-Sébire-

The grand public square on the western tip of the Île de la Cité was finally being decorated, and lavishly so, for the grand Shimano wedding. Lady Sébire Shimano, who was also Mage Second of l'École de Communication, had wasted no time and spared no expense. She walked back and forth discussing her plans with those involved, making certain that everything would be perfect. Currently, the topic of conversation was the flowers, which would be overseen by Sir Fiore Chevalier, Mage Second of l'École d'Éléments. 

Sébire was average height, with a thin, delicate frame and angular features. She walked straight-backed; head held high with a haughty, cold air. Those she passed in the street quickly sidestepped her, some with a slight bow, a few others with a slight sneer only half-hidden. Sébire did not care, they were all beneath her. Her fine blue-black hair fell in a loose, unbound waterfall down her back and her black robes, embroidered and trimmed with yellow, were pristine.

Not a hair nor thread was ever out of place on Sébire, and her yellow sash was folded perfectly so that the Shimano family crest, a stylized sakura blossom in shades of pink and redon a white field, was easily visible. Like all rarissime, her eyes stood out the most. They were deep blue, like pools of water with infinite depth and they matched the azurite staff she carried in her left hand. As she walked, her staff chimed softly. It was crafted to resemble a shakujou, a monk's sounding staff. Beside her, Fiore Chevalier strolled along with his own quiet dignity, the sort of pride befitting two members of Lutetian noble society. A moss agate staff, shaped at the tip like a single tulip, was tucked neatly into the orange sash around Fiore's waist.

"I imagine you'll want several of those?" asked Fiore, indicating the sakura blossom on Sébire's sash.

"Only one," Sébire responded, and lifted her azurite staff to point towards the tip of the island, where the wedding procession would end. "A single tree, there, where the ceremony will be. Yvain and I will stand underneath it."

Fiore nodded. He was tall, with the same platinum blond hair and clear blue eyes as the rest of his family. His hair was long and straight, pulled into a high ponytail. "Very lovely," he agreed. "I will have to begin growing it right away. Sakura trees are fickle things. Nothing I grow can compare to the natural ones kept on your estate."

Sébire's lips twitched in a smile. "Nothing from home compares to the vast gardens which your family maintains, Sir Fiore," she responded graciously, one noble to another. "No doubt you will do an excellent job with the sakura tree."

Fiore laughed. "Even I have my limits. Growing a cherry tree in the middle of summer and keeping it in bloom? If I manage it, it shall be mine and my fellow flower-mages' greatest achievement yet."

"If it would help, I can authorize the removal of one of my own trees to be transported here." Sébire paused and turned to Fiore, one thin eyebrow raised. "Couldn't some of your weather-mages help?"

Fiore tilted his head to the side. "I'm not sure what will be easier but thank you for the offer. As for the weather-mages, no doubt I'll have to recruit a few in either case." Then he admitted, "Not even a team of them are talented enough to reverse the seasons."

This time Sébire frowned. "Well," she sniffed, "do your best. It isn't my fault I had to postpone the wedding. Had I been allowed to have it in spring, then the sakura would not be an issue."

"I didn't imply it was," Fiore soothed. "And I do enjoy a challenge."

Sébire nodded curtly, and they resumed their slow walk.

"Have you given more thought to the camellias?" Fiore asked. "You had mentioned them before."

Sébire pondered a moment and imagined the beautiful, bright red flowers surrounding them. "Camellias are considered an ill omen. I should not have them," she added with a sigh.

It was almost a shame, Sébire thought, that the Chevalière family was matriarchal, and Fiore, as the younger brother to the current head of the family, would never climb higher in the noble ranks. He had a much calmer demeanor and level head than of his sisters or nieces, all of whom had abrasive, loud personalities that grated on Sébire whenever they were around.

Inside her mind, Sébire's anima, Eru, chimed. Eru's voice was like a bell, sometimes deep and resonating, sometimes light and high in pitch. It always depended on the spirit's mood, and Eru did not seem to speak in words like Sébire was told most animi did. Eru chimed again, and Sébire heard the voices and footsteps that signaled Yvain's approach. Sébire's heart felt instantly lighter, and she turned to see her fiancé, Yvain Gendarmes, walking towards her. He opened his arms, holding out his hands.

Sébire reached for him, and he gently took her free hand in both of his, squeezing it. Yvain leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. Sébire was taller by a finger's width or two. Standing next to Sébire, Yvain was not only short, but he looked plain and disheveled compared to his porcelain fiancée. Yvain's straw-colored hair was cut very short, for if it grew to almost any length, it would stick out in all directions. Even his pyrite staff, rough and plain without a clear form, seemed crude compared to Sébire's translucent, smooth azurite.

Sébire's good mood began to dissipate as she saw Yvain's Mage Master, Ansgar, walking behind him. Ansgar and Yvain were both Battlemages, members of l'École d'Armement, the Weapons School of Magic which taught its students combative and martial arts. Like all Battlemages, they could transform their staves into various weapons, with which they were incredibly proficient. Both wore a red-trimmed black tunic and straight-hemmed pants. Added trim around Yvain's tunic, and the red-embroidered white robe Ansgar wore, showed their status as Mage Second and Mage Master.

"You've picked quite a spot, Sébire," Ansgar said, looking around. "The ancient Île du Patriarche. A grand slap to the Déchu when we took it and built it into our Île de la Cité."

Sébire's nose wrinkled. Ansgar might have been a Mage Master, but he was a commoner, and not even a Lutetian commoner.

"I assure you I had no motives other than my own desire for a beautiful location. What do I care for ancient history?"

"Lady Sébire was just giving me my final instructions," Fiore interjected graciously, drawing Sébire's attention back to the task at hand. "She knows exactly what it is she wants and makes sure to get it!"

Yvain laughed. "Yes, and she expects no less than the best. Flower-mages from the outer districts were not good enough."

Sébire lifted her chin. "I deserve nothing less than perfect," she chided, smiling slightly.

"If perfection is what you're looking for," Fiore began, his curiosity genuine, "then why aren't you holding this event on the Shimano estate? Surely, it's more spacious than the Île de la Cité?"

"It certainly would make my life a bit easier!" cut in Ansgar with his foxlike grin. "More security is needed for such a public affair."

"I refuse," Sébire said shortly, glaring at Ansgar, "to have anyone from the Shimano estate here. I have given them enough satisfaction by gaining my rank, and no doubt they claim they were the ones who were so worthy of Elam to have a rarissime in the family."

Yvain squeezed Sébire's fingers again. "Bijou, it's your wedding. Your family should be there."

"Why? All they would do is tell me how it should be. What I should wear." Sébire shook her head. "No. Nothing in my life has ever been my decision, except you. My family will have nothing to do with us, at least for this."

Yvain looked at her, his deep brown eyes so big and calm, and Sébire took a shaky breath. Fiore had stepped back a few paces, looking as if he were calculating the number of wisterias he would need, and pointedly ignoring the couple.

"Bijou," Yvain repeated, "you know I'll support anything you want. But marrying me won't get you away from your family. You're supposed to be the next head of the estate." He cupped her cheek and Sébire pressed her own hand against his. "Nor do I want this to be an act of rebellion on your part."

"It isn't that, Yvain. This isn't about my family at all," she whispered, looking at him. "Being with you makes it more bearable. You're the only one who keeps me grounded."

Yvain smiled, and once again took her hand, kissing it. "Do you want any help here?" he asked.

Sébire smiled at him. "No. Sir Fiore and I are almost finished."

"I'll see you at home, then?"

Home, for Sébire and Yvain, was their apartment in the Palais de Justice, where most of the high-ranking Parisii Mages lived and worked. The apartments were well furnished and luxurious, but modest in size. Sébire, of course, had her own large house in the sixteenth district of Lutèce, which served as the entire Shimano estate, but she rarely went there anymore. It was like a cage to her more than anything, a reminder of all the expectations she was meant to fill.

Sébire responded softly, still smiling, "I'll see you at home."

***

-Fiore-

Yvain turned to leave, nodding his head to Fiore, who returned the gesture graciously. Fiore was usually at ease with other Battlemages; though he was not one himself, it was what his family was known for, and he grew up learning to fight with the best combatants in Lutèce. Ansgar was a slightly different story, however. Fiore had no ill will towards him, but the current Master of Armement was, as Sébire had mentioned many times, a disconcerting sort.

The Battlemage Master had stayed behind even after Yvain left. Ansgar's hands were tucked inside the wide sleeves of his red-embroidered white robe, which fluttered over his black tunic and leggings. Inside the sleeve of his robe, Fiore knew, Ansgar carried his anatase staff, though he kept it perpetually in the form of a sleek anatase dagger. It must have taken an extreme amount of willpower and skill to maintain a weapon's shape. Ansgar had light brown hair, long enough to cover his ears and tickle the back of his neck. His eyes were light brown with grey rings, and though his mouth was always smiling, his eyes always seemed hard and angry.

"Thought I'd drop by," he said after the silence had grown awkward, "to see how things were coming along! Get an idea of how I'll need to set up security."

"Yvain is perfectly capable of handling all that himself, is he not?" Sébire demanded.

"Yvain might be in charge of the Gendarmes, but he's still my Mage Second, and therefore I have every right. Told him he didn't need to worry so much. It's his wedding, after all, he should be focusing on other matters!"

"Surely the Lécuyer family, then," Sébire began, looking to Fiore for help. Fiore opened his mouth, in an attempt to remain neutral, but Ansgar spoke first.

"Their only duty is to protect the Chevalières," Ansgar pointed out, adding a gracious nod towards Fiore, who crossed his arms and remained still. "Wouldn't want them to overstep their bounds. Like it or not, I'm in charge of your security, Sébire. Can't do my job if you're going to fight me every step of the way."

Sébire's frown deepened. "Very well," she acquiesced.

"Excellent! Once you've finished planning what you want, make sure to send me everything as soon as possible so I can begin the security details. If you'll both excuse me, I promised to meet Siena for lunch."

He inclined his head, but to Sébire it looked more like a mocking gesture than one of respect. Then he turned and left. When he had gone, Fiore cleared his throat and stepped forward.

"Why him?" sighed Sébire.

"Master Ansgar has his quirks," admitted Fiore. "Just as all Élu born in the Old World do. We cannot fault him for that."

"He's rude and disrespectful. How did he ever oust the Chevalières from their position in l'École d'Armement?"

"He is a powerful Battlemage," Fiore countered. "Only Azalée managed to beat him in combat, but she can no longer hold the title of Battlemaster."

Sébire scoffed. "Weapons. Brute strength is wasted in this day and age."

"Your fiancé is a Battlemage," Fiore pointed out, trying to keep the smile at bay. "I think it is just Ansgar you dislike."

Sébire looked at him and turned up her nose. "I would say more, but it would not do to speak poorly of your family in your presence."

At this, Fiore laughed. When he finished and his laugh died, he saw Sébire looked genuinely confused. Another chuckle escaped Fiore, and he could not help it. "I know better than most how my family can be. Trust me, nothing you say will offend me greatly, unless you speak ill of our honor."

"I would never do such a thing," Sébire pressed. "I know full well the history of the Chevalières, and their importance to Lutèce. I may think the Weapons School is obsolete, but never would I disparage the service and honor of your clan."

"And you believe Ansgar to be without honor," stated Fiore.

"It is no more than I've heard others say. Except Yvain. The way Yvain speaks of him," Sébire's voice grew soft, "one would think Ansgar is the greatest Battlemage to grace our city."

Fiore shrugged. "One might say he is. He's the first Master Battlemage to ever gain that title from the family who has traditionally maintained it since the Order was established."

Sébire looked up at Fiore. "You speak better of him than the rest of your family. I remember the stir he caused when he defeated Lady Jasmine for the title."

Fiore grinned, remembering his sister Suzanne and her daughter, Jasmine's, humiliation. "Jasmine sulked for months because of that. Of course, it could be argued my sister had put too many expectations on her."

"I know that only too well," Sébire responded. "But you do not seem bothered by the upstart's arrival and subsequent overthrow."

"It doesn't concern me," Fiore said simply. "I'm an Elementalist, and even if I were a Battlemage, I would not be affected by any hierarchical change. I could not go after the title of Battlemaster without risking the anger of my sisters and nieces. Better their wrath be placed upon someone else, who is outside the family. I'm not saying Ansgar deserves their anger, but they won't ostracize him as they would were it me. I wouldn't trade Uli's Gift for any other," he added, a reverent tone in his voice. He felt his anima brush his thoughts and smiled.

Sébire seemed to consider this. "I expect the controversy surrounding young Lady Rose's adoption has still not settled well with the family, either. How is she doing in her studies?"

"Thérèse," Fiore corrected. "She is a marvel, truly. It's gotten easier, but there are still hard feelings. Jasmine would have been the next head of the family had Azalée not brought Thérèse in." Fiore wondered about Sébire's questions. The stoic woman was never one to make small talk, but Fiore found it a pleasant enough change from her usual cool demeanor. "And the family is still not happy with Azalée, but they would not dare challenge her, either. Poor Thérèse still feels like an outsider, even after all this time."

Sébire nodded, and as quickly as she was interested, seemed to drop her curiosity. She looked around them. Without realizing it, she and Fiore had reached the end of the procession, where the sakura tree would be blooming. Fiore could see it in his mind. It would be very beautiful. He turned to Sébire.

"Is there anything else, Lady Sébire? I would like to begin my work right away."

Sébire pressed a hand to her chest and her face softened. "Camellias," she sighed. "Red camellias."

Fiore smiled. "Certainly." He inclined his head, slightly surprised when Sébire returned the gesture, and began to take his leave.

"Sir Fiore," Sébire called after him. Fiore turned, thinking she had decided on something else. Instead, she looked at him, and smiled. "Thank you," she finished, bowing deeply at the waist, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her fine black hair fell like a waterfall over her shoulders as she moved.

Fiore's expression turned to shock, then he quickly covered it before Sébire noticed. I might count myself among the handful who have ever heard that from Sébire Shimano, he thought, amused. He bent his right arm at the elbow across his waist and bowed.