Chapter 12

  New money.

  That was always Margaret’s instant impression of Croft Manor, a once ancient site that had been renovated painstakingly at Samuel Croft’s behest. No expenses were spared and Margaret was impressed by the architect’s discipline, in their tasteful adherence to the original design. The additions made had been small and subtle, collectively uplifting the grander structure in homage to the original.

  Margaret couldn’t deny that the estate was magnificent. It was the hodgepodge of just about everything held within that diminished it her eyes.

  Just in front of her was a thirteenth century landscape side by side with a tenth century portrait beside it. Their pairing was scandalous and the frames were all wrong, as was the atrocious shade of paint on the wall. A tenth century vase from the Hu Dynasty from across the continent was enshrined in a glass case callously besides another display containing Vulking pirate tether hooks and war axes on velvet cushions.

  Shields and banners of ancient, forgotten and lost houses all cluttered across sections of the walls, crowding over each other for the privilege of being seen. The clutter of such heirlooms was as crass as it was insulting.

  The originally commissioned candelabras and glass fixtures were discarded for ostentatious chandeliers and an excessive number of lamps. It made everything excessively bright and shiny, like cheap bronze polished to pawn off as gold.

  More than the aesthetics, it was the negligence and discredit to the relics in question that irked Margaret. It was a travesty that such possessions ended up in the hands of those unappreciative of their worth.

  Undoubtedly, the decor was gaudy and uncouth, but it could afford to be. There was power, a statement in that Margaret supposed. For the transformed Croft Manor could stand as an eyesore to tradition and not back down to nobility and privilege. That it could go against tradition and those displeased couldn’t do anything about it.

  The Croft heiress made her entrance and the two ladies met, holding each other’s hands and embracing in feminine fashion. They sat together, tilting their bodies to face one another.

  “Gwen, how are you?” Margaret asked in a voice full of concern.

  “I am fine,” Gwen replied in her strong voice. “How about you, Maggie?”

  Margaret dropped her delicate shoulders. “The same. I missed you in the lectures. You are skipping out on spell variations and Professor Bellic hinted at crystal enchanting in his upcoming class.”

  The subject of wizardry instantly livened up Gwen. “That is enticing. I will try to attend.”

  The Academies of Ithica were the highest institutes of learning, famous across nations. They were ‘the’ standard when it came to higher education, be it in science, wizardry, or alchemy. They led innovation and research, and were so often at the forefront of discoveries and inventions that they were almost synonymous with them.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Yet for the truly elite, those like Gwen and Margaret who had the means to be privately tutored by master wizards, the Academy’s prestige diminished as an institute. For them, the Academies were more an important social circle of influence that none of the socialites could afford to ignore. Any who’s who of the intelligentsia and the powerful convened to such places and built upon their connections. It is also where they could scope out the competition and ally or subdue future powerhouses.

  The young ladies conversed amiably for a time, before Margaret tried to veer the conversation to her objective.

  “So how are you faring with…?” Margaret let the question hang.

  “I was wondering how long you could avoid talking about it,” Gwen commented with a knowing look.

  “Could you blame me?”

  “I suppose not,” Gwen sighed. “I just find it all so convoluted and pointless.”

  “To you, maybe it is pointless,” Margaret placated. “I’d wager it is not the same for a great many people, your parents included.”

  Gwen sobered up at the mention of her parents. “I hate that mama and papa were coerced.”

  “No one was coerced,” Margaret pointed out. “If anyone, it was your parents that coerced mother to their advantage.”

  “So, Lillian sent you,” Gwen latched on with a sharp gaze.

  Margaret didn’t deny the accusation. Gwen was looking for a fight and she wouldn’t be the one to give her one.

  “Yes, mother did send me, but I would have come regardless,” persuaded Margaret.

  Gwen tilted her head. “Why would you? We are not that close,” she stated bluntly.

  “Closer to friends than most,” Margaret offered. “We are somewhat similar.”

  Both of them were talented young wizards of great wealth and influence with powerful parents. They also shared the responsibilities of their station and had great expectations placed upon them.

  Not entirely convinced, Gwen gave a slow nod. “So, what does she want?”

  “She wants nothing, only that you be discreet,” Margaret delivered the message.

  “Discreet? With what?”

  Margaret couldn’t help but blush. She cleared her throat. “She wants you to be more discreet with your relations,” she said as delicately as she could.

  Gwen stared at Margaret and then burst into laughter. “And she sent ‘you’ to tell me! The virgin Maggie herself!”

  Embarrassed by the moniker, Margaret said icily, “If you are going to be rude, I am going to leave.”

  Gwen, eventually, managed to subdue her chuckles. “Fine. Message received.”

  Margaret wasn’t at all convinced by Gwen’s candor. “Why is this difficult?” she asked genuinely. “It is not an unreasonable request and would cost you next to nothing.”

  Margaret could feel Gwen’s pride flare as she stared back at her. “I am Gwen Croft,” she stated as if that fact was answer enough. “I will do what I want. Fuck who I want and when I want,” she declared crassly.

  Rather than get angry, Margaret studied Gwen. “Is this you rebelling?”

  Gwen stiffened and Margaret knew that she was close to the truth.

  “Honestly, Gwen. That is just so stupid! You are going to get everything that you want and you are being petulant over what exactly?”

  Gwen crossed her arms.

  “Speak to me, woman!” Margaret insisted, losing her patience.

  “I do not like to be told what to do,” Gwen nearly growled, but then calmed down. “But I see your point.”

  “Thank you. As much for your sake as the boy’s,” Margaret let slip. She missed the fact that Gwen hadn’t exactly agreed to her request.

  Gwen raised an eyebrow. “And what is that supposed to mean?”

  Margaret turned solemn. “His is a sad tale. We are not saints, Gwen, but we do not have to be needlessly cruel.”

  Chastened, Gwen nodded along.

  “I mean, he is unlucky enough to have a slut for a bride,” Margaret remarked. “What could be worse than marrying you?”

  Margaret got a cushion to the face for her cheek before Gwen pounced on her.