Chapter 47
There is a fantastic saying: when life gives you lemons, freeze them and throw them at the people causing your problems.
In my current case, if I threw one, I'd probably somehow manage to hit myself directly in the face.
Life, meanwhile, marched forward completely unbothered by my existential dread.
My magic remained a chaotic, unpredictable, and impressively destructive.
There had been some slight improvements, admittedly. I had become marginally better at controlling how much raw power I channeled.
Marginally being the absolute keyword there. The line between "slightly chaotic" and "potential public safety hazard" still felt alarmingly thin in my hands.
Theo, meanwhile, continued to exist in his natural state of being vague, mysterious, and mildly irritating.
He dropped creepy, accurate observations about me the way normal people dropped casual greetings.
Occasionally, he would point out something about my deep-rooted fears or my defensive reactions in a way that heavily suggested he knew way more about my past than I was comfortable with.
I still didn't like him. I also had the unfortunate suspicion that he knew exactly how much he annoyed me, which probably made it funnier for him.
Rhaevan, on the other hand, was a problem of an entirely different flavor.
After the absolute disaster with the floating liquid hearts, he had simply...
moved on. Like it was just another Tuesday.
I, however, spent the next several days walking around him like I was stepping on paper-thin ice.
Eventually, I finally relaxed, mostly because keeping up that level of constant embarrassment is frankly exhausting.
Fluff also started tags-alonging to some of our outdoor lessons. The tiny, magical creature would perch on a nearby rock and watch us with alarming, judgmental interest, occasionally letting out a tiny mew whenever I accidentally blew something up.
Curious, I once asked Rhaevan, "How did Fluff get magic anyway? Was he just born this way?"
"No," Rhaevan said casually, adjusting his cuffs. "I made him that way."
I blinked. "Wait, you can just do that?"
"He was naturally skilled at tracking things," he explained. "I simply enhanced that native ability. He can now track specific magical signatures exceptionally well."
I looked at Fluff with newfound, genuine respect. Okay, that was actually pretty badass. Then, a brilliant thought hit me.
"Can you do that with Cookie?"
Rhaevan stopped and looked down at me. "Perhaps. What exactly is Cookie exceptionally good at?"
I pondered that with absolute seriousness.
Let's see: chewing my favorite shoes, ripping giant holes in the curtains, and discreetly peeing into the young apprentice mages' boots when they weren't looking.
Did any of those specific talents really need a magical upgrade?
Probably not. The Tower would burn down.
"...He's cute," I offered weakly.
Rhaevan raised a skeptical eyebrow.
I cleared my throat. "I mean, he has a gift for making people feel better. Is there a spell to enhance his emotional support abilities?"
To my total surprise, Rhaevan's expression softened, and he smiled. "I don't think that's necessary, Cassiane."
I frowned. "Why not?"
"Because he's already very good at it."
...Fair point.
Another time, during a break, I asked, "Can you please teach me how to teleport without fainting, violently throwing up, or losing my dignity?"
Rhaevan looked at me, mildly amused. "You don't possess spatial teleportation magic, Cassiane."
I stared at him, deeply offended. "That seems unfair."
"Most mages can't teleport. It's incredibly rare."
"Well, great. My magic is utterly useless then. It only knows how to do one thing: explode."
Rhaevan actually laughed out loud at that. "I don't think that's entirely true."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "You're only saying that because you're the master and you don't have to personally repair the training grounds every time I blow up a rock."
Lucien, on the other hand, had taken to writing me letters. Regularly. Consistently. And with an alarming amount of pure enthusiasm.
The first one read:
?Dear Cass,
?Viremont remains disappointingly functional. The royal council spent three straight hours arguing about local taxes today, and I spent all three hours wondering whether your fluffy puppy has destroyed any expensive shoes lately.
?How is Cookie? Has he mastered any new chaotic talents? Has he finally become a certified menace to society?
?More importantly, how are you? Have you set anything on fire this week? Please write back and reassure me that the kingdom of Eryndor is still standing.
?Your concerned and extraordinarily handsome friend,
Lucien.
?Another one read:
?Dear Cass,
?I saw a puppy on the street today and immediately thought of Cookie. I also saw a massive slice of chocolate cake and immediately thought of you. I am beginning to suspect I spent far too much time in Eryndor.
?Viremont remains disappointingly peaceful.
?Please try not to destroy anything historically important. And if you do, I would appreciate a detailed, step-by-step account.
?Your loyal correspondent,
Lucien.
?Through his letters, I quickly learned that Viremont was the exact opposite of Eryndor.
They had almost no natural magic, so instead of throwing tantrums about it, they built a society on hard work, equal combat training, and genuine respect for the magic they did encounter. It sounded wonderfully sane.
?A deeply appealing thought hit me: as soon as I survived this prophecy nonsense, I was moving there. A peaceful kingdom with zero chaos and no room for my unreliable magic to blow things up? Perfect. I'd just have to ask Lucien for a citizenship recommendation later.
?Our so-called friendship arrangement had become surprisingly... comfortable. I read every single letter he sent, and every single time I did, I found myself smiling like an idiot. Eventually, I even started actively looking forward to the mail delivery.
?The only problem was that Amanda-brain had absolutely no idea what a normal person was supposed to write in a historical fantasy letter. Still, my days were getting easier, and life was moving forward.
?One afternoon, I decided to finally be brave. I pulled out a clean sheet of paper, cracked my knuckles, and picked up a pen.
?Honorable Lucien-
?No. I violently crossed it out.
?Extremely Distinguished His Royal Highness of Viremont-
?Ugh, no. That sounded entirely ridiculous.
?I sighed, ripped the page, and started over.
?Dear Lucien,
?There. Much better. Normal.
?I have finally decided to write back, although this is my first official letter and I have absolutely no idea how one is supposed to do this.
?I paused, chewing the end of the pen. Then another very important thought hit me.
?Also, are these letters read by royal messengers as part of some creepy security protocol? If so, this specific part is for the messenger: have you no shame? Give this letter right back to Lucien, you nosy thief.
?I nodded to myself, highly satisfied. Excellent security measure. I continued:
?To answer your questions: Cookie is doing great, and I am also doing well-if one considers being born a walking disaster to be a perfectly normal state of human existence.
?I stared blankly at the page. How on earth did people keep writing after this? What else do you even say to a prince?
As I was pondering this deeply critical writing crisis, a sharp knock suddenly sounded at my bedroom door.
"Come in," I called out, tossing the pen onto the desk.
The door opened, and Martha stepped inside carrying a beautifully wrapped, surprisingly heavy package.
"My lady," she said, bowing her head. "Her Highness Princess Lysenne has sent this directly for you."
I frowned, staring intently at the mysterious parcel in her hands.
I had absolutely no idea that destiny, once again, had looked at my peaceful afternoon and decided to test me.