And so, a little over a year after my graduation I got my graduation party. All of Dad’s friends were there, of course, and many of my friends from school, including a number of fellow theorists. Mother was completely in her element, welcoming guests, ordering servants around, and generally making sure all went smoothly. It was a grand occasion, and I was enjoying myself, though every now and then the memory of that other party, at Lord Morren’s would come back hauntingly. When it did, I firmly dismissed it. I was free now, and I was going to have a good time. Though I was very glad that we had only paid servants, and no slaves. The sight of some poor slave serving drinks would probably have been too much for me.

As the night wore on I was standing in a little triangle with my father and Lauren, the lady thief who was still hanging around our house. She claimed she was taking advantage of our hospitality and scouting us out, and one day we’d wake up and find she’d carted off the family fortune while we slept, but she always said it with a grin, and we all knew she was kidding. She was telling, for the fourth or fifth time, the harrowing story of how she’d been delayed on the road from Lord Morren’s, which was the reason why I’d found my father preparing to rush to the rescue rather than already on the road. She was a good storyteller, though I was sure she was exaggerating at least a few of the details of her story. In the middle of her hair-raising escape, my father looked up toward the door and his eyes widened.

I followed his gaze and saw an elderly but elegant lady standing in the doorway. “Who…?” I asked.

“Lady Reginet. She’s a grand master mage. I took a few classes from her back in the days before she retired from active teaching. She’s the one I was telling you about, who told me abut the importance of theory rather than power. I invited her, I always do, but she’s never come before. She hasn’t been to a social event in a decade.”

I looked at the Lady again. She was descending the broad stairs into the ballroom, a picture of old-fashioned grace. Then my eyes fell on a second figure following a few steps behind and a shock of recognition went though me. She looked different now, of course. Her hair was done up and she was wearing a gorgeous gown not a tattered tunic, but there was no mistaking her. I started forward. I wanted to run, to shout her name, but I managed to keep a somewhat dignified pace. My father followed close on my heels. I reached the base of the stair just as the Lady Reginet finished her decent. My father came up beside me. He bowed, saying, “My Lady! What brings you here?” She smiled, and my father caught himself and said, “I’m sorry, I’m forgetting my manners. Lady Reginet, this is my son, Ashen. Ashen, the Lady Reginet.”

Managing to recall the social necessities, I bowed, though my attention was still centered on Amelia, who stood just behind her grandmother. Lady Reginet laughed a little, cheerful laugh. The laugh lines in her worn face showed that such an expression came often to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you at last young man. I have heard a great deal about you.” She gestured to Amelia. “Lord Kestral, my granddaughter, Amelia. I believe she and your son are already acquainted.”

Amelia stepped forward. She curtsied prettily to my father and then turned to me. A warm smile lit up her hazel eyes and she said, simply, “Ashen.”

“Amelia,” I responded, suddenly tongue-tied. I wanted to hug her, to whirl her around in an expression of exuberant happiness, but I was conscious of propriety in this formal setting.

Then she stepped one step closer and said my name again, “Ashen.”

To heck with propriety, I thought, and swept her up in my arms.

The End.