The governess stands between the child and the world, shaping what the world shall one day receive.— Occupations of Women: A Governess's Guide to Household Duties and Etiquette
"If Hans has seven swords and asks Carven to reshape two at his smithery, how many swords remain in Hans's household?"
A small, chubby hand shot up, flapping like a hummingbird's wings.
"What if Hans has chickens?"
Another hand rose—this one elegant and perfectly still.
"Which wing does Hans fall under?"
Lydia's lips twitched. She tapped her ruler against the blackboard.
"Hans is a guardsman, which means…?"
"He follows Old Shacks like a chick!" the boy blurted, slapping both palms on the table as if the answer might escape him.
His sister sighed before offering the correct explanation.
"He is considered Wing‑Captain Charles's subordinate, meaning his household is of militia standing. Under our fiefdom's laws, that exempts him from agricultural labor."
"So he won't have chickens?" The boy's face fell.
Lydia smiled. "Could he have earthen rock birds, Miss Yalonora?"
"Yes," the girl replied, already scribbling in her booklet. "But he is only exempt from land tax below the threshold. Above it, he pays fifty percent more than commoners and serfs."
"Very well spoken, Miss Yalonora." Lydia tapped the boy's desk. "Mr. Yalnorir, according to your sister's answer, how many swords would Hans have left?"
He frowned, lips curling.
"If he can't fight chickens with two broken ones…" He scratched his chin, then brightened. "Four! He has four left!"
His sister coughed.
"Wrong."
"I'm right."
"You're wrong."
"I'm right!" he declared, climbing onto his chair. "I avenge you—"
Lydia sighed and plucked him off the seat with practiced ease.
"Teacher!" he whined as she set him on the mat.
"The word is challenge," she corrected, patting his curls. "And you are not permitted to issue them."
"Hmph." He crossed his arms. "Yet."
"You're too young," his sister teased.
"No I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"Am not."
"Yes."
"No."
"Attention!" Lydia clapped sharply. "One, two, three."
Both children settled—though the boy glowered and the girl smirked.
Lydia rubbed the space between her brows, glancing at the mechanical clockwork ticking in the corner.
"Evening approaches, which means…"
The boy lit up, screaming, "it's time for magic war!"
"It's practical lesson time," his sister corrected cheerfully.
"Correct," Lydia said. "Dress in your practical wear and meet at the knight grounds after your evening meal."
"Yes, Teacher!" they chimed. The boy bolted like a mouse; the girl followed with the grace of a cat.
She paused at the doorway.
"Teacher, can I be blue this month?"
"Not yellow?" Lydia asked, crouching to her level.
The girl's face scrunched. "It's inauspicious."
Lydia tapped her lightly on the head.
"What are the words of Mad Kanas?"
The girl's eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"There is no such thing as luck on the battlefield. Only ability."
"Correct." Lydia rose, smoothing her dress. "It is your abilities that shape the battlefield, not the colour of your flag."
The girl's lips curled. "Grandfather said yellow represents the wastelands and carries an inauspicious aura."
"Yellow also represents the flame of your founding ancestor—the fire in which your ancestor forged their sword," Lydia said softly. "Have you not memorized the History of Yolanor?"
The girl looked away, twiddling her fingers.
"Not all of it."
"You are very well‑versed in our fiefdom's laws," Lydia said warmly. "But you mustn't neglect the history of this land."
"Grandfather said we can't trust the ramblings of an adventurer."
"A page boy," Lydia corrected, "to the first knight of your ancestor. He collected anecdotes from those under her rule. He was supported by her, and his writings are verified in other fiefdom archives and the imperial repository."
The girl blinked.
"Really, Teacher?"
"Yes," Lydia affirmed. "I verified it myself in the Riveron Tower."
The girl looked down at her feet.
"Will I ever get to see their records?"
Lydia's voice cooled into seriousness.
"As long as Miss Yalonora works hard and reaches the third circle, you will gain access to the empire's public repository and other fiefdom archives."
The girl whispered, eyes downcast,
"What if my root purity isn't good?"
Lydia's brows furrowed.
"Are you worried about your seventh winter cycle ceremony?"
The air stilled.
"Yes."
Lydia placed a steady hand on her shoulder.
"You mustn't fear, Adele. Only those with simple minds obsess over root purity. Hard work always surpasses talent. Take Third Prince Kaios—now High Commander of the Imperial Navy. Or Duchess Rivera, a Grand Earth Mage and Master of Earthmacing."
Adele nodded slowly.
Lydia smiled and ruffled her hair.
"Don't fear, Adele. I will ensure your ceremony goes well."
For all.
For the future of this world.
Lydia would use every connection she possessed to ensure the girl became the disciple of a Noble Mage.
Just as she would for the boy.
Lest they become what they were destined to be:
One, an evil cult leader who sacrifices an empire for their evil god.
The other, an archmage willing to tear the world apart to revive his lover.