A full week of strained silence settled upon Veridian Academy, a heavy, unspoken burden Lysander carried like a lead weight in his chest. He moved through the grand, echoing halls with a careful diffidence, feigning disinterest in the movements of Lord Valerius Blackwood. Every carefully composed step, every lowered gaze, was a deliberate act of defiance. Lysander frequented the more secluded alcoves of the study halls, ostensibly engrossed in his vellum and ink, but truly, his senses remained acutely attuned to the distant murmurs of Valerius’s coterie.
Pretending indifference became a wearying art. Lysander sought out Lord Gareth Finch, a young nobleman whose casual cynicism offered a curious sort of balm. Gareth possessed a network of casual acquaintances, a loose web of gossip and mundane observation. From them, Lysander gleaned fragmented tidbits about Valerius, secondhand echoes of a life he longed to observe directly. Such proud, stubborn refusal to acknowledge his burning curiosity felt ridiculous, a futile internal battle.
When Lysander, with practiced nonchalance, inquired about Valerius, Gareth would merely tap a finger against the polished surface of a finely carved chessboard, a new game of strategy spread before him. "Ah, him? He rode out again." The answer, delivered without a flicker of genuine interest, always left Lysander breathless.
"...That damnable rogue."
Valerius’s emotional excesses, his sudden, startling furies, were not a surprise. He was a creature of impulse, raw instinct made flesh—a veritable beast cloaked in fine silks.
"To the private salons, no doubt," Lysander murmured, swirling the ink in his small well.
"Not this time. A blind introduction." Gareth moved a rook with languid precision, eyes fixed on the board. "Lady Seraphina, the one who pestered his aide endlessly. Apparently, they departed together rather swiftly. Second they met, they simply vanished. Truly. And she, mind you, was no shrinking violet. Agreed without a moment's hesitation. As if to say, 'Oh, why ever not?'"
Lysander's fingers tightened around his quill.
"Remarkably unburdened by propriety, both of them," Gareth added, a faint smirk playing on his lips. His words were not admiration, but droll derision. For the first time in days, Lysander felt a strange, unsettling lightness. He leaned against Gareth's study table, a small, subtle gesture of gratitude. Gareth merely shifted, granting him space.
Only Gareth openly disparaged Valerius’s libertine indulgences. For that alone, Lysander found him tolerable, perhaps even a touch endearing.
"Disgustingly audacious," Lysander remarked, a faint tremor in his voice.
"Indeed. I confess, I am quite the opposite."
The boastful tone of Gareth’s confession drew a brittle laugh from Lysander.
"Shouldn't a scion of a noble house strive for such?"
"No dictate governs such endeavors. One simply acquires these… habits as one navigates society. Human reason often finds itself in agreeable servitude to lesser impulses," Gareth said, his gaze unwavering from the board.
"Is that why your engagement has yet to materialize?" Lysander teased.
Gareth finally lifted his gaze from the game. He offered Lysander an incredulous smile, a faint tap against Lysander's hand. "I might lodge a formal grievance, Lysander."
"A grievance? For what affront?"
"If the recipient feels discomfort, it constitutes harassment. A simple tenet."
"Gareth, you are utterly preposterous."
"And you, a fiend." Lysander’s foot, clad in a polished shoe, swung idly. Ignoring the small creak, he nudged Gareth's leg. Gareth feigned being shoved, then casually extended a hand, displaying his palm. His left wrist always bore a simple, unadorned holy symbol, a small, polished wooden cross.
Lysander nudged his leg again. "That symbol hardly suits you."
"And why precisely not?" Gareth asked, suddenly serious, his brow furrowed.
Why such earnestness, all at once?
"It simply feels mismatched to your person."
"Mismatched? Peculiar. Do I not present as a devout man of faith?"
"Hardly. It appears more an item of fashionable adornment."
"...It is not so, however."
Thinking back, Lysander might have understood sooner, given Gareth’s unusual and slightly archaic given name, one often associated with revered figures of antiquity. He had simply dismissed it as a family eccentricity. It transpired Gareth’s lineage had, for generations, adhered to the Old Faith. Even more astonishing, Gareth himself claimed unwavering devotion, despite his utter inability to recite a single devotional properly.
Lysander devoted the rest of the week to meticulously avoiding Valerius. When their paths converged in the lecture halls, Lysander would offer a fleeting glance, then swiftly avert his eyes. He still lacked the courage to speak. Perhaps he simply refused to concede. The pathetic notion that the one who felt more, lost more—it gnawed at him. Yet, even knowing the absurdity of it, he could not force the words.
In stark contrast, Jasper Sterling, the young man Valerius so relentlessly tormented, often sought Lysander out. Perhaps Lysander was the only one who offered a flicker of response. Each day, however, brought new contusions to Jasper’s face, fresh marks of Valerius’s possessive cruelty, like a beast claiming its territory.
Lysander’s brow would furrow at the sight. Jasper, noticing his gaze, would quickly turn his head, attempting to conceal the injuries. A profound discomfort settled in Lysander’s stomach, cold and heavy.
Four more days passed, dragging like heavily chained prisoners. One hushed morning, alone in a shadowed study, Lysander buried his face in his hands. He wished to avoid the grim theatricality unfolding within the Academy's walls.
The chasm between himself and Valerius grew starker. What had been a subtle tension had now stretched into an unbridgeable gulf of despair. Opening his eyes felt as though the rift might swallow him whole. The bruises mottling Jasper’s swollen eyes were as glaringly obvious as a sealed decree. That made him all the more reluctant to confront either of them. He craved only escape.
Then, as if some unseen hand had interceded, Jasper Sterling ceased attending the Academy. Maester Alaric, their instructor, termed it an absence, but the hesitancy in his voice betrayed the truth: truancy. Lysander almost cheered aloud, a wave of dark relief washing over him.
Valerius, meanwhile, spent his lessons fidgeting with an ornate pocket watch, snapping curtly at his followers, or even delivering a sharp cuff to one of his aides for a misplaced word. Lysander felt a surge of grim satisfaction. A strange sense of superiority bloomed in his chest. He convinced himself that soon, once Jasper officially withdrew or vanished for good, Valerius would lose interest and, inevitably, turn back to him. Confident in this warped expectation, Lysander waited patiently for the moment to arrive.
A few more days bled into one another.
"Lord Valerius seems quite disquieted," Gareth remarked, an offhand observation that struck Lysander like a sudden blow. His heart thudded heavily beneath his ribs. He yearned to turn his head, to scrutinize Valerius’s expression, but he dared not. Where affection was concerned, Lysander was a craven. All he could do was listen to Gareth’s words and construct an image of Valerius’s presumed distress.
Yet, nothing changed. The day wore on, lectures concluded, the Academy emptied. Lysander assured himself there would be another chance tomorrow. Such significant shifts rarely occurred so quickly. He waited, waited until the final bell tolled, until he was slinging his satchel over his shoulder. It was then Gareth spoke, a peculiar note in his voice.
"You had a confrontation with Valerius, did you not?"
Lysander turned reflexively, a tremor running through him. "Indeed."
"Don't tell me you have yet to reconcile since that unfortunate incident in the grand refectory?"
Silence stretched between them.
"My word, this estrangement has proven more enduring than anticipated," Gareth drawled, shrugging, his hands tucked into his pockets. Lysander avoided his gaze, murmuring a strained excuse.
"Truthfully, Valerius exceeded the bounds of decency. Such deliberate torment… I find it abhorrent. It's simply… unseemly, you understand?"
"What, precisely, is unseemly?"
"...Well, Jasper is a gentleman, is he not?"
"And?"
"The manner in which Valerius treats Jasper is… I cannot comprehend it. They are both gentlemen. It is quite repulsive. I wish he would desist."
"My, my."
Lysander felt a flush creep up his neck.
"You are most certainly destined for the celestial spheres."
Gareth’s response, drenched in sarcasm, stung Lysander. Annoyed by the malicious tone, he glared. Gareth merely smirked, unperturbed. Seeing that expression, Lysander felt as though some hidden truth had been exposed. His face burned. Swiftly, he turned his back on Gareth’s mocking grin, striding from the study hall.
He hurried down the grand corridor, intent on returning to his chambers, when a hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. Assuming it was Gareth, Lysander spun, irritation bubbling, pulling his arm free. But it was not. Maester Alaric stood before him, his usually placid face etched with concern. Startled, Lysander quickly composed his features.
"Forgive me, Thorne. Did I alarm you?"
"Oh, no, Maester. It is quite fine. Merely… surprised."
"I see. My deepest apologies, but… might I trouble you for a brief moment?"
"Maester?"
"Just a second, if you please." The young Maester’s expression was uncharacteristically grave. Lysander nodded, his heart beginning to quicken.
"Today, Lord Valerius inquired about Master Sterling’s residence," the Maester said cautiously, his gaze flitting nervously.
"Lord Valerius?"
It was clear the Maester, as their instructor, could not have been ignorant of the insidious torment within the class. Yet, he lacked the fortitude to confront the toxic atmosphere directly. Still, he was not so cold-hearted as to ignore it entirely. The fact he now approached Lysander spoke volumes.
"I am not accusing or blaming Lord Valerius, but…"
"No, Maester, I understand. I find nothing strange in your concern," Lysander replied quickly, his mind racing.
"Well, as you have often shown Master Sterling kindness, I wondered if you might… accompany Lord Valerius to his house. Do you grasp my meaning?"
Lysander could not answer immediately. His jaw clenched tight. The volatile emotions Valerius harbored for Jasper began to creep, an icy tendril around Lysander’s ankles, rooting him in place. He clenched his fists, knuckles white. He could not merely stand by.
"Might I… obtain Master Sterling’s cipher, then?"
"Ah, yes, of course. Allow me to provide it. Perhaps you might attempt to reach him first."
"Certainly. I will speak with him. Do not overly trouble yourself, Maester."
"Very well. I rely upon your good judgment, Thorne."
"Indeed."
On the surface, Lysander projected a façade of calm, but internally, a tempest raged. Maester Alaric, looking subtly relieved, transcribed Jasper Sterling’s home cipher from the Academy rolls onto a slip of parchment, then retreated down the hallway, leaving Lysander alone with the weight of it.
Lysander had to prevent Valerius from meeting Jasper. He absolutely had to stop Valerius’s disturbing fixation from escalating further. The moment the Maester vanished, Lysander pulled out his own small cipher device and immediately keyed in Jasper’s number. His leg jittered nervously, his hand clenching and unclenching as he waited for the connection. Surprisingly, it connected swiftly.
"Hello?"
"It is Lysander. This is Master Sterling’s residence, I trust?" As soon as he heard Jasper’s voice, Lysander rushed to speak. There was a sudden clattering on the other end, a sound of something falling, hitting another object, followed by a rustle. After a pause, Jasper’s voice returned, faint and trembling.
"L-Lysander? Lysander! W-why… How… how did you obtain my cipher? Did you… already possess it?"
"No. I learned from Maester Alaric that Lord Valerius inquired about your residence today. So I requested your cipher."
"…"
"I simply wished to caution you to exercise extreme vigilance."
"W-what of you? Are you well? Even though you strive to intercede…"
"Do not concern yourself with my welfare. Focus upon your own. If you wish to extend your absence from the Academy, communicate with this cipher. I shall manage the explanation with the Maester. I am, believe it or not, held in some regard."
"…Thank you."
"Should Valerius attempt to harass or strike you at the Academy, inform me immediately. If you cannot speak outright, merely tap my shoulder. It is far more arduous to remedy such matters after they have transpired."
"Very well…"
"Honestly, a transfer to another institution would be the most prudent course."
Lysander slipped the suggestion in, hoping it would resonate with some urgency.
"…"
"In any case, consider it. For now, either feign absence from your residence or remove yourself to a distant location."
"O-okay…"
"Very well, I shall conclude our call."
"W-wait."
"…?"
"Thank you, Lysander."
After a long hesitation, Jasper’s voice returned, soft, trembling slightly. Lysander felt a prickle of unease.
"T-thank you for your constant assistance…"
"It is nothing."
"I merely… wished to express it. Thank you. A-adieu."
"Indeed."
"…Farewell."
Farewell? Lysander offered no reply to the strange adieu, ending the call. The sound of Jasper’s voice, crawling into his ears, sent a shiver down his spine, leaving him profoundly discomfited.
What transpired with Jasper Sterling that night remained unknown to Lysander. He only knew that from the following day onward, Jasper resumed his attendance at the Academy. Within a week, the faint, unblemished complexion of his youthful skin began to reappear. Jasper also ceased his persistent approaches to Lysander, his demeanor shifting dramatically. This abrupt change in behavior planted seeds of suspicion in Lysander’s mind. And when all the bruises on Jasper’s face finally vanished, Lysander could not help but feel a faint, fragile bloom of hope—however unlikely its fruition.
Then, two weeks later, Lord Valerius Blackwood approached Lysander, entirely unbidden.
"Thorne."
Lysander’s breath caught in his throat.
"Lysander."
He did not turn, keeping his gaze fixed straight ahead, but his lips felt as if they might part with an involuntary gasp at any moment. Could it be that Valerius was finally weary of Jasper Sterling?