Obel blinked as though bored. “My appropriate address is ‘Your Grace.’ I may be a Mage, but my title as a duke ranks above that,” he said flatly. “And as to your magic, any Night Mage could see the shroud you’ve got up around Highlord Calder. It’s thin, at best, but I’d go so far as to call it visible. I can see the shadow around him attempting to mask his form. Who taught you?”
Deckard glanced at Auden, still standing shrouded beside his brother, before replying, “Highlord Calder.”
Obel scoffed. “That explains it,” he said, then waved a hand at Auden. “You can remove the shroud.”
Deckard did as commanded, allowing the shroud to fade with a mental release, and Auden’s figure sharpened.
Lord Obel ignored them both, moving for Vayden. “Welcome back, my boy,” he said, patting the man’s arm. “I still think they retired you too soon. You could be giving Blount more trouble yet.”
“I’m an old man like you now, Sirraus,” Vayden replied with a fond smile. “And I’ve found other work to suit me.”
“So I hear,” Obel said, then instructed them all to take a seat. He settled across from the Calder brothers on the second couch, so Deckard took one of the chairs nearer the hearth.
The duke surveyed Deckard thoughtfully. “Well, you’re Colonel Deckard?” he asked, his Waulden accent finer than any he’d yet heard. “I thought you were Ephrian.”
“So did I,” Deckard replied.
“Life is full of surprises, I suppose.” Obel rested his hands on his legs. “Fishere said you wanted to speak with me, Colonel, but as you’re leaving in the morning, I’m afraid I don’t know how much help I can be.”
Deckard kept his gaze slightly averted from the duke’s, uncertain how such high-ranking noblemen preferred to be treated. In Ephria, he’d only ever met magistrates and the occasional baron. A duke was a formidable ally indeed.
“Your Grace,” he began, but Obel interrupted.
“Look at me when you’re speaking, boy,” he said. “I’m not going to chop off your head for insubordination.”
Vayden chuckled as Deckard corrected his posture. “My apologies, Your Grace,” he said, then started over. “I’m not entirely certain what help you might offer either. However, my magic is both inexpert and seemingly...dangerous. I would appreciate any help you can give me, even if it’s just to control it better.”
Obel huffed. “Fishere said you are a Night Mage, which strikes me as odd since you’re not very good at it. I can understand that Highlord Calder isn’t the best teacher for the craft, but if Night is your primary, why are you so damned pitiful at it?”
Deckard met Auden’s gaze. The Day Mage’s brows were drawn low in irritation and confusion, but he offered no assistance.
Angling toward the duke, Deckard worked to control his frown. “I’m not sure I understand, Your Grace.”
Expression impassive, Obel looked from Deckard to Auden, over to Vayden, and back. “Why do you believe you’re a Night Mage?” he asked.
Deckard took a deep breath before explaining. “A month ago, I discovered my magic when I held the Night Relic for the first time. From there, Auden and Ilain tested me, discovering that I’m an Existential Mage. Aside from that...the first time I unknowingly accessed magic, it was Night magic.”
“Unknowingly?” Obel prompted.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Deckard said. “Before I was aware of my power, I...accidentally summoned a ghost.”
The duke’s expression pinched. “You summoned a ghostaccidentally?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Mm.” Obel sat back in his seat, his hand stroking his silvering beard. He didn’t speak, studying Deckard slowly. His eyes began at his face, then scanned down as though looking for traces of magic itself.
Finally, the duke let his hand fall away. “Well, I don’t perceive death on you,” he announced. “Usually, when the Deep is growing in a Night Mage, often spurred on by the summoning of a ghost or some other necromantic work, it hangs around them like a cloud. But you’re clear as Day. When was the last time you summoned this ghost of yours?”
Deckard spared a glance at the Calder brothers. Vayden watched with amused interest while Auden pursed his lips in agitation.
Sitting up straighter, Deckard cleared his throat. “Two days ago,” he answered.
Obel turned to Auden. “Have you seen this ghost?”
“I have,” Auden said tersely.
“Did he look natural?”
