth was that few could afford her skill set.
Because not only was she exceptional with her sword, but she also boasted sleight of hand to match the most disreputable of thieves.
Ophelia the Snow Dancer could, quite easily, kill or rob her way to any life of luxury she desired. Instead, she was content to be the errand runner of a duke. Not even the King or Queen of Tirea. But a mere glorified provincial administrator.
And that infuriated her.
So much so, that even when Marina should be poring over these final books in Castle Aquina's stately library, she was instead seething with indignation at the injustice of it all. Marina had worked herself tirelessly to become who she was. And it still wasn't enough. Not now. Not yet.
Her eyes paused halfway down the page.
She couldn't finish it. Not when the object of her irritation was making a mockery of the library more than even the duke and all his ancestors by ignoring the pages within this trove of hidden knowledge.
“So, like I said, dinner,” said Ophelia, her feet perched atop the table as she leaned back in her chair. “The Duke wants your magic advice before you leave. Oh, and he also wants to know when you're actually going to leave. I don't think harbouring a wanted criminal looks good on his already patchy record.”
Marina tightly pursed her lips as she eyed the feet beside her.
She held herself back.
Not now. Not here. She had other concerns. Even if she dearly wished to see how swift elven reflexes were when faced with an [Infernal Tornado] at a distance of half a metre, she couldn't incinerate this woman.
At least not while all the books were here.
They were useless for her needs, true. She could see that now. But they were still works of lifelong study. Many erroneous, yes, or hopelessly inadequate. But poorly written texts were by no means meritless. It served as important frameworks and references when directing future scholars on how not to conduct a study.
Marina was, above all, a researcher. And she did not distinguish between failures and successes. Each was a step on the same ladder. And at the very top was a goal further than anyone had reached for centuries.
Although others had gotten close.
Her mother closest of all.
Very, very close.
Marina's fingertips loosened against the pages of her book. Her temper settled as swiftly as it flared. A memory. An emotion. Things she didn't need, dredged up like a corpse from the bottom of a lake. She blanketed her mind, then focused on the elven woman tapping her heel against the table. A distraction for a distraction.
Sometimes, Marina wondered how she got any work done at all.
“I'll leave tonight,” she said, snapping one of the few unread tomes to her side with little more than a wish. “Tomorrow, if I find a writing which doesn't cause my eyes to bleed. Rest assured, Snow Dancer, I won't overstay the Duke's hospitality.”
“If you need hospitality, you should visit my cottage.”
“Your cottage?” Marina looked up from her book. She did not understand this woman. No more than she understood the fae's love of eating bricks. “Do I take it you'd be willing to harbour a wanted criminal, then?”
“Not me. My ducks, though. Those two are friendly as marshmallows in the sand.”
“The words you just said made no sense under any context.”
“They're really nice. If I'm out and you need a place to stay, you can visit. If I'm in, I'll probably shoo you away, though. And by that, I mean snip off your head. To be honest, I'm almost tempted to do it now. I definitely think we're going to fight at some point.”
For a moment, Marina was almost taken aback by the sheer casualness of the remark.
Almost.
Because the people she'd cast her lot with were nothing if not lunatics to a fault. She'd become accustomed to erratic personalities. Marina had no doubt she was the only sane person in the entirety of Lotus House.
And if not, well.
She was at least the sanest person in this room.
“You may try,” said Marina, whose [Molten Barrier] could be erected faster than the Snow Dancer could sweep her feet off the table. “But it will end as well for you as it would this terrible treatise on overcoming the 2nd Maxim principle in modern alteration magic.”
The Snow Dancer merely replied by blowing a tuft of her silver hair away from her shoulder, as though she hadn't heard her reply.
It was, in fact, likely the case.
In a duchy … no, a kingdom more famed for its plentiful cottage market than its skilled warriors, Ophelia the Snow Dancer stood out like a crystalline tree of the Winter Court in a field as barren as the Withering had left the lowlands.
And as a result, she'd been struck by the curse of the strong.
Ophelia simply no longer cared about anyone or anything. At least nothing normal. And certainly not the Duke. As one of only two active A-rankers in the kingdom, she had few rivals and even fewer equals. It was more than likely she was going along with the Duke's scheming on a whim than actually having any genuine stake in this exercise in madness.
“And dinner?” she asked.
“What?” replied Marina, incapable of reading more than two words without being disturbed.
“You didn't answer. What about dinner?”
Marina purposefully flicked through the tome she knew had no answers for her. Fewer and fewer now offered anything tangible. She was close. And even fate knew it. These last pages, words … they were the final piece to unlocking the puzzle.
“I will decline. These poorly written ramblings of Mage's Guild failures have already destroyed my appetite.”
“—And how glad my court mages will be, knowing that their ramblings have been of service.”
Marina barely turned in her chair. Neither she nor the Snow Dancer rose.
Duke Valence, ruler of the Duchy of Aquina, northern dominion of the Kingdom of Tirea, stood in the doorway to his private library.
Despite this, Marina knew he had never set foot in this place for reading. It was a meeting room decorated with books, meant to present an image of learnedness and high intellect.
The man needn't have bothered.
Despite his greying hair, he proudly boasted of his ability to be a nuisance to the royal family like a child still yet to finish playing. The armour he wore was a gold trimmed tunic barely covering the length of his stomach. At least it had the unintended effect of ensuring the sigil of his duchy was prominent wherever he waddled.
No, he was certainly no scholar.
He was an imbecile. And the only reason why dust didn't greet Marina's eyes with each page she turned was due to the tireless work of the castle's attendants.
“Duke Valence.” Marina returned to the book in her hand. It was useless. But so was the Duke. “Thank you for allowing me use of your library. My ability to efficiently identity meaningless dribble has greatly accelerated due to the work of your court mages.”
He broke into a humourless smile.
“Your gratitude is unnecessary, Miss Lainsfont. Only your expertise is. I take it you are quite done with ransacking my alcoves?”
“That was done without my assistance. There is neither rhyme nor reason to this library's bibliography. The organisation of these volumes match the thoughts of those who wrote them.”
“Then I shall convey this to the steward. He'll doubtless appreciate the knowledge that his life's work while still a Royal Institute mage was mistakenly placed on the wrong shelf.”
“No need. I've placed it in its proper place.”
Marina waved towards the direction of a rubbish bin in the corner. It was overflowing with books. Had the Duke not now decided to personally usher her away, it would have continued to be filled with the entirety of his library.
She wondered why she was even invited to dinner.
“Ophelia,” said the Duke, the absurd arrogance in his eyes present even when speaking to his own greatest asset. “You were due to spar with the squires, were you not?”
The Snow Dancer shrugged, still with her feet on the table.
“I did. I sparred with them mentally. I won.”
The next moment, those feet were on the floor, skipping past the Duke and out towards wherever this woman went at will. None in this castle could stop her.
The Duke's expression was hard as he watched the elven woman's retreating figure.
“And where are you going?”
The Snow Dancer gave a carefree smile as she twisted and waved.
“Home. I need to feed my ducks.”
“The Tournament begins tomorrow.”
“I'll be back. Maybe. I mean, I still need to register, so who knows? But eh, probably not. I'll think about it.”
“You will what?”
And just like that, the Snow Dancer had left.
Marina had to acknowledge her indifference to authority. Even for an A-rank sword saint, impudence at this scale was an ill-advised venture. All the more reason why it infuriated her that she still accepted the tasks given to her.
But then again, she was not the only one who wore impertinence on her sleeve.
“... Speak, Miss Lainsfont,” said the Duke, nodding with the least amount of respect his station could provide. “Should you wish to voice your thoughts, I encourage you to do so while you still have an audience with me. Why, for someone whose magic has been instrumental in my endeavours, I would offer my ear if I can, given the debt I carry. I certainly feel ill at ease offering only my library.”
Marina let out a scoff of derision.
Her true reward would come later. And not by him.
After all, Marina did not sell out her services to Lotus House for the wage they didn't even bother to pay her. No, this man's library was all she wanted from him.
But as that was currently proving fruitless, then his distance would also suffice.
“I have nothing to say,” said Marina, irritated at herself for knowing that she very well did. “... After all, your work speaks for itself.”
The pride in the Duke's eyes lit up.
“Why, thank you.”
“That wasn't a compliment. Your … court mage's initial attempt at penetrating the Winter Court's domain was so clumsy that it resulted in snow pouring through a breach. Had I not stabilised the gap, your plans would be floundering as much as your duchy as it tried to survive an all-consuming blizzard.”
In response, the Duke merely smiled.
“A blizzard will still come, Miss Lainsfont. The fae will arrive in short order, bringing the ruin of winter with them.”
Marina nodded. For once, she found this fool's prediction perfectly accurate.
“Correct. Your duchy will be destroyed.”
“I merely said they would bring the ruin of winter. Not that Aquina would be destroyed. You underestimate the will of my people. Ours is the spirit of fortitude and perseverance. Qualities to match winter.”
And now came the time for Marina to roll her eyes.
“None but the Winter Queen can master the Crown of Winter,” she stated with simple bluntness. “I don't know why Lotus House humours you. I'm far too disposable to know that. But whatever your grand scheme is, it will fail. But at least you may buy some time with your hastily arranged tournament to escape. I imagine they would pause in their rampant destruction to enjoy the spectacle of a few starry eyed fools dancing for coins.”
The Duke of Aquina merely chuckled. Yet although his eyes remained filled with the glint of hubris, they were not altogether lost to madness.
Only then did Marina note the absence of the Crown of Winter on his person.
She thought this man would carefully guard it, clutching it in his hands even as he slept. And yet the precious artifact was somewhere else. That meant it had another purpose. One which didn't require the Duke's constant fawning.
That was good.
If the Crown of Winter was here, it may very well react to the shard she'd snapped off when distracting the Snow Dancer with her staff.
“A shame that for all your magic, you are still lacking in creativity,” said Duke Valence, nodding once more before turning from his own library. “... I came to ask a question, but now see that the answer is beyond you. I expect you to leave in good time, Miss Lainsfont. Do ensure that my expectations are not misled.”
And so the Duke left, following in the footsteps of his most powerful asset.
When he did, Marina could only break out into a self-deprecating smile.
And why not?
Despite being an imbecile, he'd spoken truly. Marina did lack creativity. She was poring through tomes written by historians, when she strove to be history itself. What more did she have to learn from failures whose ambitions peaked at the feet of a duke?
And so she needed to return to where stories and dreams interwove. To a place where problems only existed to be solved.
She needed to return home.
Just one final time.
"......"
But first—
Marina picked up another book atop her table.
The Snow Dancer had finally left to do … whatever it is that sword saints did when they weren't stabbing things. If Marina was lucky, she'd never see that elven woman again.
But then again, there were so many people Marina hoped never to see.
And as she spied a teasing playing card dropping from the book she opened, she realised with a click of her tongue that luck was never something she had in droves.
