"She's what?" the Third Prince exclaimed.
Alan scowled at his brother. "You heard me right the first time," he said.
"I did," the third prince admitted, "I was just hoping this was some kind of joke."
"Why would I possibly joke about something like this?" Alan said indignantly.
"Well, you could be having another competition with Katarina–"
"That happened once!" Alan said indignantly.
"It happened last month," the Third Prince said.
"It still only happened once!"
"Still, it sounds outlandish," the Third Prince said. "Like your fiancée claiming Maria was some kind of master swordswoman, jumping up to the ceiling, bouncing around all over the room and 'dueling' Rafael when we were unconscious."
"Are you calling my fiancée a liar?" Alan demanded. "Besides, Katarina was no better. She was saying things like 'Maria went whoosh! Then she swished! And then she whump-whump powed!'." He tried to make the arm motions that had accompanied Katarina's explanation.
"Yes, neither of our fiancées was a helpful witness," his brother admitted. "Maria said she lasted because she was immune to his dark magic and managed to think clearly enough to hit him which… sounds like a massive understatement, but is probably closer to the truth. Given how Mary has kept quoting the story of 'Goodwife Bathory' at me, I think Maria was trying to downplay herself so we don't feel threatened."
"Ugh, that old story," Alan said. "Who takes that one literally? It's just an old allegory about being careful of strangers, pedophiles, cannibals, the usual thing."
"Didn't you hide from all the commoner servants after you first heard it?"
"I was seven. Besides, Katarina's gardener told me the version commoners tell is about Evil Lady Bathory, so it's probably just class displaced as an added level of xenophobia, speaking of the fear of what is unknown or other. "
"Ah, I see Sophia gave you her analysis."
Alan shrugged. "So," he said, "how do we solve the problem of Maria?"
"We'll have to pass the information along to the ministry," his brother said. "It's rare but not unknown for Dark Magic wielders to turn themselves in. They tend to get put on probation until we're sure they can be trusted, but mostly they get payed to keep their mouths shut about it and not use it."
Alan snorted. "A good deal if you can get it," he said. "But wouldn't they be charged with murder?"
"Not necessarily. You'd be surprised how many people dabbling in Dark Magic have someone else try it first to see if it's real. The Marchioness did. At worst those people would be charged of being an accessory to crimes. It rarely happens, though. Most 'test subjects' are children chosen for being easy to get rid of."
Alan's face twisted. "And you're going to be the one inheriting all those problems," he said sarcastically. "Lucky you."
"I can always find paperwork for little brothers sucking up the tax money, you know…"
Maria made cookies.
It had been a difficult process. She remembered making some with her parents when she was younger, before her memories of her cursed previous life had resurfaced within her. The details were hazy, but she had remembered her mother referring to a list of ingredients, and Maria and her father having to follow her directions exactly on pain of bad cookies.
Maria's fifth intentional use of Dark Magic had been to use it on herself to drag those memories out into stark clarity. The process had felt… strange, and she'd experienced it as a strange waking dream, but she had managed to take notes and pay sharp attention to her mother's directions, as well as taking a brief, half-remembered glimpse of a note and sharpening it until she could confidently write it all down exactly, and even sketch the little stains and folds on the paper.
The dark smoke from her hand and, she guessed, her head hadn't lasted long, though she had felt an… emptying sensation, as if she'd lost something when she'd done it. It was a small, near-infinitesimal amount, but as anyone who tried to make their blood vials last knew, every little bit gone comes back to bite you in the ass and help the beasts maul you later.
They had resulted in excellent cookies though. The best she'd had in any life. Further uses of Dark Magic on herself had helped her recall other recipes.
So now she made sweets in the small corner of the academy kitchens she'd managed to ask the staff for. Most would go to Lady Claes, to keep her in place so her disturbing admirers would work. Some would be left for the kitchen staff to enjoy, as thanks for allowing her to use the facilities. Some she kept for herself, because it WAS good, and she liked the fact she'd managed to create something that hurt absolutely no one.
And the last little bit, she gave to Anne Shelley for her own use. Although it's likely she shared it with her mistress, making Lady Claes' share marginally bigger, the woman had thanked Maria for the gift, and it was the least she could do for one of the few people who did not hold any lascivious intentions towards the girl. Indeed, with the benefit of hindsight she saw she had judged harshly and cruelly. As Lady Claes' maid, she of all people would know most intimately how much assistance her charge required, and Maria had slandered her, albeit only in her own mind, for her concern, attributing it to base desires.
She got the feeling the older woman was beginning to like her. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. Surely people had liked Maria before, right? People other than her poor charges in the Research Hall? Surely…
Maria aggressively ate one of the cookies, of the type which bore the unusual name of chucklescribbles,. It was delicious, warm, sweet, buttery and smooth. She resisted the urge to swallow it all down and have seconds and thirds and tenths. Cookies or blood vials, that way lay madness and regret. So she ate the cookie slowly, like a disciplined adult should, trying not to think if there was anyone else who liked her…
Sighing, feeling tired for some reason, she began to clean her area and pack away her cookies. For some reason, the old, sharpened image of her mother feeding her father cookies as she watched came to mind...
Hmm, perhaps her grasp on Dark Magic wasn't as exact as she'd thought. Why did mother sometimes look younger in her imaginings, almost her mirror image? Why did her father sometimes have red hair and look younger? Really, it was as if she were imagining two different people sharing cookies, delicately having their fingers licked, being slowly pulled down to the floor and–
Maria reached for another cookie and bit into it like it was made of blood.
Hmm, would that help, perhaps? Blood cookies… perhaps she could try it, make the blood into a jelly so it wouldn't dry out…