others for several weeks. Brigitte was afraid they had been caught. Then, with Segance, she figured they were part of the group sent in. Laurel could be dead or in the infirmary for all we know.”
“That’s less comforting. What about Laurence?”
I couldn’t imagine Laurence supporting this.
“He’ll be fine,” said Charles. “Leave him to me.” A whistle came from outside the tent, high-pitched and cheery, and Charles cursed. “Act normal, and if anything happens, I’ll take the fall.”
He said it so easily, and I hated it.
I couldn’t let him do that.
Laurence, whistling, threw open the tent flap and had his coat half-off before he noticed us. “How is it somehow always you three together when one of you isn’t even working for me?”
Sébastien followed in after him.
“We needed someplace quiet to talk about things.” Charles smiled at Laurence and got off his cot.
“Am I not allowed peace?” Laurence tossed his coat where Charles had been. “First His Majesty and now you lot.”
Hypocrite.
“What did he want?” Charles asked Laurence and looked at me.
Laurence pulled a clean coat from the bag at the foot of his cot and shooed us out of his way. “Everything. Not to be surrounded by two hacks and one very nosy apprentice?”
“I am your favorite nosy apprentice,” said Charles.
“Third at least.” Laurence untied and retied his hair with shaking hands. He had been out all morning with another unit and opted to leave us behind.
Sébastien let out a low cheer and winked at Charles.
“I hope a tree falls on you,” murmured Charles to Laurence.
Laurence laughed. “After years of teaching, it would be a mercy.”
“You’ve only been teaching for three years,” I said. “It can’t be that bad.”
“You have no idea.” He showed us a strand of white hair. “This is all your fault.”
“You look very distinguished, Laurence.” Charles smiled, and it was clear how much he adored Laurence. “Like a sturdy, dependable mountain with fresh snow.”
“Please never attempt to compliment me again.” Laurence finished buttoning his coat and looked around at all of us. “We need to talk about how my meeting went.” He pointed at Madeline. “You may stay if you wish, but it won’t concern you.”
“I’ll stay.” She curtsied. “Thank you.”
“Well, firstly, everyone called me Monsieur le Prince, and secondly, His Majesty used my favorite phrase—the opposite of the noonday arts,” Laurence said with all of the affection one usually reserved for dog shit on the sole of a shoe. “He wants me to find a way to store more magic in his sword and shield so he may use the noonday arts at night in the event of an attack, and I made the fatal flaw of suggesting he use the midnight arts instead.”
The midnight arts couldn’t be used for battle magic. They were too weak. Battle magic was strictly noonday, destructive and fickle. “Could he even do that?”
“Logistically, yes,” Laurence said, “but personally, no. He’s far too proud.”
“No, I mean, can the midnight arts be used for battle magic?”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Laurence shrugged and gathered power in his hands. “Most things don’t have a natural opposite, magic included. The divisions are purely synthetic—for some reason, our world creates magic with lower energy at night. It’s a bit like our alchemistry with sleep cycles if you think about it. As if the world is a grand beast waking and slumbering beneath us.” He let out a great sigh, eyes glazed with the faraway look of thinking, and curled a strand of hair around his finger. “Transforming things at an ethereal level requires immense amounts of energy, so people use high-energy magic for it. Illusions and divining require more control and less energy, so there’s no reason to use high-energy magic. All magic can be used for anything. You simply have to adjust to account for how much energy there is. And, of course, it’s not all high and low. It’s really more of a spectrum, like many things.”
Laurence drew his hand through the air in a wave pattern.
“Eventually, the artists in charge categorized the arts into noonday and midnight,” he said. “It’s very misleading.”
Charles glanced at me. “Would you like place a bet as to what sort of artists they were?”
“I don’t take bets I know I’ll lose,” I said.
“Even Estrel with all of her little lists realized magic was high-energy and low-energy and capable of doing anything,” said Laurence.
“I thought you kicked a chair out from under her when you discussed that in class?” Sébastien finally looked up from his journal. “My brother