I offered to buy her a new dress or, worse still, to borrow one of Avis’s! I’m not better than the local society: they, at least, don’t pretend to have progressive views. I’m just playing Richard Gere inviting my pretty woman to the elite party. I must apologize.

“Everything will be ready for our arrival. All chambers are lovely: I ordered to bring a vase of your favourite marigolds. But every servant in the Eagle castle knows that already,” Zarya speaks in a ladylike manner, casting quick glances at me.

Kaleb is playing with salad leaves, making a green pile, “Shall we inform Livius before the Ball?”

“Stop doing it! You are getting on my nerves... Someone expects us not to come, so let’s ruin their plans and visit the castle as it was said in the official invitation: three of us. Have you taught her anything?”

She doesn’t even ask me! Hello, I’m sitting in the same morning room!

Blondie cringes looking at her.

“I might have known! You can’t be trusted. You had one task, Kal!”

It seems that the couple has changed their characters: Kal is more apologetic, while Zarya is strict trying to hide real emotions.

“Wait a minute!” I put away my brooding about injustice of social roles and Richard Gere. “He did his best. I was just a bad student. Did you expect to come back and meet Avis the Warlock? And you know what: it was almost impossible to cram all magic spells into my head within several days!” I said, straightening my back. Her words are so annoying; I can’t help myself. “Look what I can do,” I pronounce the “funny serpent spell.” Kal and Zarya are giving me pity stares in silence. Seconds are passing. All I can hear is the clock ticking. I look back at them.

Oh cringe!

“You two deserve each other,” says the girl, taking a sip of her hot bluish beverage. “Act on an old plan. Don’t talk much to birdpeople, just a small talk. Don’t tell about the total memory loss. If they start asking questions, say that your condition is improving, and you already have the memory of me and Kal. And not a word about your magic absence! We'll be near you the whole time and try to turn the conversation away if something goes wrong.”

“The Prince might want to have a private talk with you. Be ready. Don’t say much. Act natural...” Kal’s plate is still crammed with cold scrambled eggs. He hasn't even touched his breakfast yet.

“How am I supposed to act natural and at the same time pretend to be her?” I blush, thinking about the way Avis’s “private conversations” with Livius might have gone. “What was my relationship to the Prince?”

“You were his favorite mage. He would always give you or our group very special or difficult assignments,” answers Kaleb.

“You are his special bird,” Zarya is pulling Kal’s plate closer and starts fiercely eating his forgotten breakfast. Blondie has ignored the subtext in her words.

I see. His favorite. As favorite as Cygnie was for Avis? That’s presumably why Zarya did not want me to go to the Eagle castle with my almost blank head and blank magic powers. Nevertheless, she didn’t put all information straight. Is marigold trying to teach me a lesson? They both warned me about dangers of the world beyond the Hare castle lands... Or she’s not exactly sure herself about my personal life. Even Avis’s lover knows nothing about my... her shifting animal. Avis could have been a very private person.

“Why do you ask these questions?” she continues irritatingly. “You want one thing now another: one day you don’t want to know anything about Avis or this place, avoiding us like the plague; now, out of sudden, when your ass is on fire, you want to know more? Where were you during the time that was given to you to practice magic? Why didn’t you ask Kal as many questions as possible before facing the entire royal court?”

I bite the bullet, clutching the handle of my cup.

“By the way,” Zarya goes back to her ladylike style. She is gently touching her well shaped lips with a napkin, “I have ordered the Black Night garments for us. Do you need servants to help you with a new frock?” the girl is brushing away an invisible crumb from her stupid yellow dress.

“I think I can manage without servants. I’m very grateful for the breakfast. Might I bow down and retire into my chambers?” I ask her scornfully.

I stand up without waiting for the discussion development.

In the hallway I turn to notice Kaleb touching her shoulder. They are still at the dining table. She bites the flesh of her lip, leaning closer to him; a big silent tear is running down her nose.

There's some peculiar lightness in their relations I haven't seen before. I was blind to mention how deeply they may actually care about each other. A pang of jealously is strong; I turn my head not to see their moment of intimacy.

My jealousy is not directed at Kal or Zarya in particular: it is about me being jealous of them having something real. Even my fiery kisses with Cygnie were not as meaningful as this little scene of comforting in the morning room.

I feel giddiness and discomfort. All castle voices are hushed; all colours turn dull. I touch the nearest wall not to fall down. I can hear only my ricky-tick breathing; habitual rhythm is forgotten.

The Mirror doesn’t keep me long: I return back quick. Shuddering and hanging onto the walls and furniture, I crawl to my room, hoping to find Cygnie.

***

A little maid whose name I don’t know is dusting the furniture. She stops, noticing me, and bows low.

“Good day,” I say half-heartedly. The girl is getting tight as if I’m going to slap her with the wet cloth. “Are you alone here?”

She nods nervously.

“I’m looking for Cygnie. Do you know her?” I inquire, guessing the reason of her fear. Though, I have strong doubts that Avis was nice to her or, maybe, those landlords who had lived here before.

“I know her, Mage Avis. She works in the main greenhouse. She must be there.”

“Is she a herbalist?”

Maybe non-mage servants can be herbalists too?

“No, Mage. She’s a fisher’s daughter from the Moorland Island.”

“What do you know about her family? And where is the Moorland Island?” I wearily sit in the armchair; my heart is still beating like a drum. This talk is soothing me a little.

“The Moorland Island is the poorest area down the river. Only misfits and cripples live there. Her mother died in childbirth. She also has an elder brother, but he left Hare Rivulets many years ago. I’ve heard he met a feline girl, and she helped him to run. Everybody wanted to run then.”

“Because of the previous masters?”

“Yes, Mage,” the maiden nods. “But he left Cygnie alone to deal with her father who started drinking a lot. They have never lived in prosperity, but after his escape they could scarcely feed themselves.”

“That’s terrible,” my heart leaps into my throat. Was she forced to do the same for those owners, and Avis simply took up the slack? What kind of bloody hell was going on here? “Where is the main greenhouse?”

“The tallest building made of transparent glass. It’s not far from the cursed well. She could also be in the adjacent house with unusual light blue tiles. That’s the place where herbalist mages and interns rest or work with the scrolls. Maybe I’d better send for her?”

I shook my head.

***

After that I dismissed the servant, I root around in Avis’s dazzling duds to find something more suitable to go to the village and visit Cygnie. I understand that my appearance is kind of stand out among all locals. All women have long hair and wear bleak dresses. Only Zarya has her blue tunic and tights. I guess her height status and mage abilities (as a huge bonus) give her the right to wear it.

In the deepest corner of the wardrobe behind the tons of the dress beauties I find something that looks like marigold’s casual clothes, though with a print of fancy girlishness: a long sleeve loose T-shirt made of silk with the fine lacing on its collar; tight but unusually soft trousers resembling leggings; and a nice pair of black suede flatters that are perfectly shaping my feet.

Okey. I’m ready and already missing my jeans and converses. But the hardest part of the journey lies ahead. If I don’t get lost, it will be a real victory.

***

“Mage Avis! It’s so nice to meet you!” an elderly man is holding and shaking my both hands. “If you told us before, we would be able to prepare for your visit!” The man is piercing me with his yellowish eyes. He resembles me a bird of prey with a hooked nose of his and the swift moves of his neck too much flexible for a human. “What brings you here, dear Mage? We thought you are still recovering after some dreadful spell!” he seems to be sorry for me, but his attentive eyes remain cold. “You look pale and exhausted. Shall I order to bring you lunch in the cabinet and a vial of vital potion?”

One more word and I’ll be screwed.

“Dear friend! Thank you for your concern! I'm sorry if my condition troubles you. But I must assure you that I am feeling good. My paleness must be the cause of the sleepless night. I was too excited before my travel to the Eagle castle.”

“You don’t say so!” the man flings up his hands like a real bird.

“After the Ball I will come to you, and we’ll have a nice heart-to-heart talk. But now I desperately need to find one girl who works here. Cygnie,” I don’t understand who’s talking now me or Avis decides to wake up and some have fun.

“What has she done that made you personally come here?” asks the man in surprise, raising his eyebrows. “Did she steal anything? These Moorland scums should be kept locked up.”

“God no! She helped me the other day, and I want her to... to help me again.”

The most disgusting euphemism ever!

“Are you sure, dear Mage? We can find someone more trustworthy to fulfill your task? Someone who’s not originally from Hare Rivulets,” he almost whispers the last phrase into my ear.

“I want Cygnie and no one else,” I stubbornly pout my lips.

He smiles snidely, “This way, Mage Avis! She’s in the left wing premise of the greenhouse.”

Left alone at last! I can barely catch my breath feeling the warmth of the greenhouse rooms. On a hunch, I duck into the first premise I could find, and then I see her standing on her knees and washing away some soil from the pots with tender saplings. I didn’t recognize her at first: she’s in a plain beige dress and a black apron; her long hair is put into two long white plaits.

“Cygnie,” I call her name.

She turns. Her cheeks are blushing in the hot air of the greenhouse. Her lips are slightly parted in amazement.

I want to kiss them and forget the real reason of my coming here.