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.

“Rise, Aldain. Explain. Astound. Preferably both.”

My Lady’s voice is still stern. It’s too early to tell how irrational her anger has made her. Slowly, I stand. Before I speak, I bow at the waist. There is one breach of conduct, though. As I straighten, just before I begin to speak, I make eye contact with my Mistress. Her violet eyes betray her. I am still her favorite. Still in her favor.

“Mistress,” I intone. “I lost track of time. I was investigating a new technique. One which will finally give you the upper hand required to seize Queendom.”

My Mistress is pleased. The thought of the others bowing at her feet is too tempting, too powerful for her to ignore. That will be her downfall.

“If you speak the truth, then your tardiness is excused. But if I ever find you have been lying to me, Aldain, I will make you find many, many reasons to wish for death. And it will be withheld.”

She pauses and sighs, her expression changing. I’m visibly in the clear now.

“Do you know why you were to come here today, Aldain?”

“No, Mistress.”

She smiles at me. “I have a gift for you, Aldain.” She pauses, looks away feigning disinterest. “In three days, the castle will fall back into normal reality.”

For a moment, my confusion must be plain on my face. I knew all this; I am responsible for pulling us into and out of the world.

“Maxwell, Duke of Carlisle, has sent a scout into M-space. We have caught him. The task of extracting information from him falls to you, Aldain.”

So that’s the gift. I bow repeatedly, stammering gratitude and apologies. She waves me on.

As I walk out of the garden, Maguerite is once again beside me.

“You astound me, Aldain, you truly do. You walk in fully in her wrath and she shows you favor.”

I shrug and continue on my way to my quarters. I need to change into a better tunic and fresh gloves. Shabby clothes are not intimidating.

Maguerite continues while I remove my cloak and shirt. “Some day, your recklessness will overshadow your usefulness.”

I shrug. Her eyes roam over my chest and back, lingering on each scar left by our Mistress’s lash. She’s seen it all before, of course. We’ve shared these quarters for six years.

“Aldain, please. You’re all I have left of home. Don’t let her take you away too.”

I look at Maguerite and there are tears in her eyes.

Interrogation can wait.

I embrace her; she still smells like our homeland. I feel hot tears against my chest.

“Maguerite,” I whisper. “One day we shall cast off these chains. We will be free to build our own dominion. To recover our homeland.”

She pulls away and looks up into my face. The fear and sadness in her has been replaced with hatred. The fury on her tear-stained, red, swollen face is a thing of true ferocity.

She says one word; it comes out as a snarl.

“When?”

Sometimes I forget where I am.

It’s nice when that happens. I don’t really care for the places I usually am. Most often this happens when I get caught up in my work. Sometimes it happens at the very worst time.

“Aldain!” comes the frantic cry, echoing across realities. It’s dangerous to give away your position like that. She must be truly desperate.

I fade back into the world. On a whim, I leave the realm I have made intact, there to grow and progress in my absence. Taking my cloak from its hook, I begin to walk quickly in the direction of the palace gardens, wrapping my cloak around me as I do. About halfway, I am joined by the woman whose voice called me back here.

“Aldain,” she hisses, falling into step beside me. “Where have you been? You were due in the Mistress’s presence over an hour ago.”

I keep my composure, even after learning how very late I am. Instead, I adopt a stern tone as I speak to her.

“Maguerite, regardless of how late I am, never call across worlds. I would rather I perish for our Mistress’s wrath than we all die by the hands of her rivals.”

“Do you think me a fool? There is a very narrow band of M-space that all of your demirealms reside in. I called only across them. No one will come that you can’t handle.”

We both stop at the huge double doors marking the garden’s entrance, glaring at one another. Maguerite stands a full head shorter than me, but her spirit is as strong as anyone I’ve ever met. Usually this manifests itself as stubbornness, like it is now. She’s in highly formal garb: Her straight black hair is pulled back, held in place with an ornate clip worked in gold and platinum; the black velvet dress with gold and silver trim must be the most expensive one our Mistress has given her. This worries me. Formality calms our Mistress. Formality means our Mistress needs calming.

Finally her green eyes break away from my black ones as she lets out a huff. She opens the door and steps in before me.

“My Lady, Sorcerer Aldain is here, as you requested.”

She curtsies so deep that she nearly falls. I suddenly become cognizant of the fact that my black tunic is one of my older ones. My cloak could use a wash and a press. There are holes in three of the fingers of the glove on my left hand. I am not dressed in such a way as to improve my position.

“Come in, Aldain.” My Lady’s tone of voice does not bode well for my fate.

Now it is my turn to rely on formality. I walk into the garden, straight down the path to the base of the dais upon which is my Mistress’s chair. I fall to one knee and press my forehead to the ground.

“Mistress, though sore unworthy, I can only beg your grace and forgiveness for my tardiness.”

My Mistress is unhappy with me, but I am still one of her favorites. And not easily replaceable. Still, I keep my head to the floor, my arms outstretched. I am frozen in my bow. Had I been watching someone else, it might have been funny.

I am not watching someone else.