“Lovely! It's like choosing a racehorse."

I gently removed my strong, neatly manicured hands from my shoulders.

- Okay, I flew, we'll talk later. Otherwise, I will be completely late, and the curator will really send me to the border with the orcs. For disrespect. And so to speak, as a warning to future graduates.

The Viscount rang a silver bell, calling for a servant to hitch up a carriage for me, but I, defiantly, climbed into my Fly's saddle and let her stretch a little. The fly, a thin-legged mare of golden color with a black mane, briskly moved its legs. The ducal park, fragrant with roses, flashed past, then cottages, houses and villas flew by in color spots on the sides, and finally, the central part of the Upper Town. All palace-like buildings in light pastel colors, large shops with shop windows sparkling in the sun, a square of teleporters paved with yellow stone with an elegant marble fountain in the middle ... Daisar in general is a stunningly beautiful city.

Why did I run so shamefully?

Because it wasn't even about Leonard or some principles that kept me from getting married. And certainly not in any "love" in which I did not believe in years from the age of twelve. I liked being frivolous. I liked not to think about tomorrow. And the selfish desire to live “for myself” attracted me much more than the ring on my finger and the status of a married lady.

Although I'm lying a little. Not only this. I wanted to do something myself. So far, this "something" was very abstract for me and should have started by itself with the obligatory departure from the capital.

"Adventure," an inner voice suggested with a sigh, "would you like to go check your blood for the Geller factor?"

I waved it off. Heller is a physiological feature that causes a constant need for adrenaline, and severe depression if this adrenaline is not received. In addition - resistance to the influence of mental magic and chaos. Well, emotional instability. It is tested if you are going to sit in the House of Lords, or have a high position at court. Why should I?

In any case, I have not yet met guys who would interest me enough to think about marriage. In older men, I was sorely lacking ... how can I put it more clearly? Bodies and fools. So. Sorry for some confusion, there was plenty of it in my head at that time.

The culprit of the whole situation with Leo was someone, Maestro Fillicio. Unclear? I'll explain now. A month ago, on the stage of the Royal Theater, it thundered, thundered! his new play, ghouls take it away, is The Count Eugene. The essence was uncomplicated, like in a love story that my older sister leafs through out of boredom. In short, there lived a guy, handsome, young, rich, and everything was fine with him, until he met one lady, of an overly exalted character. The count fell in love in earnest and for the remaining hour he suffered beautifully to the applause of the public. Like, love, this is the main thing, if you suffer and achieve that only one, you will be bliss for the coffin of life. And it was still tolerable. But the actor who played the main role, unfortunately, turned out to be talented, so suddenly suffering became fashionable. To swear in love, to convince yourself that this is the very happiness! Leonard is not the only one who fell for fashion. Half of my buddies went from restaurant fun and frivolous ditties to aahs and moonlight sighs. The girls were mostly thrilled, I was furious. Well, nothing, it's only until the next high-profile premiere, fashion doesn't stay with us for a long time.

I got to the Academy in record time, only five minutes late due to a small traffic jam on Golden Street - two merchant carts with the monograms of the names of expensive stores on the sides caught on. Thank you, my father taught me to ride on the sly in the countryside, in a carriage I would have stuck there for another good half an hour, quietly going crazy with rage because of the ridiculous delay. And so - it's normal, and my saddle is no longer conspicuous, as it was twenty years ago. Emancipation gradually attacked our world. The mere fact that I was able to become a magician already spoke volumes. On the other hand, a woman's cigarillos were still a challenge to society. Extravagance bordering on rebelliousness. Yes, and the gods with them, with these customs.

The Academy of Magic is one of the attractions of Daisar: chiseled white marble columns, openwork turrets, stucco on the walls, narrow barred windows. Above the main entrance hung a huge antique clock framed in white silver. It was their sonorous battle that drove the students from classes and to classes. I nodded to them like an old acquaintance, jumping off Mukha. A disheveled groom in an old brown jacket ran up and grabbed the reins and a small coin with amazing dexterity and led my beauty somewhere to the side. My feet carried me up the snow-white stairs. Before I dived through the open gate, I seized the moment by rubbing my nose at the bronze statue of a griffin for good luck. Thanks to student tradition, the nose of the statue sparkled, polished over hundreds of years by the palms of thousands of students. Only now, writing it all down, can I understand the irony of

I almost flew into the curator's office, getting tangled in the hem of a dark emerald silk dress.

Maitre Olsin, a man of about fifty, with a neatly trimmed beard and a small scar on his eyebrow, was sitting at a desk with his back to the window, reading something.

- Mater ... - I imitated a knock on the door frame.

- Good afternoon, young lady, - slightly squinted and completely young cornflower blue eyes stared at me, - I see we have not taught you punctuality.

However, he didn't get angry. He said that it was impossible to be angry with me, that it was all from an excess of energy, elven blood, and that I would still have time to grow up. After all, he was once friends with both of my grandfathers, even at a time when they were only linked by a vendetta of childbirth. Perhaps, whether he was less wise or, let's say more directly - cunning, one of my parents could simply not be born. And as a result, me. I felt a certain sentimental gratitude and tried to treat his words and instructions as attentively as possible.

Therefore, with a look of remorse on her face, she neatly perched on a comfortable easy chair upholstered in blue velvet - for visitors, on the other side of the wide table littered with papers.

- Good afternoon, master.

He went through a couple of sheets again and handed them to me, tilting his head slightly so that a strand of gray hair fell on his cheek. He automatically removed it by the ear, with a completely familiar and homely gesture. It was this strand that Maitre Olsin began to wind around his finger when they drank a couple of glasses by the fireplace in the living room with papa and moved on to philosophical conversations. And it was she who tried to tear out of his head, after the tenth, when the conversation turned into a furious argument between two temperamental tipsy men. He often visited us, did I already say? Almost a member of the family.

- Diploma, Christina. Otherwise, I'm afraid you might forget it.

A thin sheet of stamped paper told anyone that I could do something like that, so you should address me as a master, and with me as respectfully as possible. To avoid, so to speak.

- Let's watch. School of Fire - passed the middle course, School of Mind Control - also average, School of Information - all the same. Alchemy - average, plus, a lot of additional classes. Do you want to specialize in alchemy?

“I haven’t decided yet,” I smiled and shrugged vaguely.

- Maybe you would like to stay in the laboratory at the Academy?

I shook my head.

- It would be better to try something new, to be honest.

The elderly mage glared at me with cornflower blue eyes.

"But isn't... um... your personal life centered in Daisar?"

Well, he is one of the few who had the right to ask me such questions. I, mechanically copying his gesture, began to fiddle with a copper curl that had come out from behind my ear and sighed.

- My personal life demands to get out of here.

"What expressions, Chris," he sighed disapprovingly.

I shrugged again, not wanting to apologize.

- What about your friend?

- And we had a misunderstanding.

- Yes? It seemed to me that he was very serious, - my curator ironically raised an eyebrow.

"Too serious," I sighed.

- Oh yeah. His father sent his secretary to me, you know?

Well! It seems like I'm not to blame here, but it's still somehow ashamed. Leo... No, what kind of person, huh?

"Sorry, it shouldn't have turned... like this."