\hypertarget{prodigy}{%
\section{Prodigy}\label{prodigy}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``No man in Creation is so dangerous as a well-meaning fool.''}

-- Dread Empress Regalia II
\end{quote}

When he'd been nine years old, Masego had seen the end of the world. He
thought of that, sometimes, at gatherings like this one. When making
meaningless small talk with strangers, wondering if they had any idea
about how fragile everything around them truly was. That the world was
nothing but the whim of greater beings, apt to be snuffed out the moment
they learned what they wanted. But all he saw in the eyes of the
highborn was hunger and ambition, and could there ever be anything more
boring than that? The silhouettes melded into each other, a hundred boys
and girls cut from the same dull cloth. Even those with a measure of the
Gift were blind, like they were just refusing to \emph{see} what was
around them\emph{.} They might as well be animals or statues of clay,
but still he had to stand and smile and pretend he'd remember their
names if he ever met them again. He usually didn't. Papa chided him over
that, said connections were always useful, but Father just laughed.
Still made him come, though, even if it was only a few times a year.

``- a pureblood Liessen charger,'' the girl said, and Masego only now
noticed she'd been talking this whole time. ``Getting her across the
Wasaliti was difficult, of course, but my family is not without
friends.''

The boy squinted through his glasses.

``I thought there was a decree about the Thirteenth Legion getting first
pick of mounts out of the provinces,'' he said.

Father had arranged for a tutor to teach him about these things, which
had only succeeded in motivating him to learn how to craft illusions. If
he slept through the lessons it was easier to stay up late working on
his own projects. Uncle Amadeus had called him worse than his father
when he'd learned, but it had sounded like a compliment. His uncle did
that a lot, say things he didn't mean while smiling. It had taken Masego
a while to understand how that worked, and even now he found the man's
face hard to read sometimes. It was like he was \emph{trying} to make
things confusing. The girl, whose name he didn't even try to remember
because he was pretty sure he hadn't been paying attention when she'd
introduced herself in the first place, laughed like he'd said something
funny and put her hand on his arm. She had warm fingers, he noted, but
he didn't enjoy strangers touching him. Well, she was Soninke and
highborn so she was probably clean at least. Still, since he'd turned
twelve people kept pawing at him at these receptions. He really wished
they'd stop, or at least tell him why.

``What do such trifles mean to people like us, Masego?'' she smiled,
cheeks dimpling.

He forced himself not to squint again. It sounded like she broke the law
a lot, which was kind of stupid. Yeah, Father had told him that those
didn't really apply to him until Uncle Amadeus said they did, but that
was just him. This girl would probably get hanged if people knew, so why
was she telling him?

``Horses are nice,'' he tried.

The girl blinked in confusion and withdrew her hand. That was his
chance, he decided. If you didn't retreat early when people got grabby
they'd follow you all night.

``I think I hear someone calling me,'' he hastily said, and fled before
she could reply.

He was pretty sure this was the city home of the High Lord of Thalassina
-- though why someone who lived by the sea would want a house in Ater he
had no idea -- so hopefully he hadn't just been rude to a relative
of\ldots{} whoever the High Lord was. There was an S in there, he was
pretty sure, maybe more than one. The whole place was pointlessly large
and dripping with gold, jewels and weird wood Papa told him was worth
more than either, but worse of all it was filled with people. So many
people. More than two hundred, though there were a lot of servants and
supposedly those didn't count. Masego declined to take one of the bits
of meat pastry from a plate, since he'd been told those were poisoned,
and discretely tried to find either his fathers. They weren't anywhere
in sight, but there were three floors and a rooftop garden so that
didn't mean much. Before he could embark on that journey of discovery,
he found himself cornered by another girl and what looked like a pack of
minions. Another Soninke. He squinted, pretty sure he'd seen this one
before. Three months ago, when High Lady Tasia Something had the party
with the magic lightshow? That had been very interesting, though people
kept trying to talk to him during. Which, rude. And they said \emph{he}
had bad manners.

``Lord Masego,'' the girl smiled. ``A pleasure to see you again. You so
rarely come to these little evenings.''

Shit, he was supposed to know who she was.

``Oh hello,'' he said, and after a moment found a clever ruse.
``\ldots{}You.''

Flawless. He was going to get away with this cleanly.

``A very familiar way to refer to Lady Akua,'' one of the minions said.

The boy frowned.

``I thought minions weren't supposed to talk when important people do,''
he pointed out. ``Father says they used to execute people for that.''

The minion who'd spoken, some Taghreb, went pale at that. Damn it,
Masego hadn't meant to make him feel bad about his manners. Now he felt
like an ass.

``It's all right,'' the boy reassured the stranger. ``It's just an old
custom. Those aren't very important.''

The Akua girl's smile didn't change, but he got the impression he'd said
something wrong. Was it because she was pretty? Pretty girls always had
these expectations about things he should be saying but no one had ever
written those down, as far as he knew, and why would people not do that?
It was just bad scholarship, honestly.

``A shame you believe so, my lord,'' she said.

Masego frowned.

``Why?'' he asked. ``Do you want him to get killed? That's a little rude
to say right in front of him.''

The Soninke girl looked bemused, and also a little pained, but before
she could say anything Masego felt a giant palm settle over his head and
relief wash over him.

``Aunt Sabah,'' he breathed. ``Wait, careful with the hair.''

The big woman grinned and ruffled his braids even as he squirmed.

``Making friends, Masego?'' she teased.

``I'm not sure,'' he said. ``I think I insulted them but I don't know
how.''

He leaned closer to his aunt and whispered.

``They must have very thin skin,'' he gravely told her.

He offered the girl and her minions a smile after that, but some of them
looked angry for some reason.

``Lady Captain,'' the girl said, and bowed.

``Sahelian,'' Aunt Sabah replied. ``Growing into a proper little lady,
aren't we?''

``I am ever my mother's daughter,'' the girl smiled.

Oh, Masego thought, they must be friends. Now he felt kind of bad he
hadn't remembered her name. Aunt Sabah took her hand off his tresses and
patted him.

``One of High Lord Idriss' mages prepares to make a demonstration in the
gardens,'' she said. ``Your father sent me to get you.''

The moment magic was mentioned he forgot all about the other people,
perking up.

``Skill display or a formula reveal?'' he asked. ``Because they're not
usually very good at the displays.''

``Formula,'' the big woman said. ``Come on, we don't want to miss it.''

Masego wasn't a savage, so he remembered to wave at the girl and the
minions before he followed his aunt to the stairs.

``You don't have any idea who that was, do you?'' she asked.

The boy glared.

``Of course I do,'' he said. ``It was\ldots{}''

Shit, he'd forgotten her name again. \emph{Come on, Masego, she just
told you.}

``Lady Ubua,'' he said, pretending he was sure.

Aunt Sabah's shoulders shook like she was holding something in. She must
have eaten too much.

``Yes,'' she said, voice tight. ``That is exactly correct, and you
should always call her that.''

Masego let out a sigh of relief when she was looking away. \emph{Ubua,
Ubua, Ubua}, he said in his head. He couldn't forget, just in case Papa
asked him later. They slowed when they got to the second floor, and his
aunt steered him to the side. He was a little confused as to why, at
first, but then he saw Uncle Amadeus talking with some important-looking
Taghreb. His uncle was very pale, though Father had told him it was
because he was a Duni -- which wasn't a disease, even if it sounded like
it -- and he usually looked sinister but tonight he was smiling and
standing real close to the other man. They must have been old friends,
he thought. The Taghreb was smiling very widely and his hands were
shaking with excitement.

``Brat,'' his uncle lazily said, turning to him. ``Heading up for the
reveal?''

Masego nodded.

``Do you think people will try to talk to me?'' he asked. ``Because they
did last time, and it was very tedious.''

Uncle Amadeus' lips quirked.

``Stay close to me and I'll serve as your guard,'' he suggested.

Masego beamed. His uncle turned to the Taghreb.

``Think on it, Lord Baneg,'' he said. ``It would be my pleasure to
arrange it.''

The Taghreb said his courtesies very quickly, bowed and left.

``What were you talking about?'' the boy asked.

``Giant spiders,'' his uncle said. ``Lord Baneg seems to have an
interest in seeing them up close.''

Masego hummed in approval. As a provably repeated phenomenon of unclear
sorcerous origin that displayed manifestations going outside the bounds
of the classical table of elements, the giant spiders under Ater
\emph{were} a fascinating study subject.

``Is he a mage, then?'' he asked.

Uncle Amadeus patted his shoulder.

``No,'' he smiled coldly. ``No he is not.''

``He must be a great scholar,'' Masego mused.

It wasn't people's fault, that they weren't born with the Gift. Yes, it
made them kind of useless and ignorant but it wasn't like they could
\emph{help} it. Just like he couldn't help but finish the tray of lemon
tarts when Dada made them, no matter what his other father said. It was,
like, Fate. Delicious lemony Fate. The three of them were given a wide
berth as they headed for the stairs, which tended to happen whenever
Uncle Amadeus was around. He didn't have a lot of friends, which was why
Masego had been glad to see him getting along with the lord earlier.

``Our little Masego was making friends when I found him,'' Aunt Sabah
said.

``Was he?'' his uncle said, eyebrow quirking.

``Oh yes,'' his aunt said, voice tight again. ``With Lady Ubua. You
know, Tasia's daughter.''

His uncle's face blanked, which meant he was sad. Or angry. Or happy.
Ugh, people were complicated. There should be a guide.

``Auntie's lying,'' Masego said. ``I think I made them angry. Somehow. I
don't know why they thought \emph{I} was the rude one when she said she
wanted to kill her own minion, but maybe she's just not that bright.''

``It's not good to insult people, Masego,'' Amadeus said. ``You should
send a letter to Lady Ubua to apologize.''

``Do I have to?'' he whined.

``I'll help you write it, don't worry,'' his uncle said, a tremor going
through his shoulders.

Aunt Sabah was grinning, which made people around them back away even
further. Masego sighed, but figured he might as well. Father always said
he was only supposed to hurt other people's feelings on purpose. They
passed through the third floor and the boy tugged at his aunt's hand.

``There,'' he said, pointing ahead. ``Papa's talking with people.''

There was a cluster of at least a dozen highborn in a circle around his
father, most of them women. Papa said something that had them laughing
and drank from his cup, nibbling at cut of meat. Some of the ladies were
looking a little red in the face, but people did that a lot around his
fathers. Papa saw him from the corner of his eye and smiled, saying
goodbye to his friends and sauntering up to them.

``Tikoloshe,'' Uncle Amadeus said, inclining his head.

``Amadeus,'' Papa smiled. ``Always such a pleasure. And Sabah, dearest.
A shame you did not bring your children.''

``Bad enough I have to come, I'm not going to torture them with this
kind of company,'' Aunt Sabah snorted.

``Do give my regards to your husband,'' Papa said.

His aunt laughed.

``'Loshe, I'm not going to help you flirt with him,'' she said. ``Give
it up.''

``But he always gets so \emph{flustered},'' Masego's father said,
smiling over the rim of his cup.

Uncle Amadeus' face was blank again. It was like that a lot, around
Papa. Father said they didn't get along very well but when Masego had
asked why he'd just said it was `complicated'. The boy tugged at his
father's tunic.

``There's going to be a formula reveal upstairs,'' he said. ``I don't
want to miss it.''

His father's brow rose.

``Have you earned it?'' he said. ``How many people did you talk with
tonight?''

``Ten,'' Masego said, having honestly no idea whether he was lying or
not.

Papa studied him closely.

``Zego, are you lying to me?'' he asked.

``It's not a lie if you don't get caught,'' Masego replied cheerfully.

The Empress had said so, once, so it must be true. Papa sighed.

``We will mingle after the demonstration, you and I,'' he announced.
``And I will have no backtalk.''

The boy grimaced but didn't argue. That way lay Callowan apples instead
of pastries for dessert, which was basically torture and probably
illegal. The adults talked while they made their way up to the garden,
mostly about Aunt Sabah's children and how quick they were growing. She
said they were going to be bureaucrats like their father, which sounded
horrid but he supposed someone had to do it. The rooftop garden, he
decided after they went up, was actually very nice. It wasn't just
plants, there was also obsidian sculpted to look like flowers and trees
and in little nooks he could see runes had been carved. Much of this, he
realized, was actually illusions. He drifted away from the adults and
elbowed aside a bush of large green leaves, kneeling at the foot of an
obsidian tree and tracing the runes hidden in the roots with his
fingers. The work was simplistic, he thought. The harmonics in the sound
production could be significantly improved if they took out the array
stabilizer and separated the core into two different workings. Yeah it'd
be a little trickier to power but then you could have illusionary wind
moving the leaves and also-

``Look at you,'' Father sighed. ``They lose you for ten heartbeats and
you get dirt all over your robes.''

Masego looked up at his father, then down at his knees. Huh, it was
true. He'd been kneeling in soil this whole time and pushing aside the
dirt covering some runes had gotten some all over him.

``This is very unprofessional work,'' the boy said gravely. ``They used
a cascade pattern to keep the sorcery flowing, Father, it's like they're
not even \emph{trying}.''

The dark-skinned man crouched at his side, the edge of his tunic
brushing the soil.

``What is the Third Law of Artifice, Masego?'' he asked.

``Sorcery anchored in the material will only work perfectly for the
sorcerer who created it, because every caster leaves a different mark,''
the boy dutifully recited.

``And the corollary?''

``The more complicated anchored sorcery is, the more prone to failure it
becomes over time,'' he said. ``Simplicity is pow- oh. They made it
shoddy on \emph{purpose}, so that anybody could use it.''

``The mage who first built the Stoneglass Garden was very talented,''
Father said. ``But he knew his successors might not be as skilled, so he
kept the system simple.''

``That's stupid,'' Masego said bluntly. ``If they're not good enough,
they don't deserve to use it.''

``This is a showpiece, Masego,'' his father said. ``It's meant to be
used as often as possible.''

``All they're showing is that they're shit at spellcrafting,'' the boy
muttered under his breath.

Father looked amused as he rose again, offering a hand to help him up.

``Come,'' he said. ``Let's have a look at that formula. I'm told the
demonstrator has improved significantly on an old Thalassinian spell.''

Masego followed eagerly, excited again. There was a place in the middle
of the garden where a large round platform of stone was left in the
open, seats of pale wood set all around it. His uncle was already seated
but Aunt Sabah wasn't, which made sense. She'd probably break the chair
if she tried, she was \emph{really} heavy. His fathers had him sit
between them, Papa fussing with the tresses his aunt had messed up and
shooting her a dark look. Silence washed over the garden when some
Taghreb woman got onto the platform, bowing and talking a lot about how
some High Lord was great and blah blah blah, honour and old blood and
Gods when were they going to get to the magic already? Eventually she
raised her hands and began tracing red runes in the air. Oh, so she used
Miezan tracing. That was rare, it was a lot more rigid than the
techniques developed under Dread Emperor Sorcerous. A triad of runes
formed a triangle as she continued murmuring, then a thin needle of blue
fire erupted from the centre of it. She guided it into shapes, but
Masego's eyes narrowed as she watched. The initial quantity of fire had
not changed: she was just thinning the intensity so it looked like there
was more. It was inefficient. It was slow. It was \emph{inaccurate}.

``No,'' he said, and rose to his feet.

There was a ripple of murmurs around but he didn't care, going onto the
platform.

``You're doing it wrong,'' he insisted. ``Look, look closer until you
can have a \textbf{Glimpse} of what you should be doing.''

His fingers danced across the air, using her lame Miezan tracing instead
of proper High Imperial. He slowed when he made the initial runes,
making sure she'd be able to see where he differed -- adding a draw
pattern to her initial burst, then followed along the same lines of her
spell but actually making more blue fire because the working was still
drawing on his sorcery instead of diluting the power like hers had. It
fit, but already his mind was running through ways to improve the spell.
Refine it, cut away at the impurities. Masego felt clarity descend on
him like morning dew, fresh and limpid on his tongue. A sigh came from
all the lords and ladies like they were a single person, and Father came
up to steer him away from the platform. Some old man that was too light
to be Soninke but too dark to be Taghreb came up to them, all smiles.

``My congratulations, Lord Warlock,'' he said. ``A Name at his age is an
achievement that will sound across the Empire.''

Masego squinted at the stranger, then leaned close to his father.

``Father, who is that?'' he whispered.

The only thing that broke the silence that followed was Uncle Amadeus'
convulsive laughter.
