A chill settled in the hallowed halls. It clung to the stone, seeped into the very air. After the ignominious incident in the lesser gymnasium’s storage annex, Lysander Valerius offered me nothing but open contempt. His carefully cultivated facade of filial deference, usually worn for visiting dignitaries, vanished. He had no need for it now.
Julian Vane, the very catalyst of my downfall, now occupied the polished mahogany seat beside Lysander without fail. His presence was a constant, irksome reminder.
I might be adept at cloaking my true feelings beneath a veneer of scholarly detachment, but I am no fool. I would not pretend indifference, not when shame still pricked at my conscience. To appear unaffected, to casually converse with Lysander as if our past friendship had not curdled, felt a profound indignity. I lacked the courage for such an overture.
A spiraling melancholia became my constant companion. It mingled with a bone-deep boredom, a weariness of spirit that made each day a heavy ledger entry. Occasionally, a petty, venomous spark of revenge would ignite within me. It always died out. I endured. Always, I endured.
Lysander, that impulsive heir, allowed his envy and resentment to fester. He behaved like a spoiled child, lashing out. The reason for his pique was clear, as stark as the Institute’s grey-stone spires against a winter sky: Julian Vane.
Regardless of intention, my animosity towards Julian deepened. He was never mine to begin with, a fact my logical mind affirmed. Yet, he had not only usurped Lysander’s attention but had twisted Lysander’s regard for me into something cold and hateful. Julian, in my bruised perception, was a viper.
Even if his role was unwitting, it mattered little to my gut. Human emotion rarely bowed to logic. Blaming him offered a convenient scapegoat, a small, dark comfort in this miserable situation. It was a means to simply survive.
Still, my choices remained rational. I understood Julian was merely a leaf caught in Lysander’s tempestuous current. This knowledge kept my outward demeanor meticulously neutral. I showed him no hostile sentiment.
My own embarrassment also played a part. Revealing such base jealousy was unthinkable. Furthermore, a public display of anger towards Julian would only confirm me as an unhinged fool. Lysander would despise me further. My peers would brand me a deviant, a creature of unsettling, unnatural appetites. The thought made my skin crawl.
“...This is insufferable.”
A soft whisper, barely audible, escaped my lips. I despised it. The situation, the whispers, the stifling pressure. It was worse than Lysander’s hatred. It made me wish for oblivion.
Cassian Verridian’s brusque image flickered in my mind. An odd intrusion. Perhaps it was his irritating proximity over recent weeks. What would he say if he knew the tangled mess of my thoughts? Most likely, something blunt and crushing:
‘Thorne, you truly are a pathetic, malformed specimen, aren’t you?’
The imagined disdain in Cassian’s eyes sent a shiver down my spine. I clenched my fists until my knuckles whitened. The image was horrifying. No one, absolutely no one, could ever know.
Friendships among the elite were fragile, easily severed. With Lysander and I clearly estranged, the ties with his immediate circle naturally frayed. Alaric Finch, a peripheral member of Cassian’s own contingent, had approached me yesterday. An awkward, pointless exchange.
“Elias, Cassian sought you earlier.”
“Oh? For what purpose?”
“I cannot say. He simply did.”
A brief silence hung between us.
Conversations were always like this now: purposeless, devoid of genuine connection. My peers now evidently regarded me as a fixture within Cassian’s sphere, rather than Lysander’s.
Our old allegiances, however, were not entirely sundered. Occasionally, in the fencing salle or by chance in the morning, a polite greeting would be exchanged. Usually, it was Torvin, a lesser scion, who extended such a courtesy.
“Elias! A good morning to you.”
“...Morning, Torvin.”
One such awkward encounter replayed itself. Torvin had muttered something, his voice low.
‘Lysander has been acting... peculiar lately. His interactions with young Vane… quite unseemly, wouldn’t you agree?’
My expression must have been visibly displeased. Torvin seemed to interpret it as agreement, leaning closer. He recounted how Lysander had compelled Julian to sit by him, how he’d gripped Julian’s arm, a possessive, unyielding hold.
I gritted my teeth, jaw tight. My reply was sharp, a calculated dismissal.
‘I hold no interest in such vulgar exhibitions, Torvin.’
He fell silent immediately.
Torvin had lately been circling Cassian and his associates, a subtle predator seeking a new pack. He was clearly trying to extricate himself from Lysander’s shadow. Perhaps his hushed confidences were an attempt to curry favor, to secure his own shift in allegiance.
Today, as often now, only Cassian and I remained in the vast, echoing classroom.
Cassian leaned against the arched window embrasure, surveying me with an unreadable gaze. Was it indifference? Or was he assessing? I couldn’t tell. Annoyed, I turned my head, determined to ignore him in kind.
“Thorne.”
“What now, Verridian?”
“Let’s acquire some frozen confection after dismissal. That saffron gelato from last time was quite palatable.”
Cassian disregarded my silent rebuff. As he spoke, he idly bounced a small, weighted practice orb against the stone wall. The orb rebounded erratically, threatening to strike a nearby scholar, yet no one dared voice a complaint.
He possessed no sensitivity to atmosphere, no regard for others. He was indifferent, brazenly selfish. I watched the orb’s erratic dance, a frown deepening on my face. My irritation with his shameless nature sharpened my voice.
“You refer to the one you consumed entirely yourself? You purchased it solely for your own indulgence, I recall.”
“Hardly. I simply favor the color yellow.”
“And my preferences warranted no consideration?”
“How was I to discern your desires? You offered no counsel.”
The orb had by then rolled to the far corner of the room. Cassian extended a hand, a silent command. A junior near the orb hesitated, then awkwardly retrieved it, placing it in Cassian’s palm. Cassian gave the orb a casual shake.
“My gratitude, scholar,” he drawled, his tone laced with something akin to mockery. The junior scurried away.
His persona grated.
‘Scholar this, oaf that.’ Every utterance from his lips felt like a subtle assault.
Honestly, it defied logic. Someone as boorish as Cassian, a scion of such a powerful house, should have gravitated towards Lysander, not me. Yet, he ate with me, sat with me, attended lectures with me. Lysander was undeniably absent, but Cassian could easily summon him with a coded message, or simply seek him out.
The thought struck me suddenly. I voiced it without much deliberation.
“Why do you no longer seek Lysander Valerius’s company?”
Cassian, mid-motion of tossing the practice orb, froze. He turned, a puzzled frown on his face.
“You quarreled with him,” he stated.
“I did?”
“Indeed. You and Lysander.”
“I am aware. I was the party involved. But how does that concern you?”
“You utter the strangest pronouncements, Thorne. It concerns me because you are my associate.”
Cassian’s gaze swept over me, overtly assessing. Unease prickled my skin. I averted my eyes.
“You were also Lysander’s associate,” I countered, my voice tight.
“Preposterous. Are you suggesting you are not my associate?” His tone was incredulous, a finger pointing directly at me.
“No, I am. But you were equally aligned with Lysander. So why do you appear to favor my position?”
“Because I have known you longer.”
“What nonsense are you spouting? Our acquaintance truly began through Lysander, did it not?”
“Observe yourself, Thorne. You are insufferable. We shared a closer bond even in our first year!”
“When was this?”
“Truly, you are a callous wretch. In the refectory, we often exchanged glances!”
“Ah… those instances.”
“So, I was alone in considering us companions? You deceitful scion. That is precisely why, upon finding ourselves in the same class, I initiated our communication! And you would deny it? Unconscionable. I confess, I am quite disappointed.”
“Oh.”
“Truly. Beyond belief. How could you inflict such an insult?”
“Forgive me. I apologize, then.”
I mumbled a hasty apology, a faint memory stirring. Those awkward, yet strangely frequent, shared glances from our first year. Could Cassian have genuinely interpreted those stares as friendly? I had always read them as veiled hostility. And, more unsettling, did that mean the first overture of camaraderie, the suggestion to dine together, had not been Lysander’s, but his?
The realization struck me like a stone dropped from a high ledge. It was profoundly unsettling, almost shocking. Yet, I felt no desire to unravel the tangled threads of this revelation. I simply nodded, feigning comprehension.
“Very well, I concede. My apologies.”
“I was genuinely quite vexed moments ago.”
Cassian’s glare was brief, sharp. I often failed to fathom the workings of his mind.
“And furthermore, Lysander Valerius behaves in a deeply unsettling manner.”
A tense silence descended.
“That one is completely unhinged now. He has always possessed a certain eccentricity, but this? This is… beyond measure.”
He caught the practice orb with four fingers, lazily spinning it around his temple with an index digit. The gesture brought to mind Torvin and other peers, their awkward attempts to confide in me about Lysander.
From that alone, one chilling truth became evident: Lysander Valerius’s esteemed reputation was in freefall.
“Perversion.”
The word hung in the air, a whisper of poison. It was the most feared, the most damning stigma in the insulated world of the Institute’s young elite. A chill coursed through me, my body trembling imperceptibly. At the same instant, a wave of profound relief washed over me. No one knew about *my* own hidden inclinations. Did that relief indicate a greater self-preservation than concern for Lysander?
Unease gnawed at me. I met Cassian’s gaze, feeling like a blasphemous acolyte guarding an unspeakable secret before a divine presence.
“Truly, I,” I murmured, a bitter laugh escaping me – a strange blend of fear and derision.
It was almost farcical. To others, I was now Cassian Verridian’s closest companion. In truth, I was no different than the hypothetical criminal, branded with an unholy stigma. Only months ago, I had been Lysander Valerius’s closest confidant. Now, I found myself hiding within a squalid trap I had barely evaded.
I had only managed to avoid detection. That was all.
---
The first grey light of dawn barely pierced the pre-morning gloom. My handheld chronometer glowed, displaying a message from an unlisted number. Four in the morning. Half-asleep, I briefly wondered if the entire ordeal was a troubled dream. Despite my conscious avoidance of Lysander, a desperate hope surged in my chest. What if the message was from him?
I rubbed my eyes, blinking away the last vestiges of sleep, and re-checked the sender. My emotions warred. A part of me wished it were merely one of those unsolicited missives offering illicit services. But the content shattered that illusion. It was not Lysander.
“Elias, I beg your pardon for this ungodly hour. Could you grace me with your presence outside your dwelling for a moment? I am truly sorry. Profoundly so.”
“Just this once. Only this once.”
Lysander Valerius would never offer such an apology to me.
Among my contemporaries, only two dared address me by my given name, Elias. Of those two, only one could sound so utterly pathetic. How had Julian Vane even ascertained my residence? My face twisted into a scowl the moment I read his words. I did not wish to see him. I never wished to see him. His very presence was an irritant.
Yet, despite my abhorrence, I rose from my bed. I buttoned my dressing gown, adjusting the cuffs, and walked towards the grand oaken door of my chambers. My hand paused, resting on the cold brass knob. I leaned my forehead against the frame, exhaling a deep, ragged sigh.
“...Damn it all.”
It was overwhelming, a tightening knot in the pit of my stomach. No other phrase sufficed. I clutched at my chest. I had always prided myself on my extensive vocabulary, gleaned from countless volumes. Yet, no word I knew could fully articulate this intricate, tangled mess of emotions.
It was simply… complicated.
The hatred I held for Julian, the vivid memory of his face bruised purple on that fateful day, the desperate, calculated distance I had sought to establish between them – all swirled together in a sickening vortex. I bit my lip. My fingers toyed with the doorknob. Then, with a decisive twist, I closed my eyes and turned it.
In the manicured garden, the cold morning dew clung to the air, heralding autumn’s stark arrival. To avoid the damp grass, I stepped carefully onto the cool, carved marble stones that wound through the lawn. The chilly dawn air made me pull my dressing gown tighter. My bare toes, peeking from the front of my velvet slippers, carried me to the ornate front gate.
I paused there, clicked my tongue softly, and grasped the heavy handle. The faint creak of the hinge made me flinch. I opened the gate even more slowly, forcing myself.
Beyond the wrought iron, illuminated by the distant gaslight on the cobbled lane, stood Julian Vane. He wore the Institute’s grey uniform. His head was bowed, and he idly scrawled invisible shapes on the asphalt with the tip of his polished shoe.
“...Julian Vane.”
My voice, a low rasp, cut through the quiet. Julian’s head snapped up, like a frightened bird.
“Elias, Elias!” His voice was a raw, desperate plea.
“What is it.”