The Havlanish Lord

Sweat beaded down Lorraine’s brow. Everything was still and silent. She flexed her hands. Her back was to Vivienne. She closed her eyes and focused. It’s almost over. Soon life would begin. All she wanted was to be a great sorceress and this would be it. Soon she’d be strong.
“Go!”
Lorraine snapped out of her daydream as she whirled around. Her blood rushed. Her heart drumming. Elder power simmered as it heated through her veins waiting to be focused. The space between her and Vivienne was about ten meters in diameter. With a single word, she gave her magic a command, shape, and focus.
“Torrai,” she chanted.
Fire plumed from Vivienne’s palm toward her, and Lorraine split the space before her. She felt the connection between the air and opened it simultaneously at Vivienne’s side. Water swelled up from the sand and it stretched out before Lorraine guarding her. The fire passed through and onto Vivienne’s own side. The princess narrowly avoided her own spell and panted as she looked at Lorraine. 
Lorraine dropped it and grasped her pendant. “Cossai el nix.”
She stomped on the ground and water morphed up and took shape into the form of a feminine torso. It’s clawed fingers and smooth face made of ice as well. She caught the water spirit, claiming it, in one of the sewers beneath Merpalais causing back up as it nested and recognized it from her father’s stories hunting across the Empire. Now, she commanded it forth and their battle truly began. 
The nix swept forth and pulled water from the sea forth as a wave towards Vivienne. The princess shot herself above it on a blast of fire. As she soared down, she kicked a plume towards Lorraine. She did as she did before. A portal came open and redirected flames towards Vivienne who rolled beneath it at the center of the ring. Lorraine pulled her nix back from the edge and pursued her opponent head on. Vivienne aimed her fire across to her, so in response, Lorraine stepped back into a portal to shield herself behind her nix. 
Vivienne barely twisted around in time to shield herself from a barrage of icy swipes. Lorraine kept her focus. The plan was going as well as she envisioned it. Usually during their battles, they were permitted one spell and select one dialect to practice within. This duel, she could do anything. It was oddly thrilling.
The battle went on between them exchanging spells. Lorraine shielding herself with portals, and her nix pushing her opponent further back. She righted herself just barely before the nix used the water lapping up to surge up and wrap around Vivienne. Lorraine controlled it to lift her up and then slam her onto the ground. When she was done, she pulled the nix back and rose up.
It was done. Her eyes widened, and she saw when Vivienne didn’t pick herself up, the duel was over. After years of hardship, it was finally done. A laugh broke from Lorraine. Her fists drawn down while she panted. She stopped though when Vivienne didn’t rise. Simon stepped forward with his hand raised before anyone could applaud.
Lorraine approached slowly. She had to make sure the princess was down. Unharmed as well. She imagined the consequences of harming the King’s blood. Even if she was a cousin, she was still of royal blood. Lorraine panted and knelt down to Vivienne.
“Vivienne?” Lorraine asked. 
In seconds, the princess twisted tossing sand into her face. Lorraine’s eyes burned, tears going down her face while she tried to get it out in time. A foot stomped into her back. She slammed into the shore. She twisted to Vivienne crawled onto her. Lorraine wrestled. Her arms twisting to get free. 
“Azai,” Vivienne chanted.
A searing pain shot up her forearm as Vivienne burned it. The pain so blinding, she thrashed. It was enough that Lorraine didn’t think, a snarl mixed with a scream came out of her as she whirled the back of her hand across Vivienne. Hot tears ran down her face, and she trembled looking through burning eyes to her maimed arm. She wheezed.
“Lorraine!” Simon called.
“Hey!” Vivienne called.
Lorraine twisted behind her, and Vivienne slammed her foot into her face. Then it was all black.

Lorraine woke up wishing she hadn’t. A light breeze tickled her brow and she peeled her eyes open to see dark curtains shaded her. She laid in a cot with a small table adjacent to her. Her face throbbed similarly to her arm. Though, her nurse was kind. Damp fabric cocooned her burn leaving it cool. Though evidently there was some struggle. In a wash basin near her had here and there a few sanguineous cloths. She touched her face with her free hand itching off flakes of dried blood near the crest of her nostrils. She pinched her face.
“Simon?” she asked.
No answer. Instead, a man shifted into her view. Lorraine couldn’t speak. It was like a statue had come to life before her. He bore a golden helm of long hair pulled back to showcase his smooth narrow face. His eyes too were moonlight silver. It was uncannily perfect. Even and unblemished. She’d never seen someone who looked so odd.
Her medic approached and sat on the edge of the cot.
“He’s outside,” he said.
She wiped her sleeve against her nose. My arm! Lorraine hastily pulled off the cloth to see her smooth forearm. Nothing. No burns. She was healed near perfectly. Fine work really. While a few ghost pains addled her, she was resoundingly whole. Not that she expected to leave her last duel that way. She turned back to the shore where through parted curtains she saw Simon standing amongst the other officials. Namely the university council. He pointed across to Vivienne then. The princess gawking and striding forward..
“To act with such indignity! She has shamed our school! We have rules that prohibit such foul behavior!” he snapped. 
Other professors pulled him aside begging him to control his temper. Lorraine turned. She didn’t want to see whatever happened.
“I can scarcely believe she’s a princess,” the medic said.
“Her father’s a duke. She’s hardly a princess,” Lorraine said.
The medic laughed. He then nodded: “True.”
“Who won?”
“They’re still determining that.”
“So who do you think they might decide?”
Silence followed. It was an answer enough. It was stupid of her to assume she’d win, or even if she had won, that they would allow her to be the victor. She ran a hand through her hair and sighed. The whole thing was wretched and cursed. A humiliation for sure. She began to lay back down pulling a blanket further up herself to cover herself with. She needed darkness like a moth drawn to a flame in that instant. If she hid then maybe everyone would forget? Not that she would. Perhaps hiding for a year or a decade would do.
“How did you think to use portals so defensively?” the medic asked.
Lorraine paused. She crept the blanket up to her shoulders and laid flat. Did he speak to me? She squinted her eyes at him.
“Me?” she asked. 
He laughed. “You’re usage of portals to redirect spells. Why, they’re so often used for more practical means, I scarcely thought to implement them in an defensive way while also somehow making them offensive. Not to mention the quantity you made.”
It was one of the first spells she ever learned. Back in Orlogne, her small town of Cazetrou was close to the country’s commanding Chasseur Fort, Mondruhe. It was up steps that at the time, were more than daunting. She spent hours climbing them. Hauling her short legs grew tiresome before she finally learned she had the voice for Elder. The sorcerer of the fort, Caspari, taught her the spell. No sooner, from her out her room to the fort’s gate she went in seconds. It was Simon who taught her even practical spells could be used to fight.
“Versatility is a pillar of strong sorcery,” she quoted.
It was beaten into her memory when she arrived at Merpalais. Whilst scrubbing floors in the library, Simon would throw lessons at her. Sometimes, she wondered if he practiced his quotes in his room before spewing them at her.
“You fight uniquely,” he said. “Is it your favorite spell. Torrat?”
She sat up. “It was my first spell.”
“You began in Cossar?”
The inflection in his voice and the way his eyes widened reddened her cheeks. It was the first dialect, as they called the classes of magic, she learned. One she favored. In her youth, she read endlessly within it’s study. At times, despite Simon’s disapproval, she delved in to the woods to summon and capture her creatures to bind with; those times were fond ones. The risks were worth the reward.
Lorraine nodded.
“I didn’t know there were any sorcerers left in your family,” he said.
Once her father passed, she became the last sorcerer left in her family. All alone. She swept sand off her uniform and shook it out of her hair. The medic turned away from her. He twisted back to her laughing.
“And that water nix? Is that the only creature you have,” he asked.
She clutched her pendant.
“A nix, Roiternay—“
“Roiternay?”
“Oh, my matagot. He’s off somewhere I bet. I named him after Manon de Roiternay. Then I have a Dame Blanche, and two gargoyles,” she explained.
Manon de Roiternay was about one of two sorcerers—the other being Monferriz—Lorraine wished she could have met. They were masters of Cossar. Monferriz had developed the very array on her choker while Manon de Roiternay was the first to map out all the known realms. Without their work, Lorraine wouldn’t have known as much as she did. A pout contorted her face just thinking about how she’d been born four hundred years too late. 
“You caught a Dame Blanche?” the Medic asked.
She nodded. It wailed in the tombs beneath the university. Simon suffered without sleep as did many students, but since he felt particularly annoyed, he requested Chasseurs to come deal with it. Lorraine begged him to let her brother come. He obliged. Antoine came as though the creature had taken her and charged up the steps only to bicker with her on whether he’d allow her to catch it. His partner convinced him to listen to her. Once she had it caught, everyone in the city fell soundly asleep for once. Though it was still wily, and she scarcely summoned it because of how easily frightened it got.
“Did your father teach you Cossar?” he asked.
Lorraine shook her head and managed a smirk.
“He lacked the patience for it, nor did he practice the dialects I’ve learned,” she explained.
Her father practiced the dialects of Vocar and Allar. The dialects he chose were perfect beside his skills as a Chasseur. Enough so, that her father slew the most Immortals of any Chasseur. The dreaded beasts stood no chance. Even the former emperor, knighted him and named him the hero of their nation for it. She took a deep breath and extended her hand out.
“Lorraine Châtelaine, and you?”
He bowed his head and dried his hand with the bottom of his blouse. She jolted from his cold damp touch.
“Duke of Havlan, David Van Diest.”
Lorraine smiled hard. Tears burned her eyes. Of course… The nobleman smiled and cocked his head.
“We’re you honestly not expecting that?”
“No…”
She trembled slipping her hand from his. Her chest tightened, and she bowed as low as she could before him. Her fists curled. She should have known. From his accent, to even his shoes. Fine leather. Cobbled surely by a fine craftsman for a lord of his rank. Even the small accents were gold.
“Please forgive me, my lord. I never should have spoken so vulgarly before you,” she whispered.
David knelt before her and he laughed.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, you can rise. I only jest. By the gods, I wish a mirror had been here, you should have seen yourself… please forgive me, I had to have my fun.”
“Had I known, I would have been more formal. Please forget what you heard me say, my lord,” she whispered.
“Well, then it should be a secret between us then, shouldn’t it be?” he said.
She wiped her eyes and he handed her a clean cloth. She grasped it and sniveled. 
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
“Oh, yes. That is if you’re attending it tonight?”
“Attending what?”
“The ball tonight?”
Lorraine scrunched her face. Balls were not her forte. It wasn’t that she didn’t like dancing or wearing pretty clothes. When she was little, she dreamed of being one. In the court, she’d do ballet and for some time, she had been en route to do so. Instead it was like being swarmed.
“Are you not fond of parties?” he said.
She hesitated to speak more.
“I’m not the socialite I wish I was. Nor the dancer.”
David scoffed. “That’s a pity. If you dance as you fight, I’m sure you’re a fine dancer.” 
Before she could even speak further, the curtains flung open, and Simon sauntered in grumbling to himself. He circled around cutting before the Duke of Havlan and reached towards her cheek. His calloused hand caught on her skin and hair while he moved her face around to inspect. 
“Are you alright?” he asked.
She nodded.
“Didn’t I specifically say no maiming,” he growled.
“Who won?” Lorraine asked.
Simon rolled his eyes. “The Princess. They decided it would look better if she won.”
Lorraine almost wanted to laugh at that. “Ah, I see.”
Simon hugged her tightly. He kissed her temple. “You did well,” he whispered.
Tears gathered in her eyes as she smiled at him. She wiped them away. 
“What about my arm? Will she not be punished for that?”
“I’m afraid not—“
“I’ll see to her punishment,” David suddenly said. “I promise. I have an idea for something already.”
The lord vaguely smiled, and Lorraine didn’t know if she should be afraid for the Princess or happy. She stepped back uneasy. Can he even do that? She crossed her arms and looked to Simon.
“I don’t know why I expected anything different,” she muttered.
“A fair duel,” David said.
Simon sighed. “Life rarely gives those.”
The High Sorcerer tousled her hair. When David coughed, the high sorcerer glowered back at him as though his very presence unnerved him. She tugged on his sleeve to remind him to be nice.
“Eheh…” Simon said. The silence permeated the room before Lorraine forced a cough to break it. With that, Simon placed his hand on her shoulder. “I should thank you for tending to her. You truly didn’t need to. I should have done so myself.”
“No, it’s nothing. What’s that saying they say. A silent sorcerer is a useless one,” David said. He stretched out his arms and then put his hands onto his hips. “I’m getting an in itch to use it anyway.”
Lorraine bowed. “Thank you my lord. I will not forget this.”
David shuffled forward and grasped her hand. Delicately so. No sooner his soft lips pressed against her fingers. Shivers went down her spine.
“I am a bit peeved, that Louviere did not tell me how beautiful you are,” he said. 
She side eyed Simon. He wouldn’t like that comment. It already made him grimace and shake his head.
“For a child… Now! What is it you wished to discuss with me?” Simon asked.
She glowered at him. He did this every time a man ever complimented her.  Am I not twenty? 
He shifted himself in between them. Arms crossed with his eyes going down his nose onto the young lord. They began to discuss business that she hardly knew about. Safety precautions for the ball, it’s visitors, and the Duke’s paintings. She turned back towards the outside of the tent where she vaguely saw between the flaps that Vivienne stood with the professors. She snapped at one of them and shirked off their hands. She swallowed and turned back to Lord Van Diest.
“Is it true a Black Chasseur passed through here?” David asked.
One did, her godfather. Jean Pelletier. He went north into Havlan to investigate a string of murders that were suspicious. Some of the locals and folk spread vast rumors talking about evil fey, unknown beasts, and some deigned to talk about green-fire breathing dragons.
Simon nodded. “This is better discussed privately, my lord. Lorraine, I think you should go and get ready for tonight,” he said pinching his nose. When he turned back towards David, he crossed his arms. “I assure you, I made many protective measures for this ball. The only possible danger could come from within and we vet through every invitation possible…”
As they continued to talk, she went about collecting her things. Whilst she made way to exit, the Duke angled his head towards her.
“Wait!” he said. 
She turned back.
“It was lovely meeting you, Miss Châtelaine. It’s shame you won’t be attending the party,” David said.
Shit. I never said I wouldn’t go, she thought.
“Whatever do you mean? It is obligatory, my lord,” Simon said through closed teeth.
“Oh, I see. That’s quite funny. Miss Châtelaine told me she would not attend. That she’s not the socialite she’d like to be.”
“Hmm… that’s quite funny, indeed.”
Lorraine feigned a smile and shook her head. “Lord Van Deist, you are quite amusing. Perhaps I shall take my leave and prepare for the ball of which I am most certainly attending.”
She glared at David who grinned at her. That bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing. Having Simon remind her with a glower, that it was in fact obligatory, she hid her chagrin and made her way out of the tent. 
“I’ll see you there, Miss Châtelaine,” he said in Orlognian.
Hearing her first language spoken so dignified froze her in place. It was such a rich language. Bold and energetic. She had to admit, now, she was impressed by Lord Van Diest.
Her lips tugged upward. Perhaps, I can get this apprenticeship after all. She strode out of the tent unable to hide her wide smile. Out in the beach, Charlotte stood shaking sand off her quilt and then rolling it up to carry. Most of the students had fled back to the university. All eager to prepare for the ball awaiting them all. When they met gazes, she ran through the sand to her friend. She nearly tripped. The wind’s strength returned tenfold, and the gust blew their hair over their faces.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Charlotte stood back holding her shoulders. She turned her forearm over and swore. “Ugh, I bet that hurt worse than Morana’s flames.”
“Guess who healed me though?” Lorraine began.
Charlotte raised a brow looking past her. “But he’s so handsome! Are you sure that’s him?” 
Lorraine shushed her as they went farther from the tent so that he wouldn’t hear them gossip. She walked down the beach with Charlotte for a long while talking to her about what happened and what all occurred between her and the lord. In their walk, she gazed onto the shoreline, where Vivienne stood with her arms crossed. Her eyes narrowed and fixed onto Lorraine. She turned and walked through a portal back to the university. Lorraine knew in that moment, Vivienne would not give up easily.
“Apart from the end, how did I do?” Lorraine asked.
“Why you were the absolute worst!”
Lorraine slapped her shoulder before grabbing Roiternay from her and hooking her arm around hers. Her matagot purred with something stuck in his teeth that looked golden. She pried it out seeing he’d swallowed a gold livre. She sighed. Charlotte laughed.
“Let’s just get back. I’d rather not have my wrist slapped by de Pizan”
So they went along the road, and went to prepare for the ball.