Tristan and the Majesteria

Corwynn Rosewood

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PROLOGUE + CHAPTER ONE

SAMPLE

TRISTAN

AND THE MAJESTERIA

Copyright © 2025 by Corwynn Rosewood

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

No generative artificial intelligence (AI) was used in the writing, editing, marketing or publishing of this work. The author expressly prohibits any entity from using this publication for purposes of training AI technologies.

Cover Design: CRW

Developmental Editor: Parker Frost

Copy Editor: Jennifer Kinsey Bangley

Prologue

Tristan Mulberry had a very unusual job. At first glance it didn’t sound all that strange, but he always had some trouble explaining his job once he started getting into the details.

On the one hand, he worked for the Majesteria, some of the most powerful mages in the realm, assisting them with whatever they needed. It was a highly sought after position at Teakley Academy, a well respected academic institute, requiring expert use of complicated Starlight Magic and a near encyclopedic knowledge of herbs.

On the other hand, at least half the time his job consisted of tracking down an exceptionally small needle so that one of the Majesteria could embroider flowers onto a cloak, or procuring large amounts of cheese.

So much cheese.

He had not known much about cheese before he became a Majesteria Handler. Now he could tell you the origins of thirty different varieties of cheddar in his sleep. For you see, the Majesteria he worked for, those powerful mages of great renown?

Well.

They were mice.

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Not your average field mice, of course. The Majesteria were a variety of mouse that was quite a bit larger, called a Hi-Mouse. They had slightly bigger ears, thicker fur, and were rather inclined towards walking on two paws and wearing clothes. Oh, and of course, they were almost always imbued with copious amounts of magical abilities.

Not all Majesteria were mice, Majesteria being the title of a larger group of magical animals, but quite a lot of them were Hi-Mice.

The three Majesteria Tristan worked for were Edwina, Marigold and Chica. They were wildly smart, very opinionated, vastly knowledgable and tremendously kind. They were also the most stubborn, gossipy and utterly ridiculous creatures he had ever met. Naturally, Tristan would have walked over hot coals to get them a wedge of cheese.

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But right now, Tristan did not have to worry about such things. Right now, he was facing down something far worse than hot coals: middle management. He was sitting in the cold, empty waiting room of his supervisor, Lord Blanchard. They were about to have a meeting about the Teakley expedition to the Queen’s Coronation to deliver the Royal Cinderflower.

Ah, the Royal Cinderflower. It had been the source of some excitement for Tristan and the Majesteria over the last few months. The Cinderflower was many things; first and foremost it was a rare and temperamental magical flower. It lived eternally, if properly cared for, and just one of its leaves would probably be enough magical power to instantly demolish an entire city. Or a very large village, at least. It was a relic of an ancient time when the authority of the Crown was established in these parts by means of magical force.

But mostly, it was a symbol. It represented the power and might of the Crown, and they put it on everything. It was on the flag, the coins, livery, cutlery, knight’s shields and ornately embroidered gowns. Luxury furniture often featured a Cinderflower motif, but the cheapest matchboxes had the flower too. It was not just a symbol of the realm, it was the symbol and an essential part of the ritual for the new Queen’s Coronation.

It was also just a flower that was very, very old.

It had old, dry, crusted soil; browned corners on the leaves, root rot, a little bit of pinkish mold, and a mysterious slime along the stem.

So, the Crown had sent it to the most expert magical botanists in the realm for examination and restoration to get it looking its royal best before the Queen’s Coronation. Those experts happened to all reside at Teakley Academy.

The Royal Cinderflower had arrived at Teakley with an armed guard and a few dozen wagons, covered in gilded livery with bright flags flapping in the breeze. Tristan had watched with everyone else at the windows lining the courtyard as the Royal Guards brought the Cinderflower into the Academy, squinting to try to see the small, glittering flower in its gilded glass cage.

But that had been a few months ago, and they’d all gotten pretty used to looking at the Cinderflower by now. The flower had been attended to by many different mages with various specialties until it eventually ended up with Tristan and the Majesteria, who were tasked with putting the finishing touches on its restoration and maintaining its health with regular infusions of Starlight magic while they waited to return it to the Crown. It had spent most of the last month sitting on the Majesteria’s living room table next to the kettle.

But now it was almost time to return the Cinderflower to its owners and all that was left to do was figure out how they would transport the highly dangerous and politically valuable magical flower to its destination, the island of Fairefeux, a popular trading city where the Coronation would be held.

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“Tristan Mulberry, this way please,” said a small and nervous voice.

Tristan looked up and saw a rather young Senior Apprentice in a royal blue cape with a Teakley brooch shining on her lapel. Apprentices often looked nervous, but she looked positively terrified. Tristan felt bad for her, working for Blanchard couldn’t be easy.

He gave her a friendly smile and stood up to follow her into the office.

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If the rumor mill was to be believed, Blanchard had been raised at Teakley South, the other branch of Teakley Academy on the Mainland. He was taken in as a young boy showing magical aptitude and raised by the professors instead of his parents, just like Tristan. But unlike Tristan, Blanchard’s magical aptitude had drained over time, slowly ebbing away until he wasn’t really magical at all. That’s what they said anyway, Tristan wasn’t sure he believed it.

What he did know was Blanchard certainly had a chip on his shoulder about something, so of course he’d ended up in middle management. When Tristan’s previous supervisor, Professor Muggward, had retired to pursue his lifelong passion of mollusk breeding, Blanchard had transferred over from Teakley South to replace him.

Teakley South was far away in a major city, and people from there were…strange. At least, they felt strange to Tristan who’d spent most of his life with the friendly folks of Appleton Island.

Most of the people from Teakley South were just very different, they were often overly concerned with things like titles, prestige, rules and regulations. Whereas most people at Teakley were more interested in the idealistic gathering of knowledge and freeform exploration of magical possibilities.

Sometimes they didn’t get along very well.

Tristan always tried to be helpful, to give new arrivals from Teakley South the benefit of the doubt and hope they adapted over time. Blanchard had not adapted. If anything, he’d gotten worse.

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The Senior Apprentice opened the door and led him into the office.

It was painfully tidy and nearly empty, with minimal furniture full of sharp edges that made it feel cold and uninviting.

For a wistful moment he remembered the office as it used to be, packed with haphazard books and teacups, half-remembered academic projects, and small pots of herbs and flowers. He missed Professor Muggward immensely.

Blanchard was crouched at his desk with a quill in his hand, scribbling in a leather-bound ledger. He wasn’t a handsome man; he had greasy hair, sallow skin, and the face of an angry stoat. He didn’t look up when Tristan came in.

The Senior Apprentice led him to one of the chairs and Tristan sat down and waited. The only sound was the scratching of Blanchard’s quill and the ticking of a small golden clock.

After a while Tristan coughed politely and said,

“Good afternoon, Sir.”

Blanchard looked up from his writing, glaring at him with dull, tired eyes.

“What’s wrong with you? Have you forgotten your manners? Do we not bow to our superiors any longer?” he said sourly.

Tristan hastily stood up and bowed deeply. He couldn’t remember Professor Muggward ever expecting him to bow. Muggward had usually asked him to help repot some plants or organize scrolls while they talked.

“My apologies, Sir,” Tristan mumbled.

“My name is not Sir,” Blanchard said coldly.

“My apologies, Lord Blanchard.”

“You will use my full title when addressing your betters, Mulberry,” Blanchard said with a scowl.

“My apologies Lord Blanchard, Senior Liaison to the Grand Majesterium,” Tristan said, wondering if he was supposed to bow again.

“And?” Blanchard said imperiously.

“My apologies Lord Blanchard, Senior Liaison to the Grand Majesterium and Collected Mages,” Tristan said.

“Yes yes, we must not forget the little Collected Mages,” Blanchard said. “I know you think you’re better than everyone because you’re a Majesteria Handler, but some of us respect all the magic workers at Teakley Academy, not just the famous ones.”

Tristan tried not to sigh or roll his eyes as he sat back down across from Blanchard, who had returned to looking at the paperwork on his desk and ignoring Tristan.

There was a long, awkward silence. Tristan wondered if he should say something, but he was fairly sure that if he said anything Blanchard would just find some way to turn it against him. So he just waited, and waited, and waited.

Finally, Blanchard looked up from the paperwork and said,

“I see here that in the entire time you’ve been at Teakley you have not ever left the Fruitbasket Isles, in fact, you’ve rarely even left Appleton Island. Why is that?”

Tristan was momentarily taken aback by the question, and said,

“I thought we were here to discuss the trip to the Coronation?”

Blanchard narrowed his eyes, “Answer the question, Mulberry.”

Tristan thought about it and realized he didn’t really know why he hadn’t travelled much, it just hadn’t come up.

“I just go where the Majesteria go, Sir,” he said honestly.

“You’ve been here nearly twenty years,” Blanchard said, his tone accusatory. “You haven’t been working with the Majesteria that whole time.”

Tristan shrugged, “I was mostly training, and Apprentices rarely leave the island, and then I became a Majesteria Handler.”

“Hmm,” Blanchard said, somehow managing to convey disdain and distrust with the sound. “And yet, you expect to go to Fairefeux? It is a rather longer journey than a little jaunt across the river to Pearsy.”

Tristan had never heard Pearsy, the name of the charming island next to Appleton Island, said with such disdain, like as though it was a dreadful country backwater of no importance.

“Of course, Lord Blanchard, Senior Liaison to the Grand Majesterium and Collected Mages, I will do anything the Majesteria need me to do,” Tristan said, with just the tiniest hint of a smirk.

Blanchard gave him a resentful glare.

“For the course of this meeting you may call me simply Lord Blanchard,” he said bitterly.

“Thank you, Lord Blanchard, your courtesy is graciously appreciated,” Tristan said, enjoying the small amount of irritation he had brought the man who caused so much frustration to everyone around him.

Blanchard looked at his paperwork and sighed.

“While I have my doubts about your limited experience and questionable abilities, the Headmaster has made her decision. Despite the objections of her infinitely wise counsellors, she decided to send you to Fairefeux. So now it’s left to me to wrangle you into shape for this mission, even though I made it very clear when the plan was devised that I would be a far more suitable companion for the Royal Cinderflower than a provincial mage with no experience.”

Tristan could tell Blanchard was mostly talking to himself at this point, venting his frustration at the Headmaster’s decision.

“I’m sorry Lord Blanchard, aren’t you going to the Coronation?” Tristan asked, glancing meaningfully at the prominently displayed invitation sitting on Blanchard’s desk.

Tristan remembered all too clearly the day the beautiful letter with gilded script had arrived at Teakley. Blanchard had carried The Official Invitation around for a week, mentioning it at every possible opportunity and leaving it conspicuously on the table near him in the cafeteria with the waxed royal seal on display.

“Of course! I will be leading the Teakley delegation,” he said proudly. “But you will not be coming with us, we will be leaving a few weeks earlier.”

“I’m very confused Sir, sorry, Lord Blanchard,” Tristan quickly corrected himself, “if I’m not coming with you and the rest of the Teakley group, why am I here?”

Blanchard sighed and gave him a withering look.

“You and the Majesteria will be going separately from the rest of the group. With the Royal Cinderflower,” he said slowly and deliberately, like he was talking to small child.

Tristan was momentarily rattled by this revelation.

“I’m sorry Sir? Why?” He asked, confused.

“Security, Tristan, Security,” Blanchard said, standing up and beginning to pace, looking out the windows of his office at the vibrant herb gardens below, bursting with bright greenery. “The Crown is concerned about the possibility of thievery or political espionage as the Royal Cinderflower makes its journey to Fairefeux. It is a well known fact that the flower has been here at Teakley for restoration in preparation for the Coronation. We have only avoided being infiltrated by thieves and spies because everyone knows Teakley is well defended with powerful warding spells all over the grounds. But the group of mages travelling to the Coronation will be afforded no such luxury, making them an easy target for nefarious criminals. Thus, a plan was devised,” he said, sounding quite proud of himself. Tristan was starting to develop a guess as to who had come up with this bizarre plan.

Blanchard returned to the desk and gave Tristan a pointed glare.

“Rather than sending the Cinderflower with the main group attending the Coronation it will be sent later, with a much smaller group of mages on a Registered Pirate Vessel.”

“A pirate ship?” Tristan asked, clearly very surprised.

“A Registered Pirate Vessel,” Blanchard said flatly.

“My apologies, I’m unfamiliar with that term,” Tristan said.

Blanchard rolled his eyes,

“I forget sometimes how simple and unsophisticated you are, Mulberry. A few years back, in her infinite wisdom, Queen Aurelia, may she rest in peace, constructed a plan to deal with the pirating problem in the Evarian Sea.

Registered Pirate Vessels are a collection of reformed former pirate ships who have agreed to exclusively carry cargo and passengers, renouncing all illegal activity. In return they are allowed to continue sailing and have the freedom of the open seas.”

Tristan took in this information, turning it over in his head and comparing it to his existing knowledge of pirates.

“What stops them from pirating?” He asked.

“Regular check-ins with the Royal Mariners who search the ship and arrest anyone who is not complying with the rules,” Blanchard said.

“That doesn’t sound very free to me,” Tristan mused.

“When the alternative is jail, many find this to be a delightful proposition,” Blanchard said crisply. “It has become so popular they say some ships even volunteer to become Registered Pirate Vessels.”

“I see,” Tristan said. “So I will be travelling to the Coronation on one of these…pirate ships–”

“Registered Pirate Vessel,” Blanchard cut in.

“Right, sorry, Registered Pirate Vessel. I will be travelling to the Coronation with the Majesteria and…no one else from Teakley?”

“Secretly,” Blanchard added.

Tristan raised an eyebrow “Secretly?”

“Yes, no one on the ship will know you are travelling with the Majesteria or the Royal Cinderflower, thereby dramatically lowering the chances of any possible intervention in the Cinderflower’s journey to Fairefeux. Everyone will think you are just a solitary, unimportant mage on a personal journey to see the Queen’s Coronation.”

Tristan sat back in his chair, letting the information sink in. It was a terrifying prospect, hiding the Majesteria and the Royal Cinderflower. The thought of having sole responsibility for the Cinderflower’s arrival at the Queen’s Coronation wasn’t one he was very excited about.

“Why a Registered Pirate Vessel?” He asked.

“Because it’s the least likely place you’d ever find the Royal Cinderflower, isn’t it?” Blanchard said proudly.

“I’m not sure this is the best idea, Lord Blanchard,” Tristan said as his mind swam with the many things that could go wrong with this plan.

“Luckily, the decision is entirely out of your hands,” Blanchard said, steepling his fingers and looking at Tristan severely. “Everything has already been decided, it must be the Majesteria because they can look after the flower’s well-being and give it infusions of Starlight magic to keep it healthy during the trip. They need a Handler to move the flower and keep the Majesteria’s existence secret. Now, if you feel that you’re not personally up to the task, perhaps it’s time I assigned someone else to be the Majesteria’s Handler?”

Tristan’s stomach dropped at his words. The idea was unthinkable to him, he loved being a Majesteria Handler and he couldn’t imagine working with anyone else besides Edwina, Marigold and Chica. Doing magic and creating spells with them had easily been the highlight of his career, and possibly even his life.

“No Sir, um, Lord Blanchard,” he said hurriedly. “I’m sure I can handle whatever the Majesteria need.”

Blanchard frowned, “I thought you might say that. How unfortunate. I personally think you should be reassigned, but those mice won’t let you go for some reason. Regardless, we’re stuck with you now, so I must impress upon you the importance of this mission.”

“It’s very clear, Lord Blanchard,” Tristan said seriously.

“Furthermore, I cannot emphasize enough how important it is that no one, and I mean no one, ever finds out that the Majesteria or the Royal Cinderflower are on board that ship. Understand?”

“Crystal clear, Lord Blanchard,” Tristan said.

“Good. Let’s start going over the specifics,” Blanchard said, pulling a large envelope from a drawer of his desk and laying out paperwork on the table, while Tristan’s mind whirred with activity as he absorbed this surprising turn of events.

The Royal Cinderflower, the Majesteria, and a Registered Pirate Vessel.

This was going to be a very interesting journey indeed.

ONE MONTH LATER….

Chapter One

Tristan woke to the sound of a loudly clanging bell. He shot up in bed and ran for the door, realizing just in the nick of time that he would need a bit more clothing before he stepped out into the hallway.

A few moments later he was running down the hallway his long, wavy blonde hair in a tangled mess and his dressing gown inside out. He burst through the door to the Majesteria’s quarters, a large brass candlestick in hand.

“What’s going on?” he shouted in a panic.

“Oh I’m so sorry Tristan!” Edwina said, “We didn’t meant to scare you. We just wanted to make sure we weren’t late for the trip!”

Tristan relaxed, loosening his grip on the candlestick as he realized his friends were not in immediate danger. He looked out the window at the bright morning sunshine and knew that he had slept far too long. He’d planned to wake at the break of dawn to give himself ample time to prepare for the journey but it looked a lot more like late morning.

No wonder the Majesteria had rung the alarm bell they usually only used for emergencies. Possibly missing the ship to bring the Royal Cinderflower to the Queen’s Coronation definitely qualified as an emergency.

“It’s quite alright Edwina, thank you for waking me,” he said, taking a deep breath and setting down the brass candlestick.

“Were you going to use that to defend us?” Marigold said, her giggle barely contained behind her paw.

“I-I-well…you know, I was in blind panic, alright?” Tristan said, smoothing his long hair behind his ears. “Let me just get dressed and I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Don’t take too long, we’re already late!” Edwina said to his retreating back.

“And we might need you to defend us with a candlestick!” Marigold called as he closed the door.

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He returned to his quarters and rushed to his bedroom, the anxiety building as he realized just how late it was and he wasn’t even dressed. He ran past the trunks of his personal items he’d packed the night before, full of all his clothing, magical tools, and quite a few volumes from his large collection of pirate romance novels. He looked at his bookshelves and wondered briefly if he’d brought too many books. One row was almost entirely empty with only one tired volume clinging desperately to the side of the shelf. He wondered for a moment what the title was, he looked and saw it was The Ethics and Study of Ancient Ferns in the Southern Hinterlands. Ah, well, that can stay home then. He shook his head and returned to the task at hand, getting dressed for the day. His first day aboard a pirate ship, he realized with a shiver. This was going to be very interesting.

He quickly brushed out his dirty blonde hair and braided it behind his head just as he had every day for years, carefully tying the end with a small black leather cord. Then he put on a starched white shirt, which he buttoned carefully, and some well-fitted brown trousers with a matching waistcoat. He laced up his leather boots and went to pull a cloak from his closet, at which point he realized he’d already packed all his usual cloaks. There was one left hanging in the mostly bare wardrobe, it was a deep brown wool and too warm for this time of year. He considered the cloak, he would be overly warm but…he remembered one time at the local tavern a barkeep had told him that it made his shoulders look good.

He put it on and admired himself in the mirror, swishing the cloak back and forth. The barkeep had been right, the cloak did make his shoulders look good. But he felt that something was missing. What was it? He looked at his outfit in the mirror and felt that he simply wasn’t dashing enough to travel on a pirate ship. He needed something more.

A little glint on his armoire caught his eye. He went over to his small collection of jewelry which he rarely wore. In the metal dish on the armoire was a stud earring set with a shiny pearl. He picked up the earring and looked at it, twisting the shimmering white orb in the bright morning light. It was certainly beautiful.

But…

Well, last time he’d worn it had been a lot.

He’d bought the earring at a holiday market in Sweetriel a few years ago, he had loved how the shining pearl looked on him, he thought it made him look more intriguing. He hadn’t realized it when he’d bought it but…pearl earrings wasn’t exactly the style at Teakley, which tended towards the drab. He’d worn the earring the next day and everyone had commented on it. At least a dozen people had mentioned his earring at some point throughout the day. The comments weren’t rude, exactly, but there was definitely a few raised eyebrows. After that he’d put the pearl earring back on his armoire and only worn it on special occasions.

He looked at the little pearl in his hand and decided to try it. Even if he had to endure more commentary on his fashion choices that was better than being underdressed on a pirate ship, wasn’t it?

He put on the earring and looked at himself admiringly, oh yes, that was exactly what the outfit needed. So much better! All that he needed now was his gloves to cover his Starlight tattoos. He grabbed his favorite pair of fingerless gloves, the soft leather worn in from years of use, and slipped them over his hands, carefully tying the laces.

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He looked around his small bedroom, wondering if there was anything he’d forgotten to bring. There probably was but he didn’t have time to figure it out, it was far too late now. Had he brought enough sweaters? How cold would it be on the ship’s deck? Everyone in pirate novels was always wearing delicate linen blouses, but that was fiction, he suspected that in reality the ship would probably be windy and cold. Would he need a hat? Would they have tea? Okay, now he knew he was getting out of hand. Of course they’d have tea! He threw a couple more sweaters into the top of his luggage for good measure and began lugging the over-stuffed chests into the hallway.

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A little while later he arrived in the Majesteria’s quarters to a flurry of activity. The three mice were running around their living area, scurrying up and down the ropes from the tables of their workshop. The sitting room was usually occupied by a few large tables full of papers, plant clippings, candles, tiny potion bottles, quills, and piles of books of all sizes. It was exactly like any mage’s workshop except…smaller.

But at the moment, quite a lot of these items were being carried across the tables and ferried up ropes from the floor onto a growing heap of brown-paper wrapped parcels.

“What’s all this then?” Tristan said, sitting down at one of the human-sized chairs near the Majesteria’s tables.

Marigold, a slender grey Hi-Mouse in a pointy black witch’s hat and deep green dress with floral embroidery stopped in front of him, a stack of tiny books in her paws.

“We’re packing, Tristan!” she said.

“I thought we packed everything last night,” he said, shooting a look at the trunks waiting by the door.

Another, somewhat larger grey-brown mouse walked up to him. Edwina was her name, and she wore short trousers, a thick sweater and a small sword the size of a toothpick at her hip.

“That was just the first round,” Edwina said. “This is all the stuff we forgot yesterday.”

He saw Chica, the third mouse, scurrying across the floor with a bundle of scrolls under her arm. Chica was the most traditional of the mice when it came to fashion, she almost always wore a Majesterial robe, which often had a celestial theme of moons and stars, usually made of shimmering fabrics or glittering beadwork. She began climbing the rope while gripping the scrolls under her arm and soon arrived at the top of the table, depositing her goods onto the ever-growing pile.

“This is nearly half the things you own!” Tristan said, looking at the heap, “Aren’t we only going to be gone for a few weeks?”

“But what if we need this?” Marigold said, holding out a very small quill with a decorative pink plume.

“Why would you need that?” Tristan asked, examining the fancy quill. “Won’t one of your other quills work?”

“I don’t know why I might need it yet,” Marigold explained, “which is exactly why I need to bring it!”

“If we’re not sure, we pack it,” Chica added, patting the heap affectionately. A few small books became dislodged and skittered across the table. Tristan sighed.

“Besides,” Edwina said “you can just put anything that doesn’t fit in your luggage!”

Tristan opened his mouth to protest but quickly realized it wasn’t worth the breath. The Majesteria were formidable opponents when they set their minds to something, and the pile, although large, would probably fit in one of the trunks without too much trouble.

“Alright, I’ll load it up,” he said with a sigh.

“Oh, and Tristan?” Marigold said.

“Yes?”

“Don’t forget to bring some cheese for the trip,” she said.

“I would never forget the cheese,” he said, his tone deadly serious.

* * *

He had just closed the lid of the last trunk when there was a knock at the door. His heart skipped a beat and his hands began to tremble. It wasn’t that he was dreading the trip, in fact he was rather excited for it. It’s just that his excitement didn’t stop him being nervous. He had been worrying about all the things that could go wrong on this journey since that day in Blanchard’s office a month ago. What if some enemy of the Crown found out they were on the ship? What if the pirates were awful and dangerous? What if someone found out about the Royal Cinderflower? What if something terrible happened to the Majesteria? It didn’t bear thinking about.

The knock on the door was surely the Junior Apprentices ready with the wagon to take them to the Sweetriel docks, and that meant there was no going back now.

He took a deep breath and put on a confident smile as he opened the door. Standing in the hallway was a small group of people, he counted seven in total, their sizes, skin tones, and genders varied, but they were all younger than him. They wore the mid-length beige capes of a Junior Apprentice, their chests gleaming with their gold ink-bottle lapel pins. He smiled at them, remembering when he first became a Junior Apprentice, the burst of pride he’d felt to put that pin on for the first time.

“Good morning, Sir!” One of them said cheerfully, stepping forward with a bundle under one arm and a clipboard in her hand. “The wagon is ready to take you do the docks!”

“Yes, of course, come in,” he said, opening the door wider for the apprentices to file in. He noticed a few of their eyes darting around the Majesteria’s quarters with excitement, it was rare for a Junior Apprentice to get to see inside the Majesteria’s workshop.

“Where are the trunks, sir?” a nervous apprentice asked him, looking around the quarters like he was trying to memorize every detail to share with his friends at the tavern later.

“There’s a few in the hallway and more in the sitting room,” he said, directing the apprentices who scurried off to look for the trunks.

The lead apprentice leaned in conspiratorially:

“Which trunk is the um, you know, the special one?” she asked.

“I will be transporting that one myself,” Tristan said solemnly.

She looked aghast, “Of course, Sir, I would not have presumed such an honor for myself, I am terribly sorry for being so rude.”

“It’s fine, Ivy, you’re doing great,” he said with a comforting smile.

She looked relieved, and returned to examining her clipboard.

“Alright, I have some things for you,” she said, handing him one of the items from the bundle, a package wrapped in parchment paper and tied with string.

“This is from the Tailor, she said you might need a heavy cloak for the journey,” Ivy said. The next item was a small black lacquered box. “These are your new Academy brooches, please remember to wear them at all times. The Academy cannot protect you if you are not wearing your brooch.” She sounded like she had memorized that part carefully.

She handed him the box and continued, holding up a small stack of paperwork and a jangling coin pouch.

“These are your maps of the region, your itinerary, travel ticket, and, of course, your travel money.”

He took the items, feigning interest in the maps for her benefit. In reality, he had spent the last few weeks meticulously preparing for this trip. He’d memorized the route the ship would be taking to Fairefeux, and carefully looked up all of the surrounding islands and possible dangers. The only new information to him was about the ship itself, he noticed the travel ticket told him it was called The Snapdragon.

She handed him a small envelope.

“This is from Lord Blanchard, Senior Liaison to the Grand Majesterium and Collected Mages,” she said, not pausing for breath as she said his full title. “He gave this to me before he left for the Coronation and asked that you make sure to read it before you leave, he said it was of critical importance.”

“Understood,” Tristan said, nodding his head solemnly.

There was a loud crashing behind him.

Tristan and Ivy ran into the sitting room where the Junior Apprentices had dropped one of the trunks, apparently on someone’s foot. One of the apprentices was crying and another was comforting them, while a third looked absolutely mortified. The three mice were standing on one of the tables looking at the activity with the interested sniffs of the staunch gossip fanatics he knew them to be.

“I’m terribly sorry, Sir,” one of the Junior Apprentices said, “It’s just that these trunks were quite a bit heavier than we were expecting.”

Tristan shot a look at the Majesteria who appeared completely indifferent to this comment.

One of the apprentices looked nervous and nudged the one who’d spoken, whispering to them. Tristan thought he heard Blanchard’s name at one point.

The apprentice looked back at Tristan nervously, then he bowed deeply and said,

“My apologies Lord Mulberry, Majesteria Handler to the Teakley Majesteria of the Grand Majesterium.”

Tristan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Blanchard was a plague and Tristan was dearly looking forward to some time away from his nonsense.

“Please, don’t call me that,” he said sincerely. “You can call me Tristan, and I’m definitely not a Lord.”

“Sorry Sir,” the apprentice said, looking more upset than ever.

“Don’t worry Gerald, you’re doing great,” Tristan said, patting the young man on the shoulder and wondering if he had been this nervous when he’d been a Junior Apprentice.

He thought about it and realized he’d been worse.

“Tristan,” Ivy said, “Do you think, um, you could possibly help us bring down the trunks? Matilda always says we’re to ask you if we need help carrying heavy things.”

Although he had a relatively narrow frame and spent most of his time reading books and carrying cheese, Tristan was not as frail as you might expect. A critical part of his job was as a conduit for Starlight, which was a massive strain on his muscles. To make this easier he worked hard to have strong muscles throughout his body, usually by helping out his friends in the gardens or chopping wood for the winters. After a while he became known around Teakley as a good person to ask if you needed to move something heavy.

“Of course,” Tristan said, taking off his cloak and rolling up his sleeves. “I’ll bring them down while you get Ash to the Healer.”

“Thank you Tristan!” Ivy said, grinning with relief.

He nodded and got to work.

* * *

“Oh look, it’s Lord Mulberry!” Marigold said when he returned from loading the cart.

Edwina and Chica both started giggling. Tristan rolled his eyes.

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Come on, let’s get our brooches on, we’re already late enough as it is.”

“Yes, your Lordship,” Edwina said with a dramatic bow.

“Did you read Blanchard’s letter? What did he want?” Marigold asked as Tristan set the black lacquered case on the table.

Tristan sighed, “His usual nonsense, just trying to throw his weight around. Mostly the letter was just him telling me that I had to make sure I didn’t tell anyone about you or the Royal Cinderflower, and that I was to remind you not to do magic.”

“We’re not supposed to do magic?” Edwina said, surprised.

“Apparently, he says it’s too risky. He said you never know where a dangerous mage or nefarious criminal might be lurking who would feel the presence of your powerful magic.”

“Hmph,” Marigold said with a frown. “I thought the whole point of taking this pirate ship was to avoid the mysterious, dangerous mages.”

Tristan shrugged, “Me too. But you know how Blanchard is.”

“Awful!” Chica declared. “Now let’s get our brooches, I wanna be shiny!”

“You’re already blinding me,” Edwina said, looking at Chica’s shimmering robes. “But I’m excited to see the brooches too!”

Tristan picked up the the black lacquered case and opened it carefully, feeling the weight of its importance. The inside was lined with red velvet, adding to the prestige of the jewelry. Inside was four brooches, one for him and three miniature ones barely bigger than his pinky nail, custom made for the Majesteria.

The brooches were shining gold with dark brass accents. They were beautifully crafted in the shape of a shield with a teacup on it, the symbol for Teakley Academy. He picked up his brooch and flipped it over, on the back etched in delicate script was his name, Tristan Mulberry. He carefully picked up the mice’s brooches and was briefly awed at the craftsmanship of them. They were perfect miniature replicas of his own brooch, down to the tiniest detail, including the mice’s names etched into the back.

He set the tiny brooches back down and the Majesteria scurried over to grab them and hastily affix them to their clothing, the gold glinting brightly in the morning sun.

“I’m SHINY!” Chica stated, twirling around in her sparkly dress.

Tristan smiled and pinned his own brooch onto his cloak and felt that surge of pride just like when he’d worn his first Teakley brooch as a Junior Apprentice.

“These are very nice,” Edwina said appreciatively.

“Indeed, excellent craftsmanship,” Marigold agreed with a knowing nod.

“They’re so shiny!” Chica added.

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Tristan looked around the half-empty room with a sinking pit in his stomach. All that was left now was to leave.

“I guess it’s time for you three to get in the Boarding Trunk,” he said, looking at the breadbox-sized box sitting on the table. It was the Majesteria’s travelling abode, although they rarely spent much time in it once they arrived at their destination. The Boarding Trunk was mostly just a convenient way for them to travel without being observed by inquisitive humans. The box had mesh screens on one side to look out of and lots of small, soft pillows inside to make the journey more comfortable.

“I wish we could just walk there,” Marigold said with a sigh.

“Yes but we’re supposed to be going incognito,” Edwina said.

“Like spies,” Chica said.

Tristan laughed, “Alright, let’s just get to the docks.”

The mice all scurried into the Boarding Trunk, Tristan shut the lid, put the trunk under his arm, and headed out to the wagon.

Thank you for reading the Sample Chapters of Tristan and the Majesteria!

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