let there be light.

The teapot floated down once each cup was sufficiently filled. His eyes meeting the young lord’s, thin fingers came to rest upon Cynwrig’s chin. “You speak of repayment and compensation… But I rather think that your desire for information arises from fear rather than appreciation. There is no gift of knowledge that a mortal such as yourself could bestow her with, so if you would be so kind as to speak true, my Lord?”

He brought the teacup to his lips, letting silence fall over them for the briefest of moments. “Her presence in Nore concerns you, and you want to know why she is here. You want to know what she is capable of in case you have need to defend your King from her. So I will ask you this one thing, my Lord, for I think you are smart enough to find the answer on your own.

“If Queen Ammut is as powerful as we know her to be, what else could she possibly be seeking?”

“You’re right.” Leaning back into his chair, Montague resisted the urge to cross his arms in a defensive pose, “I should have known better than attempting to keep my agenda hidden from you. It is a sensitive matter, after all. Regardless, I hope you’d accept my apologies.” He paused, contemplating his words, “There must be something the Queen wants from Nore. Without enough evidence, I cannot name it with confidence, but she values status and power. If I were to make a guess, the magic of Nore would be my suspect. Though I wondered...” To control the magic Nore possessed, she had to control Nore. Annex was an alarming word Montague would rather avoid using, but it did cross his mind, as he couldn’t think of another way for the Queen to harvest one of the last valuables left of the frozen kingdom.

“How a witch comes to harness their magic is more an assignment of fate, as you say. Some make do with the few resources they have – be they books, or a simple peddler of potions – while others, like myself, can seek out knowledge in other kingdoms. There is no school for witches somewhere, though you might find elders happy to share their knowledge. But as I have said, witches are secretive folk. If one is willing to gift you with their knowledge rather than place a curse upon your tongue for insulting them, you had best consider yourself lucky.

“As for the Queen Crow…” Cynwrig paused for a moment, his lips curling into a frown. “She is incredibly powerful, even more powerful than myself, loathe as I am to admit it. But her power…I cannot offer you insight into its origin, for as old as I am, her age surpasses mine by centuries, perhaps even millennia. If there was one who taught her, I do not know them, and I doubt she would ever admit to such a thing herself.”

He looked to Montague then, hands folding upon the book before him. “You are wise to be concerned about her, my Lord. She harbors many secrets that have gone quiet in her many years of life. But I wonder, what is it that made this hesitation arise? Or has her presence been a concern since she stepped foot upon Norn soil?”

“I like to know about my King’s guests, especially someone of such high profile.” He answered with his eyebrows raised slightly, “The Queen has been very generous in offering her friendship to Nore when it is most needed. I wondered what we could possibly repay her with, is all...”

His speech was cut short when a maid came in the study with a tray of biscuits and ginger root tea: “My Lords... Mr. Trelli let me bring tea.” Trelli being Montague’s steward. A thoughtful gentleman and Montague’s right hand man, though it didn’t stop the lord from being slightly annoyed at being interrupted. “Right. Leave it on the table. And tell Trelli that I do not wish to be disturbed. If I need anything, I’ll call for you.”

After sending away the maid, Montague glanced at the tray and, with a small sigh, pulled it closer to himself and his guest, “Please, feel free.” He gestured at the biscuits and continued where he left off, “It is simply curious, could there be anything that a powerful witch such as the Queen Crow herself wants which she does not already have?"

And so he forced himself to press on.

“The ability to conjure, as you said, is what marks one as a witch. The magic is inherent within you. Even if you were lacking in skill, the magic, the ability, would still be there. You would be no less a witch than myself in that regard.

“But there certainly is knowledge one must acquire if they wish to be a well-accomplished conjurer. I was fortunate enough to be shown the most fundamental spells in my youth.” He paused then, the rather unpleasant memories of his Mother’s instruction all too present within his mind. “But this is not the case of every witch. Some can live into adulthood without conjuring a thing. In fact, you have several young witches living within your kingdom. But I suspect they have never properly conjured a thing, and so their identities remain a secret to most.”

He cast a smirk in the young man’s direction. “But I hardly think that is of any importance at this moment.

“Still, if one wishes to harness their abilities properly, then yes, instruction is required. This can be done either through studying with another or studying on one’s own with the assistance of books. It is usually preferable that one witch has another elder to watch over them, as mishaps can often arise. But if the witch’s gift is strong enough, they may be more capable on their own than others.”

The assumption was that there were obviously witches born to witches, and their relationships Montague could only imagine. “The Queen Crow, for example, the most powerful witch known to the three kingdoms. Should we have reason to believe that she was once tutored by someone at least equally competent?”

She knew Montague was not stupid enough to miss the meaning behind her words. The Norn king was quickly losing the power his family held over this kingdom for years. Had she not stepped foot onto this snow-covered land, rebellion would have left hundreds, even thousands, dead. But monarchies were meant to rise and to fall. Royal families were meant to be usurped. Gods, though, gods were all-powerful. Gods retained their position for all-time. A land such as Nore needed a god to watch over its best interests, and Ammut intended to give them that in due time.

She kept these thoughts private, though she planned to return to this particular topic soon enough. But having reached their destination at last, the Queen saw fit to focus her attention upon the river, listening to the well-practiced speech Montague spouted with little interest.

“You are quite lucky the waters have not frozen over, otherwise your hardships might worsen. But while you may not be be blessed with as many resources as my Southern fishers, you all are still quite fortunate to have this place. There is opportunity to be found in even the smallest of things, a fact which many people come to forget.”

Slowing her horse to a stop, Ammut was helped down onto the soft banks of the river. There was magic here, buried just beneath the surface, and she knelt down to feel it beneath her palm. She smiled then, the rich soil dirtying her fingers. This untapped power, it would be all hers soon. But she must be patient. And she must be smart.

He watched the Queen approach the river and dismounted his horse as well. “Good fortune is the blessing of gods.” He answered, giving the rein to one of his servants, “The river is named after Dagur, the mighty father of Frey whose tears became the stream. They have always protected our people, as long as we conduct ourselves in peace and gratitude, and love our families. The Norns attribute it to the sacredness of the land and our gods. But if you are interested in the geology, we have scholars who could answer your questions.”

The King’s Advisor had never been a pious man in public. Though he did believe and have great respect for the gods, his faith was kept private. It didn’t stop him from being filled with awe, however, whenever he looked at the nameless mountain ranges and the moving river. He couldn’t quite put to words how it made him somehow uneasy to see the Queen Crow treading so close to the river that had sustained people’s lives and was a constant sight in even the earliest of his childhood.

“You speak my own fears,” she admitted softly.  “There is little we can provide her, save Sophia.”  Shaking her head ever so slightly, the Queen interlocked her fingers and rested her hands upon her desk.  She did not want to admit how wary she was of the situation, but felt that Montague could be trusted.  As long as the Queen was not listening in on them it could be safe.  After all, what mother wouldn’t fear for the child she nearly lost at birth?

A soft sigh spilled from her lips as she struggled to put her thoughts to words.  “My concerns are for Sophia’s well being,” she admitted.  It was true, despite not being the whole story. Her younger daughter was in no place to be married.  Mentally and physically it would be a nightmare for her.  This should be a choice she made herself.  “She is not comfortable and I do not wish to force her into something that makes her uneasy.”  Eira herself had been betrothed at a young age, but love came.  She saw Aric almost yearly from the time she was ten.  They had a friendship that bloomed into something special.  That was not the case for Sophia and it frustrated the Queen to no end.

“It is possible that a bride for the Prince is all the Queen seeks, but... besides Princess Sophia, I suspect that the Prince might not be ready for this arrangement neither.” Selecting his words, Montague guarded his mind carefully, always as though if someone else were listening, making sure that no words could be used against him or the loyal family. “He seems... restless, according to the people who have seen him out and about; lonely, perhaps, that he appeared to be looking for companions. I am not suggesting that we make judgments based on rumors, of course. But it is at least worth investigating. If only to make sure his Highness is comfortable.”

Cynwrig couldn’t help but to scoff at the young lord’s words. “You mean that is not what this is?” The witch was under no illusions – he was not a house guest that many would willingly invite into their home. Gossip of his visitation would make fine gossip for the young lord’s servants, and possibly for the Norns who knew them as well. But none of these things perturbed Cynwrig. He hoped the gossip reached the ears of his wretch of a mother. She would know his intentions as soon as she learned of them, and then… Then the real work would begin.

“You need not waste formality on me, my Lord. I am not a man who is overly worried about appearances. I would much prefer it if we not linger on pleasantries and rather start upon our business as soon as possible.”

Following behind Montague to his study, Cynwrig did not wait to begin arranging his things. “So tell me, Lord Wu, where would you like to begin your lesson?”

"I thought we would start with magic itself. People from all walks of life possess magic, but it is Conjuring that marks a witch. It is unarguably the most powerful kind of magic, or a completely different sort of ability. I can’t imagine understanding a witch’s life without understanding the ability.” He went over to leave through a book; some notes were made in the margins and a few dog ears here and there, but mostly Montague found them useless if he was honest. “How does it work? It looks like there’s a system of knowledge, but you seem perfectly content living in solitude... We don’t often see witches socializing together, is what I meant to say. So how is that knowledge passed on? Or is it completely an individual matter?”

The effect, however, remained the same. She frightened and she scared, and children grew up with just as many warnings about her as any other spirit out there. Montague was wise to react with caution at first, but wiser still to see her as a comfort once he knew who she was.

“I know zhe names of everyone in my kingdom,” she told him, stepping from her circle to speak face-to-face. Gods, but she hated titles. Ursula was a witch, not a princess or a noblewoman. Not even a merchant in the truest sense of the word. “And I know zhe Wastes belong to no man. You cannot intrude on a space zhat is not mine.”

“What’s he doing here anyway?” Cesar asked. “Are advisers allowed to leave the city at all? Or is this one just particularly stupid?”

“Cesar,” Ursula snapped. “We do not call wise men stupid, when zhey have done nozhing to earn it.”

A recent event at the theater had lead him to start thinking of King again. Not that he ever forgot. Pain was such a curious thing, especially those of unseen wounds. He was reminded of the sore in his back. The blood and bruises caused by an angered boar had long faded, but something never grew back the same. Montague would have to learn to live with the pain like he would have to learn with the darkness left by the loss of a friend if he were not to be swallowed by it.

“I am an illusionist just as you, my Lord, but my tricks are not so crafty as your own.” She rose to her feet to offer him a curtsy, moving afterward to take his hand into hers. “You have dangerously sly fingers. What good is my magic when you might pluck the heart from my very chest?”

Pulling the pair of them back to a sitting position, Sybil reached into her cloaks to pull forth a kerchief. Dabbing carefully at the young lord’s sleeve, she looked carefully at him through her eyelashes. “I should hope you do not use your gifts for such evils.”

“I promise I wouldn’t do such a crude thing.” His eyes lingered on her slender fingers brushing against his wrist, “A heart is most beautiful when willingly given. And like a cat you mustn’t treat it too roughly. Cherish and love it, but to cage or put it on a leash would be inappropriate.”

She turned to face the boy when he spoke to her, and something like a laugh passed her lips. “Have you difficulty seeing, my Lord? I do have a few spells to cure such ailments.” With a graceful flick of her wrist, Ammut gestured to the entourage of people galloping behind them. “They are some of my best and brightest advisers. Though, sadly, I could not bring all of them with me. Someone must run the country in my stead, of course.”

The Queen Crow let silence lull between the two of them, if only for a moment. The advisers she’d brought were more than just that, of course. They were also the most talented alchemists the world had ever seen. Countless tomes and texts had been written by their hands, their knowledge filling countless pages. They were just the ones to help her harness Nore’s magic, though when the time came, history would say she conquered the kingdom on her own.

It was worrisome, with the engagement between Ini-Herit and Sophia in place. Montague would not want to see the princess be subject to such an environment. But that was somewhat besides the point.

“I agree. A benevolent ruler wins the genuine love of his or her people and brings prosperity to the kingdom. I’m confident that you will find that Nore shares the same philosophy.” He squeezed the belly of the horse to pick up the pace ever so slightly. It was mostly unintentional; Montague subconsciously wanted to keep a certain distance between themselves and the array of Ammut’s attendants. “It is no secret that we have fallen on hard times, but His Majesty has been ever so attentive and kept the kingdom together. You can see now just ahead of us is River Dagur. It is our main source of fish stocks. It is also a wonderful place for frolicking, though the stream is less friendly during the winter. People are advised to keep away from going into deep water.”

He had a natural aversion for criminal cases; they were often gruesome and grotesque in the advisor’s eye and it drained him physically and mentally to have to deal with them. But it was one of the crusades nobles had to bear in exchange for their place, he believed.