The Fool

PROLOGUE

Leopold Dietrich considered himself a realist, as many pessimists do. His particular brand of pessimism was narcissistic, in that it was mostly concerned with his flaws, which he could recite alphabetically if called on to do so. This was not a highly desired party trick and did not lend itself particularly well to career counselling.

‘These goals are a teensy bit generic,’ Leo’s shaper said, in the chipper tone she reserved for her deepest criticisms. ‘They’re also very similar to the ones you created at your third-year review.’

They were, in fact, identical to the ones Leo had used at his third-year review. He didn’t create them then, either. His dorm-mate, Dion, had a habit of impatiently providing Leo with no-nonsense solutions to things he was working himself up about when he got sick of Leo pacing around their room. He gave these solutions a C+ level of effort, which Leo sometimes expanded on. Other times, as with the goals, he ended up deciding that C+ was actually a fine thing to aim for every now and then.

‘Some say that consistency of character is a virtue,’ Leo said, hoping that his expression was somewhere in the realms of innocent or earnest.

‘Maybe,’ Sasha said doubtfully. ‘But next year is the year that we expect you to specialise. Your goals should guide you.’

Leo nodded, at a bit of a loss for what to say. He didn’t know what he wanted to specialise in. He didn’t know what he wanted to do after he left the Trinitas Academy. Coming here in the first place was supposed to have let him put off deciding that. He’d expected to figure something out along the way, but he was starting to suspect that in three years time he would be just as aimless as he was when he was sixteen and had joined the Academy, pretending a greater interest in studying magic than he actually felt so that he’d be allowed to be anywhere that wasn’t home. His dream—everyone’s dream, or so it seemed—was to belong somewhere. This did not provide any direction what-soever.

‘Let’s talk about what you like,’ Sasha said.

‘I’m guessing you mean beyond cheesy ghost stories,’ Leo said.

‘No, no, let’s start there!’ Sasha said. ‘That’s an avenue for creativity, don’t you think?’

Leo grimaced. That had been meant as a joke.

‘I’m not very good at conjuring scries,’ Leo said. ‘I’m more of a reader than a storyteller.’

In honesty, he was pretty good at making up stories on the spot. His scries didn’t always come out exactly as he intended, but he could usually roll with what he’d created. It just wasn’t exactly a princely occupation, and he’d never be the best at it. His father could forgive one of those criteria not being met, but not both of them. And besides, the thought of anyone looking at a scry he had created as something more than a whim filled him with dread. Sketches were supposed to be messy. If he was caught actually trying at something, he might catch fire.

‘But do you like it?’ Sasha asked. ‘Because passion will always allow for greater advances than natural skill alone. Passion fills us and consumes us. Passion is always the answer in these meetings.’

‘Right,’ Leo said.

Sasha waited for Leo to announce his most heartfelt desire with shining eyes. She was probably very passionate about her job, or at least about the word “passion”, which was nice. Not everyone had that. Leo hated feeling like he was leaving her hanging, but he also didn’t have anything to say.

‘What else do you like?’ Sasha asked. ‘We can build up to passion.’

Leo wondered what she would come up with if he said card games or something truly unoccupational like midyim berry and peach pie or the noise the library cat made when he woke her up.

He could come up with something better. It was just that thinking about the future felt worse than being caught out caring about something. He was the third-born prince to a tiny kingdom, which may have given him some respect at the Academy if people weren’t always walking in on him singing to his socks as he folded them or if the student body wasn’t made up of magic users and therefore descendants of the Empress. All it really meant was that his life options were intimidatingly expansive and unavoidably public.

‘Leo?’ Sasha asked.

‘I’m pretty good at healing,’ Leo said, because he was, but mostly because he didn’t think anyone could think badly of a healer.

Sasha straightened the notepad on her desk, then two pens and a ruler, which made up the entirety of her non-decorative desk items. Leo watched in the same way he would watch the first drops of rain from heavy clouds if he was an hour’s walk from shelter.

‘You’re a blessed student,’ Sasha finally said. ‘I want to help you reach your potential, because you have so much potential, and I would hate to see that potential go to waste.’

Leo attempted to smile as though he was grateful for her investment in his future, but from Sasha’s expression he wasn’t pulling it off, so he stopped. People didn’t use the word “potential” for things that were already good. Leo comforted himself with the thought of impersonating Sasha to his friends later. Maybe today he would be able to beat her record for the most repeated word in a sentence.

‘Let’s meet again in a week,’ Sasha said. ‘You can have a bit more of a think about what you would like to specialise in and we’ll be able to sort that limitless future of yours out!’

‘Awesome,’ Leo said, giving her a thumbs up. Sure, the only thing he had ever wanted to be was whatever the opposite of my dad is, but one more week should be plenty of time for him to figure out the rest.

Sasha beamed.

The five minutes prior to a universally loathed class had a certain magic to them—they contained in them a million possible scenarios that could prevent students from attending. This magic inspired Leo and Dion to stay in the first-floor common room for as long as possible before they had to leave for numerology, a subject so pointless that Leo didn’t think even their teacher believed in it. On this day in late Nonem, on the cusp of a winter that promised to be almost as cold at the Trinitas Academy as it would be back at Leo’s home, the worst possible outcome occurred: something happened to prevent Leo from going to class.

‘Have you decided what you’re going to be when you grow up?’ Dion asked.

‘Your mum,’ Leo said, without looking up from the home-work he was copying.

‘Mhm,’ Dion said. ‘And which subjects will you specialise in to achieve this goal?’

‘I can’t answer that without being too mean or really crass,’ Leo said. ‘Shut up, would you? I can’t hand in nothing again and I can’t copy this and insult your mother at the same time.’

‘It’s three,’ Dion said. ‘I can’t believe they make us do numerology in sixth year. The answer is always three.’

‘Except when it’s four,’ Leo muttered, feeling a very undevout exasperation for a religion that put an asterisk of “ah, but there is always the hidden god” at the end of its obsession with triangles and trinities and everything else related to threes. He could never say it to anyone, but sometimes he thought that the allowance for fours was so that they could have twelve months in a year and have buildings with four walls. ‘Shut up.’

There was a creak outside and Leo and Dion both looked up to see the door open with the courtesy of someone unfamiliar to the room. A grave woman of about sixty stood at the entrance, not coming in any further. Dion slowly slid his papers into his bag in a way that aimed to be surreptitious, though the woman clearly wasn’t part of the teaching staff. She was wearing clothes Leo vaguely associated with his kingdom’s army, but he’d always avoided looking at them.

‘Pardon the interruption, Your Majesty,’ she said to Leo. ‘I’ve come from Praecentor with news.’

Leo’s eyebrows lifted in bewilderment.

‘Your accent’s not bad, but you’re missing some nuances.’

‘The word you’re looking for is “hello”, Dietrich,’ Dion muttered.

Leo ignored him and continued. ‘Kings and queens are addressed as majesty, princes as highness. Or you can just call me Leo.’

‘Forgive me, Your Majesty,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should speak alone.’

The silence in the room that followed that statement was almost physical. It had a weight. It buzzed along Leo’s skin and rang in his ears as though his head was a bell the messenger had struck with a sledgehammer, and though the sound was gone, his hearing was mutilated.

Dion stood up, shouldering his bag.

‘I’ll tell them you won’t be in class today,’ he murmured. ‘Sorry about your folks.’

Chapter One

As the carriage slowed, the cadence of its wheels on the gravel road became clearer, crunching over rocks in a song that sounded like home. Of course, Leo had been in many carriages to many different places and most of them ended with this slow, earthy chorus, but it always made him feel like he was coming home after going somewhere far away. Tonight, it happened to be true.

Leo ignored the offered hand and stepped stiffly out of the carriage under his own power. Maforc Castle, with all its sharp angles and cold stone, welcomed him in. It was worlds apart from the enormous castle that housed Trinitas Academy, the Empire’s only formal institute for magical learning, where Leo had spent the last six years almost without interruption. Maforc didn’t need to be that large—Canticalica was a small kingdom with just two cities, and calling them cities was very generous. The capital, Praecentor, had a population that fluctuated with the seasons, but never quite exceeded thirteen thousand, and it was rural enough that Leo had twice heard of kangaroos blundering their way into market streets, by what logic no one could guess at.

Leo approached the heavy, oak doors with legs that felt exactly like he’d been riding in a carriage for the past several days, and two Shields opened them for him. He nodded in acknowledgement as he passed them and tried to ignore the sound of six pairs of footsteps shadowing him as he crossed the threshold.

He managed to tolerate his entourage of Swords, Shields and Helm across the courtyard and through the entrance hall of the Round Tower. Ingrained politeness kept him from asking why they hadn’t buggered off yet as he made his way up the first flight of stairs and past room after anonymous room, but eventually he reached his limit. He turned.

‘Thank you for your service,’ he said pointedly.

‘Your Majesty,’ the Helm said, the same one who had told him that his parents and brother were dead with about as much sensitivity as could be expected of a soldier. ‘I would feel more comfortable if you were escorted at least until the royal apartments.’

‘Thank you for your service,’ Leo repeated.

The Helm hesitated for a moment longer, then bowed. She turned, and her five other companions followed her back down the corridor. Leo sighed with relief and exhaustion. He didn’t think he could stand having a parade of babysitters following him around on top of everything else. He was twenty-two, for Trinity’s sake. He had a sword and training in combative magic; he wasn’t helpless. Outside the castle, he could understand. But his father had never had guards dogging his steps inside, and Leo wouldn’t either.

He turned the corner then stopped in surprise. Across the entrance hall to the living quarters, a young man of about Leo’s age was sitting on the stairs, which seemed like it probably wasn’t allowed and like it must be uncomfortable, and also like he was completely in Leo’s way. The stairs were vast, but it felt rude somehow to walk around him. The man stood up when Leo approached—not with the deference that Leo had received in the last few days, too unhurried for that, but not disrespectfully. Leo didn’t recognise him, but he hadn’t recognised a single one of his guards, either. The man was shorter than Leo, like most people, with tanned enough skin and a broadish nose that indicated he probably had prevenient blood, and dark hair forming chin-length, tight curls. He was attractive, but not distractingly so; he was really only noteworthy in that there was no one else to look at.

‘Your family is in the Oak Library,’ the man said. ‘Would you like company?’

Not particularly, Leo thought. Then, Who are you? But neither of those thoughts felt polite and he’d used up all his assertiveness on his guards, so instead he tilted his head in what was almost a nod.

‘Thank you,’ he said.

The man turned so he was facing the same direction as Leo and they walked up the stairs together in a silence that didn’t match up with Leo’s idea of company, especially not from people who wanted something from him. And that meant every-one right now, with the possible exception of the people waiting for him in the library.

‘Sorry,’ Leo said, ‘but do I know you?’

‘No,’ the man said easily. ‘And I wouldn’t presume to know you either, though of course you are known. I’m sorry for your loss.’

What loss? Leo wondered, then he nearly laughed at himself for forgetting. Get a grip, he told himself firmly.

‘Thank you,’ he said, his voice sounding stiff, but thankfully not amused.

They walked in silence some more. It might have been peaceful, but Leo mostly felt on edge. He hoped that it was just his grief and uncertainty. He didn’t want to feel this paranoid every time he walked with someone he didn’t know while here. But then, he didn’t want to be here at all.

Leo couldn’t think of anything to say, so the silence continued. It was late enough that the hallways were empty and the sound of their boots echoed eerily off the stone walls. Like maybe they were the dead ones, trapped in a mirror realm where no living person existed. Or maybe like it was nighttime. It was probably the fact that it was late that was making Leo slightly hysterical. It had been a long few days.

‘I’ll leave you here,’ the man said, coming to a stop at the large door that separated the royal apartments from the guest ones. He bowed his head slightly and turned without being dismissed.

‘Who are you?’ Leo called after him.

‘Someone very important and handsome,’ the man called back, walking backwards for a few steps so Leo could see his smile. Leo forgot to smile back until it was too late and he’d turned away again.

Behind the door, the stone floor ended and timber began, reaffirming a barrier that was already more than implied. The difference in temperature was immediately recognisable and welcome. Stone took a lot more magical energy to keep warm, but it held defensive magic better, and the carpets and rugs required to make it habitable gave the impression of wealth. Those reasons explained why much of the castle was stone, but not why Leo was walking across intricately patterned floor-boards. When he was a child, he had learnt exactly where to step so as to not make the nightingale floors sing in the creaking voices that announced the presence of unfamiliar steps. It wasn’t magic, just simple construction. It was with a childish kind of whimsy that he picked his way lightly through the quiet path instead of using a dignified stride that would have the floors complaining. There was no one to see him choose a small amount of joy in the midst of a shitty time. He had the feeling he would need every ounce of love he had for his home in the coming days.

He made his way to the library, which he supposed he was allowed in as much as he liked now that he was an adult, now that his parents weren’t going to tell him to leave them in peace. If they did, they would have bigger problems. Revenant and blood magic problems, the kind that only featured in badly told ghost stories. Pull yourself together, he told himself for about the millionth time that day. He didn’t have the luxury of falling to pieces. He was already sick of shoring up his mental walls, which currently felt like they were made of damp sand.

He didn’t slow as he walked through the open door of the library or as his steps became muffled by a thick rug, but he paused when his remaining family came into view, gathered around the fire in silence as if sitting for a portrait. The floor shifted and sang under the toe of his boot and he moved his weight off it self-consciously. It made no difference; his siblings were already looking at him.