As to what I thought of the show... *sigh*

After my delight with the first four episode, let's just say this was a disappointment. To give you a sense of scale, the last time I was even close to this disappoint with a TV show was the final season of Game of Thrones. 

Yes, that bad. 

In fact, this was probably worse. Bridgerton season three showed a fundamental lack of respect to the characters, audience, and source material. 

I'm not going to say more here. I do try to keep this newsletter a glass-mostly-full entry to your email inbox. Also if you loved the show, the last thing I want to do is ruin it for you! 

However if you were dissatisfied with the show, too, and want hear my hot take on what happened, I have a three thousand word essay on my thoughts and feelings. But, beware, there are spoilers. Oh, so many spoilers.

We will be back to our regularly scheduled positivity next week!

Kelsor’s clear green gaze returned to me and there was something like sympathy in them as he said, “I will need you to surrender your blade as well, Mage-General.”

Reflexively my hand closed over Apoidea’s hilt, so familiar under my palm that it was like another part of my body. 

Every Esteran soldier drew their weapons the second I touched it. Blades cleared scabbards with low hisses and bow strings were drawn back to quivering tightness. The faintly metallic smell of magic filled the air as the weapons of those with mage-talent began to glow with faint light.

A cold, quiet corner of my mind made note of who they were. 

Not everyone who could wield mage-steel wore a Citadel cloud. Sometimes even if they had Citadel training. 

“Hold.” Kelsor barked, raising a clenched fist. He alone did not unsling his weapon. The sun caught on the halberd’s curving ax blade, bringing out the mage-steel’s distinctive blue tint, but Ferrë remained collapsed on his belt. “Stand down.”  His gaze didn’t waver from my face. “You must surrender your blade, Mage-General. That is not negotiable.”

I had known. 

But knowing and doing were separate things.

Apoidea had been at my side since I’d left home at fifteen to begin my studies at the Cloud Citadel. A gift from my parents, commissioned from the Citadel’s own artificers, and with the Siveray bees proudly and deftly wrought into the pommel. Forged from my blood and my magic and a queen’s ransom of the very finest mage-steel into a blade its makers had judged worthy of a name. 

Apoidea meaning the true nature of the bee: the sting that protects. 

It had been a breathtaking investment in my future and a tangible proof of both their belief in me and their love. 

Apoidea had been by my side through my schooling, my time as a one of Citadel’s mages, and the endless, miserable, slog of this war.

Through every unbearable loss at least my blade had remained. 

“You will look after it.” It was my turn to meet his gaze with the intensity of a hidden meaning. “Your word on it, Kelsor.”

“Like it is my own,” he promised in a quiet under voice.