They departed before sunrise.
The Knights’ Order was a hive of activity, and despite the early hour, crowds of well-wishers lined the capital’s streets, lending the air a festive quality.
Someone recognized the crest on Sylvia’s carriage and shouted, “It is the Appleton ducal carriage!” and a cheer went up from the people.
“This is quite remarkable,” Alicia murmured, peering out through a gap in the curtains.
The city guards saluted the carriage, and people craned their necks, hoping for a glimpse of the mage inside.
Hearing Heston’s name chanted in the crowd, Sylvia marveled at their enthusiasm, five months after the fact.
‘Heston has truly become a hero.’
But her own name was never called.
Upon seeing the Appleton crest, someone even shouted for her brother, Aerut, who was likely still asleep in his northern ice castle.
‘Perhaps Father is right.’ Heston was a hero, betrothed to a princess, while she was nothing.
Sylvia shook her head, trying to banish the thought that gnawed at her soul.
Servants were forbidden from entering the Knights’ Order, so she parted with Alicia at the gate.
A long line of carriages had formed, and a guard directed her to disembark quickly.
Alicia set down the luggage and, in that brief moment, pulled Sylvia into a tight hug.
“You must return safely!”
“It is not a dangerous mission, but… thank you.”
Alicia pressed her face against Sylvia’s shoulder, which smelled faintly of flowers, then stepped back.
Sylvia waved, then gathered her things and followed the guard inside.
Familiar faces nodded in greeting.
She handed over her luggage, straightened her uniform, and instinctively started toward the front of the formation, only to stop short at the sight of Princess Katrin and Heston.
‘Right.
That is not my place.’ A black cape, trimmed with the gold thread of a mage, was draped over Princess Katrin’s shoulders.
Pinned to her left breast was the large, ornate insignia designating her as the leader of this company.
“Sylvia, is it true?
That you are partnered with Owen on this dispatch instead of Heston?”
It seemed they had all been waiting for her.
They surrounded her at once, grabbing her arm.
Sylvia forced her gaze away from Heston, who was listening intently to the princess, and nodded.
“Yes.”
“Good heavens, this is too much.
You are not just any Supporter, but his partner, sworn before God.”
“Exactly!
After all Sylvia has contributed to Heston’s achievements, to be treated this way…”
“Well, it is not for me to judge,” Sylvia said, the words tasting like ash.
“I do not wish to question the orders of my superiors.” It was almost comical, hearing herself say this after she had glared so fiercely in the commander’s office only yesterday.
“But…”
Sylvia offered an awkward smile and scanned the crowd.
Not finding whom she was looking for, she turned back to the other Supporters.
“Have you seen Owen?” Come to think of it, she had not seen him since that day in his cell.
“He was last seen entering Count Bronovitz’s carriage a few days ago.
It seems he has not been to the Order since.”
“Well, I suppose they have much to discuss as a family,” someone said with a sneer.
The comment made Sylvia uncomfortable.
She turned to identify the speaker: a man with bluish hair and sharp, monolid eyes.
When their gazes met, he simply shrugged, his expression insolent.
‘It is true that it is none of my concern, but…’
As she turned back to the front, she recalled that Owen, too, had involved himself in a matter that was none of his concern and had ended up imprisoned for it.
“Ah!”
A sharp sting, like a needle prick, flared in her palm.
She looked down, but her skin was smooth and unblemished.
‘Could this pain… be Owen’s?’ She had not synchronized with him at all recently and had begun to think the Mana Sharing had finally faded.
For the past few days, she had rejoiced in the absence of that mortifying sensation that accompanied his waking moments.
She had still taken the medicine, of course, just in case.
‘What on earth is he doing to injure his palm?’ Had he fallen?
No, if he had, surely the point of impact would ache, not his hand.
The thought was fleeting.
“Lady Appleton.”
A clear voice cut through her thoughts.
She looked up to find nearly everyone staring at her.
At the center of their attention stood Princess Katrin.
Sylvia froze, feeling like a schoolgirl caught daydreaming, as the princess smiled and glided through the crowd to stand before her.
“It has been some time.
I was so worried when I received your letter saying you were unwell.
Did the gift I sent arrive safely?”
“A gift?”
“The desserts from Lavrang!”
Sylvia searched her memory.
She recalled Rosalyn arriving with her arms full, and how delicious the pastries had been.
‘‘What is this?
It is divine!’’ she had exclaimed, licking cream from her thumb.
Rosalyn had smiled benevolently and replied, ‘‘Lavrang.’’ She had, of course, made no mention of the princess.
Knowing Rosalyn’s forgetfulness, the omission was likely not intentional, but the situation was no less awkward for it.
“Yes.
Of course.
They were exquisite.” A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.
“I heard from Heston!
He told me you have a fondness for sweets.
He said he always packs sugar cubes for you when he goes on dispatch.
I was so surprised to hear it.
‘They must be very close,’ I thought.”
Her smile was gentle, but her words were laced with barbs.
‘Why is Heston packing sugar for you?’ The question was unspoken but clear.
Sylvia felt a flush of guilt and could only remain silent, her lips pressed together as if she had bitten into ice.
For the first time, she was grateful not to be Heston’s partner on this mission.
If the princess were to see Heston drawing her washing water, that picture-perfect smile would surely shatter.
“Heston is simply very attentive to those around him,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“He is the same with Rosalyn.
I am practically family, so…”
“Of course, I am well aware of Heston’s nature.
And I am well aware of yours, Lady Appleton, having seen how splendidly you have supported him.
That is why I feel so terribly guilty for taking you from his side on this occasion.
And so…”
She linked her arm through Sylvia’s in a gesture of friendship.
Sylvia flinched, a sense of foreboding creeping over her.
Standing next to the tall princess, she, who barely reached Katrin’s shoulder, felt smaller than ever.
“Could you briefly explain the fundamentals of support magic to me?”
Sylvia had been staring at the princess’s gold-threaded cloak and the jewel-encrusted badge on her breast.
The words took a moment to register.
“Pardon?”
‘Did the princess just ask me to teach her support magic?’ As if she intended to take her place.
As if it were a simple trick that could be mastered in a few minutes.
Yes.
Even if Sylvia felt nothing for Heston, the request was a profound insult.
“With all due respect…”
“I know, I know.
But please, indulge me.
We may face danger, and I wish to be of some help to Heston.
I can clear a path for him with my own magic, of course, but restoring his stamina… that is the domain of a Supporter.
Rest assured, if I feel I have not mastered it well enough and might become a hindrance, I will not attempt it.
So do not worry.
Just teach me a few things.”
A bitter taste filled Sylvia’s mouth, as if her bruised and long-suppressed pride had dealt her a sharp blow.
A mage could serve as a Supporter, but a Supporter could never become a mage.
It was an immutable truth, one she had never wished to acknowledge, and now it felt as though that simple fact had been laid bare before her with brutal force.
‘She is right, of course.’ Sylvia knew Princess Katrin would have no trouble mastering the support magic she herself employed.
The art lay in knowing which spells to use in which circumstances, but as the princess had said, she could learn the fundamentals quickly enough to be of aid to Heston.
Her assistance would not be as profound as Sylvia’s, his sworn partner, but it would be a help nonetheless.
Besides, Princess Katrin was a treasure of the Empire, said to have inherited the full might of the emperor, who had been a mage of legendary power.
It was only her gender that placed her a step below the princes on the path to the throne; had she been born a man, she would have been named crown prince long ago.
So it was said.
And had she not proven the empire’s strength for all to see when she took to the battlefield herself a year prior?
For Heston’s sake, then, and for the Empire’s—if she held any respect for the princess who had dedicated herself to the realm, it was her duty to share her knowledge.
She had to do what was right.
After all, she wore this uniform in defiance of her father’s will, all under the pretext of that same dedication.
A dull ache brushed against her heart, but she quickly adopted an obedient posture and taught the princess a few useful support spells.
Princess Katrin listened intently, her face brightening, and then thanked Sylvia with a light embrace before returning to the head of the column.
She wore the pure, innocent smile of a woman eager to please the man she loved.