Maxwell is the only person I hate more than my Mistress.

Maxwell and I had been schoolmates. As the top two students in our graduating class, a friendly rivalry had persisted between us. We were each poised to go on to change the face of magic after graduation.

On the eve of our graduation, they came. Conquerers from a fading reality, falling from the stars. My Mistress was first among them.

We know little more about them now than we did then. We call them the Elders, for they are undying.

Maxwell became one of only three mortals to secure a holding. He did so by betraying our homeland to my Mistress.

I remember the betrayal clearly. My friend and ally turning on his own men, on me, in the heart of our most dire battle. The memory still makes my blood boil.

In light of this, Maguerite’s reaction when I tell her I’ve been given the privilege of interrogating Maxwell’s aethernaut is quite understandable.

“Stop wasting time! Put on a shirt and find out where that bastard’s hiding.”

She’s in rare form today.

My thoughts wander more as I make my way to the holding cells. My Mistress also has reason to hate Maxwell. He has betrayed her, too. He is the reason we hide in a pocket reality, rather than standing firm in the real. He so weakened us that retreat and slow recovery became a necessity. My Mistress went from first among her peers to last. But without him, my Mistress would never have allowed me to grow strong enough to fight as her proxy.

I guess that means I should thank him. I won’t.

I open the door to the prisoner’s cell and I can’t suppress a slight sadistic smile.