Chapter 60: A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief
I now have an editor, so you all shouldn't need to put up with my typos and poor/dyslexic editing skills anymore.
:)
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Fiona gently rubbed her eyes and blinked several times, feeling like she was going blind after staring at the same spot on her arm for the last few hours. "I'm not liking this at all."
"I have yet to meet someone who enjoyed training in magical healing." Mage Weston replied with a sympathetic smile.
They were still in his office where they had been half of the morning while the court mage had been teaching her to heal herself. On Lord Delmar's orders, the court mage had hired a dozen mana sinks -- people whose job it was to donate normal mana so a person could practice beyond his normal mana capacity -- and she had already burned through all the mana they had to give. Not improving her mood was the fact that she needed a wound to heal in order to learn magical healing, and thus had been repeatedly jabbed with a small needle.
"Can I be stopping?" She asked. "I'm thinking that I used all the mana in the castle by now."
The mage chuckled. "We'll resume tomorrow; you made excellent progress today."
"I'm not feeling like it."
"You closed the wound in under thirty seconds during your first session. That is an extraordinary feat."
"It was just a pinprick though." She replied.
"All things in time." He replied. "And if it's any consolation, not everyone who is gifted with magic takes to it naturally."
"Oh?"
"The most gifted mage that I ever taught is Rachel Delmar." He replied, a grandfatherly smile appearing on his face as he spoke. "And yet she was unusually bad at magic when she started, just like her mother was. However, Rachel overcame that through hard work. And then one day, magic seemed to 'click' for her, as they say. Thereafter, it was as natural to her as breathing and she progressed rapidly. I never told her how impressive her magical skills are, and she is likely still unaware herself, but one might almost call her a prodigy. Yet even she struggled immensely when she began."
"Okay." Fiona nodded, not looking forward to future practice. She already had a 'healer's scar', which was an almost invisible tiny round scar that developed from repeated poking with the needle to practice healing. As Fiona thought about Mage Weston had said, the part about the Lady Helene stuck out in her mind because of what Lord Delmar had said that morning in their room.
"You were saying that Helene was struggling with magic; were you teaching her?"
"No, she was taught by my teacher, the former court mage of both Helene's father and Lord Delmar." He smiled again, though it was a slightly sad smile. "Illuminar rest his soul."
"Amen." She said. "Can I be asking a question about Lord Delmar?"
"Of course." The mage replied.
"Was he always so strict with the rules, or was that happening after Lady Helene died?"
"It is hard for me to say because I wasn't the court mage when Helene died and thus I had very little contact with him back then." He replied. "My memory is a bit fuzzy on the timeline, but it might have been around then."
Fiona nodded slowly, wondering if her suspicion was correct. "Is there anyone who would be knowing for sure that I could ask?"
"Sir Warrick would know. He's been the head of the Narlotten council since before your husband became lord."
"My husband." She repeated slowly.
"Give him time." Mage Weston said with a kind smile. "You are a good woman, he is a good man, and you two are bonded. He will likely fall for you eventually, though I suspect he will resist doing so for the sake of Helene's memory."
Fiona nodded, then stood. "Well, I suppose I should be seeing if Sir Warrick is having a moment."
He stood as well. "Or, you could send one of your handmaidens to arrange a meeting for you. If you arrange every appointment yourself, you will likely do little else before long."
"Aye, I could be doing that." She nodded.
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"Have a seat, Miss Dawson."
Selene did, watching the man who had spoken as she did so since he was clearly in charge. He reminded her of a slightly older, more self-important version of Lucien Kalus. He was perhaps an inch taller than she was and was built solidly, but didn't look like a gym rat. He still had a little bit of a dark color in his mostly white hair and short beard, though the lines in his face weren't very deep yet. The way he carried himself told her that he was confident almost to the level of arrogant, but he also didn't seem like a pompous asshole either.
Thank God for small favors.
The room looked very much like a stereotypical Wall Street conference room on TV, except that it had no windows. The table was long and made of some expensive-looking wood, the walls were blue, and there was a large American flag trimmed with gold fringes in one corner. Yvonne was sitting at the table in a professional-looking business suit with her hair done up and elegant glasses on her face. Opposite her was Clive Eustace Humphry, aka, Smithbond. Selene chose to sit on Yvonne's side of the table, though with an empty seat between them so they didn't look chummy.
"And who might you be?" Selene asked, making sure to keep her tone conversational. Luminar Kossel had repeatedly told her not to be too serious when dealing with the leadership, and maybe crack the odd joke if one occurred to her. Apparently, it would make her look more confident and help with any nerves she was feeling. He wasn't wrong, at least about the second part.
"Mr. Brass." He replied with a straight face. He didn't even seem to be joking.
She raised her eyebrow. "Well, 'the brass' being named 'Mr. Brass' seems unlikely."
"Pseudonyms are standard practice in our agency." The man replied, his tone neutral enough that Selene couldn't get a read on it. "Names hold a certain kind of power, the power to know who someone truly is. Isn't that right, Miss Dawson." He hadn't emphasized her name in any way with his tone, but it felt like he was making a point anyway.
"I think Clive over here might agree." She replied, nodding her head towards the man but not looking at him.
The corners of Mr. Brass's mouth rose slightly. "They both said you were perceptive. I hope that quality will translate well into an accurate, honest, and complete account of your month-long stay on 10k1."
"The Ten Kingdoms." Selene corrected. "As best as I can figure, there are a bunch of kingdoms collectively called 'The Ten Kingdoms' under an emperor, and then there's a whole world beyond it with other countries."
"Please, recount the tale from the moment you left Earth." Mr. Brass said.
Selene looked at him for a long moment. It seemed strange that someone as important as this fellow would be present for this. He seemed like the kind of fellow who was high enough up to read reports, not be there collecting the data firsthand. That's when she realized something.
"Oh, Clive here screwed up again." She chuckled. "He was supposed to debrief me but never did, instead deciding to indulge in a little petty revenge because he didn't like that I knew how incompetent he is."
Clive opened his mouth to speak, but Mr. Brass raised his hand to stop him before speaking. "Incompetent?"
"Very." She replied. "To show you just how incompetent, let me start at the beginning and tell you how I came to be on the base in the first place.
