“Ladies, this is why we witches practise a slower progression. We are not like the Orders, who are happy to let their Pages and Squires bull forward and build their bodies like ramshackle sheds. Sheds they must burn down and rebuild time and time again, until they finally create something that can hold up before the storm of their cultivation.” Elder Nimue tapped my rib cage with her long cane.

  I was used to making a production of myself, but never like this. The apprentices were gathered around me, reviewing my body like a textbook. Nimue had apparently noticed my carefully honed physique during our first meeting. It seemed my attention to detail was a rarity, making it a novel learning experience to be exploited.

  She had me drink a couple of brews and cycle them, to illustrate my even distribution of the glamours that I took in. She had been disapproving of my pathways dusted with impurities, but other than that, she had been complimentary.

  She also had me do increasingly difficult stretches. Currently, I was doing a handstand on a small podium, one leg pointed skyward and the other out at an angle. I was sweating. Even with my cultivation, we had been at this for over an hour.

  “Now, Elsa, what is the most consistently underdeveloped part of the body?”

  “Miss Peaches, we’ve been taught and seen that the senses, often smell and touch, are overlooked due to improvements bringing negative side effects.” All the apprentices were blending into one, but I at least recognised that voice. I found it strangely comforting that they all called her Miss Peaches.

  “Bard, did you find it overwhelming?”

  “No, Elder Nimue. I made gradual improvements to my whole body. I barely noticed the change.”

  “You should’ve been a witch, boy, not a minstrel. This is the art of refinement. None of this arguing over whether it’s skin first or bone, and then developing muscle groups like rampaging hooligans. Gentle and constant improvement is the way.” I didn’t choose to reveal that my refinement approach stemmed from my lack of cultivation, meaning it was the only way forward for me. It was slow and steady—not acceptable to most knightly cultivators.

  “Bard, what wood is that pedestal made from?”

  “It feels like oak, Elder Nimue. I recognise the grain.” I resisted the urge to cycle my glamour through my fingers to check my intuition. The point of the demonstration was to prove the benefits of a refined body. The body I’d honed so carefully meant I didn’t have to pull on glamour to constantly boost my deficiencies. The background flow was enough to bring significant benefits. I also could boost those benefits for less glamour than those who had refined lopsidedly.

  That was the only reason I hadn’t died full of knives to Maeve.

  Witches took body refinement very seriously, but the girls were all still at the Wood stage and not yet as far along as I. Asking them to look at Nimue’s body was pointless—you might as well give them a marble masterpiece and then point them to a quarry. I was in the unique position of not having advanced too far to be unhelpful, while also being the perfect specimen.

  “How do you know what oak grain feels like, boy?”

  “I’ve had a refined body for a few years. It’s the sort of thing you pick up.” I shrugged, a complex task when upside down.

  “This is the core reason we pursue this. It is all the more essential as alchemists. Bard, what do you smell in this room?”

  “That you have a refined taste in perfume. It smells like Autumn Court No. 5 to me.” I may have been starting to feel a little cheeky. I blamed all the blood rushing to my head due to my prolonged inversion. Besides, she was wearing one of my perfumes—it was too good an opportunity.

  “Women’s perfume just another thing you just happen to have picked up?” I had chosen correctly. I scored a small win as there was the briefest flicker on the witch’s face. Not a smile, just the slightest tug at the corner of her mouth.

  “Well, I am a Bard, Elder Nimue.” That got a titter from the class, who had so far been unflinchingly professional.

  “Indeed. This, girls, is the core of why we refine ourselves as early as we can. We gain insights and advantages from just existing. The knightly Orders believe an outsized focus on bones or their muscles makes them better at combat, but their failure to refine their senses early leads to the issues and misconceptions Elsa described. With that, we’re done with class. Bard, you may dismount.”

  I backflipped off the podium, again using just the background glamour. Landing, I settled into a bow. “I thank Elder Nimue for the education and opportunity to educate.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Come with me, boy. I have some things to discuss with you. And put your clothes back on, unless you wish to catch a chill.” That last bit sounded like a threat, perhaps driven by the way her 'girls' were still watching me quite carefully.

  Dressed, I was directed to a tidy office up some stairs. It was unremarkable except for the expensive glass windows that allowed one to look out over the hall. Through them, I could see the space below was divided into eight booths, all the girls pairing off, with two booths left unused.

  It was interesting. They all took up their tasks and pulled out standardised books, going to shelves that reminded me more of a library than an alchemy lab. There they pulled from small labelled boxes. The ingredients weren’t expensive, which made sense—they were likely still relatively junior alchemists.

  “Oh, don’t forget to notice the safety equipment. No warts and boils for these girls,” the voice was right beside me.

  “I hadn’t noticed. Are those glass blocks they wear before their faces? Ingenious.” I didn’t flinch. I had a sense the Elder would pull something like this.

  “You, boy, are a mystery. Mysteries can be irritating.” The peach shawl moved out of my peripheral vision, and Nimue sat at her desk, gesturing for me to take the seat before her.

  “Well then, give me some direction and I shall strive to be a mystery that amuses and replenishes the soul,” I said, taking my seat.

  “This is what I mean. Most cultivators would be jumping to offer up their secrets or trying to deflect away from them. I had believed the bardic cultivator claim a mere front, but with every moment, you show it’s a path you truly follow. What would you do if I demanded all your secrets now?”

  “I’d argue it doesn’t solve the underlying problem of me being a mystery. I know all my secrets, yet find myself more mystified with each passing day.” Doubly true after the chaos of the last couple of weeks.

  “HAH. A cunning answer. You are strange, Bard Taliesin. Your name has the edges of power it shouldn’t. You speak truths but are a liar at heart. You can even hold out under my Evil Eye. Not the full force, so don’t get too cocky—Ban is no slouch. Still, even enduring a sliver of it is far more than most should be able to handle. You live up to knightly ideals and are trained in battle, but you have the body of a witch and, from what Alexis told me, a passable knowledge of alchemy.”

  “I promise I did not set out to be vexing.”

  “Vexing is a good word for it. Ignoring your vexatious nature, I must admit you have aided one of mine, and I suspect from Elaine’s message you have solved another problem. I find myself indebted to you, which is a further vexation. I can smell power on you—a familiar power that means I dare not shortchange you.”

  The mood in the room shifted. I had been sitting before ‘Miss Peaches’ before, but now Elder Nimue was out in full force.

  “May I ask, Elder Nimue, is this power you sense one that everyone knows?” I didn’t really wish for every cultivator with decent senses to see the nature of my patron and start shaking me up and down for swords and secrets.

  “No, only those who’ve met the Lady in question and dig around a little when confronted with a confounding bard would notice it. It’s a small group who’d be able to sense it, and fewer still who’d be foolish enough to use it against you.”

  That was a lot packed into a sentence. Worst of all, it exposed a massive gap in my knowledge I’d been unaware of till now. The Orders wrote songs, told stories, and generally harped on about any and all meetings with the Lady of the Lake, seeing the encounters as momentous occasions to boost their power. The Covens were silent on the subject—not a word nor warning.

  “I admit I really don’t know what to ask of you, as I took no actions intended to create a debt between us. Nor will I be so rude as to scorn your kindness.”

  Debts and duty, as with the rest of Euross’s cultivation, were strongly connected to the fae. At higher ranks, unpaid debts could fester, damaging your cultivation. If Nimue felt indebted to me, then it had to be paid.

  “All cultivators, even bardic ones, desire power—even if that is only the power to keep singing. How do you choose to pursue that power? Is it wealth, knowledge, or connections? Answer this, and I will think on it. As well as telling me if you have any simpler needs.”

  “You ask deep questions. I have a need for knowledge right now. I have an issue with one of my gifts.” I said carefully, I couldn’t imagine she hadn’t already sensed my death glamour.

  “I can see that. A difficult boon.” She nodded. I felt marginally safer talking to a witch about my Death gift than others—they didn’t have quite such an intense view of it.

  “Indeed. I thought you might.” I really needed to learn a new cultivation technique. If Bors could sense it, of course Nimue would.

  “I also have a need for some alchemy resources—some healing brews and tools, and ingredients to explore making my own brews. I wish to expand my skills in that department.” I could’ve asked for cultivation brews, but I wanted to make my own impurity-laced concoctions. I thought asking for that from Nimue would’ve got me a cuff around the ear and some pointed questions.

  “That is plenty to work with. Before you go, I will leave you with a small piece of advice. This is in exchange for your aid today. Be careful with the names of those at Steel and above. You know names have power. At Steel, this takes on a new aspect. You seem shielded from this, given your repeated use of my name today. This is something which others will take note of. You shall call me Miss Peaches in public from now on, and let any who ask know I’ve permitted you to do so.”

  The witch watched me as I digested the warning. There was so much about high-level cultivation hidden from us at the beginning that I wasn’t surprised, but I was now wary. I checked over the sentence for anything hidden that I might have missed. An impish smile leapt to my lips.

  “Well, how can I turn down such an invitation? Should I also call you Nimue in private? Or is it Miss Nimue?”

  The old woman threw back her head and cackled. It was a laugh that had been bound in oak and matured for decades. Bold and rich, it cut through the senses.

  “Young man, I hope your story works out, and I envy those who have the chance to grow with you. Their journey will be all the richer for your company. I would like you to return tomorrow. I shall think on what to offer you, and I may need you for another demonstration.”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said as I stood to leave.

  “It’s Miss Nimue to you. Now shoo, and stop making this old lady blush.”