A full week crawled by, each day heavier than the last. Cassian maintained a meticulous facade, a shield of indifference he hoped was impenetrable. He moved through the gilded halls of the Thorne ancestral lands, among the murmuring courtiers and the scent of aged parchment, as if Lord Valerius held no more significance than a passing shadow.
He spent his hours in the scriptorium, or with Lysander, tracing forgotten ley lines on ancient maps, discussing the shifting currents of political whispers. This casual companionship was a deliberate counterpoint, a carefully constructed illusion for any eyes that might watch.
Yet, a constant, low thrum of frustration persisted beneath his composure. His distance from Valerius’s retinue meant the flow of direct observations ceased. Cassian had to rely on Lysander for fragments, stray words gleaned from the periphery of court gatherings.
Burning with curiosity, his pride a brittle shield, Cassian found himself seeking Lysander’s casual commentary. His questions were always veiled, tossed out like discarded crumbs.
Lysander, perched on a velvet stool, idly manipulated the gears of an intricate automaton designed for strategy games. “Valerius? Ah, him. Gone gallivanting again, I hear.”
That simple pronouncement would often leave Cassian momentarily speechless.
“...Damned aristocrat.” The words were a quiet exhalation, barely audible above the automaton’s soft whirring.
Cassian understood the volatile core of Lord Valerius. A creature of raw impulse, all instinct and demanding emotion – a beast cloaked in fine silks.
“Presumably to a secretive salon,” Cassian ventured, picturing the exclusive havens of Valorian nobility.
Lysander’s fingers twisted a brass lever, the automaton’s miniature knight tilting precariously. “No, not a salon this time. A diplomatic courtship, so it was said.”
Cassian’s breath hitched. Lysander continued, without lifting his gaze. “Lady Isolde of House Eldoria. Young Mistress Annelise arranged it. She’d been pestering Valerius for an introduction for moons. Apparently, they found immediate accord. The moment they were presented, they simply… withdrew. Together.”
“Remarkable,” Lysander added, his voice flat with thinly veiled scorn. “But Lady Isolde was no shrinking violet either. Agreed without a moment’s hesitation. ‘Why not?’ one imagines her thinking.”
“...” Cassian’s jaw tightened. He found he could not form a response.
“They both possess such… commendable sangfroid,” Lysander concluded, his voice heavy with derision. No admiration colored his tone. For the first time in days, Cassian felt a slight easing in his chest.
He pushed off the wall, moving to Lysander’s desk. A hand rested on Lysander’s shoulder, a light pressure. Lysander shifted, making space for Cassian to sit on the polished wood. It was a silent acknowledgment, a shared moment of relief.
Only Lysander dared to openly critique Lord Valerius’s flagrant pursuits, and for that alone, Cassian found him bearable.
“Disgustingly composed,” Cassian murmured.
“Indeed. I, on the other hand, am entirely lacking in composure.” Lysander’s boastful tone drew a small, unbidden laugh from Cassian.
“That is rather the point, isn’t it? You’re meant to be uncomposed. A chronicler, not a courtier.”
“There is no ‘meant to be,’ Cassian. One adapts. The human spirit is nothing if not malleable,” Lysander replied, a smirk playing on his lips, his eyes still fixed on the game.
“Is that why you remain unwed?” Cassian teased, a rare lightness in his voice.
Lysander finally stilled the automaton. He turned, an incredulous smile spreading across his face. He tapped Cassian’s hand, still resting on his shoulder.
“I shall report you for insolence.”
“How is that insolence?”
“If the recipient finds it so, it is so.”
“Lysander, you are truly incorrigible.”
“A libertine.”
Cassian’s slipper slid from his foot, falling silently to the stone floor. He nudged Lysander’s leg with a sock-clad foot. Lysander feigned a dramatic stumble, then casually raised a hand, making a crude gesture. A strand of prayer beads, carved from pale cedar, was wrapped around his wrist.
“Those beads do not suit you,” Cassian remarked.
“And why not?” Lysander’s tone grew unexpectedly serious.
Cassian raised an eyebrow. “They simply… do not match your disposition.”
“Do not match? Strange. Do I not seem a devout adherent of the Ancient Faith?”
“No. They appear a mere adornment.”
“...They are not, however.”
Looking back, Cassian realized the truth should have been evident in Lysander’s full name – Lysander Elias. But Cassian had assumed it was merely a familial name. It turned out, Lysander’s family had observed the Ancient Faith for generations. More astonishing still, Lysander himself claimed unwavering devotion, though he could scarce recite a proper litany.
Days blurred into a week of careful avoidance. Whenever their paths intersected in the academy’s grand refectory or sunlit courtyards, Cassian would cast a fleeting glance at Valerius, then avert his eyes.
He still lacked the courage to initiate conversation. Perhaps he feared conceding, the pathetic notion that whoever desires more, loses. Even acknowledging its absurdity, the words remained trapped behind a wall of pride.
In stark contrast, Ser Theron often sought Cassian’s presence. Cassian was, perhaps, the only one who offered a genuine response. Yet, the fresh, ugly contusions marring Theron’s face each day served as a stark reminder: Lord Valerius still hunted him, a beast marking its territory in hidden corners of the estate.
Cassian’s frown deepened at the sight. Theron, catching his gaze, quickly turned his head, attempting to conceal the injuries.
Four more days passed in this stifling rhythm. One quiet morning, alone in a small study, Cassian buried his face in his hands. He yearned to escape the wretched tableau unfolding before him.
Distance between him and Valerius widened, the initial gap now a chasm of despair. Opening his eyes felt like risking absorption into that rift. The purple bruises on Theron’s swollen eyelids were as stark and indelible as a signed decree. They made Cassian even more reluctant to face either man. He yearned for escape.
Then, as if a thread of luck had unexpectedly favored him, Ser Theron ceased attending his duties. Master Elias, their tutor, referred to it as an absence, but the hesitation in his voice betrayed the truth: an unofficial, unsanctioned withdrawal. Cassian almost cheered aloud.
Lord Valerius, however, grew restless during their lessons, fidgeting with his signet ring, snapping irritably at pages, or even striking a junior squire for a misplaced comment.
A part of Cassian felt a smug satisfaction. Another part savored a strange, fleeting sense of superiority. He convinced himself that soon, once Ser Theron officially transferred or disappeared for good, Lord Valerius’s capricious attention would wane, turning back to him. Confident in this fragile hope, Cassian waited.
A few more days drifted by, each indistinguishable from the last.
“Lord Valerius seems quite subdued of late,” Lysander remarked offhandedly. Cassian’s heart thudded against his ribs. He longed to immediately turn his head, to catch a glimpse of Valerius’s face, but he could not. In matters of affection, he was a coward. He could only listen to Lysander’s words, imagining.
Nothing shifted, even as the day wore on and all studies concluded. Cassian convinced himself there would be another chance tomorrow. Matters of the heart rarely moved with such swiftness. He waited. As the final lesson bell tolled and Cassian slung his satchel over his shoulder, Lysander spoke, his voice unusually sharp.
“You quarreled with Valerius, didn’t you?”
Cassian spun around, his movement almost involuntary.
“Yes.”
“Do not tell me you still haven’t resolved that incident from the refectory?”
“...”
“Remarkable. This has lasted longer than I anticipated,” Lysander said, shrugging, his hands tucked into his pockets. Cassian avoided his gaze, muttering an excuse.
“To be truthful, Valerius went too far. I despise witnessing such bullying. It’s simply… strange, you understand?”
“What is strange?”
“...Well, Ser Theron is a man, is he not?”
“And?”
“The manner in which Valerius treats Theron is… I do not know. They are both men, and it is simply distasteful. I wish he would cease.”
“Remarkable.”
“...”
“You are certainly destined for the Celestial Choir.” Lysander’s response to Cassian’s carefully phrased concern was drenched in sarcasm.
Annoyed by Lysander’s malicious tone, Cassian glared. Lysander merely smirked. Seeing that expression, Cassian felt a sudden, burning shame, as if something hidden had been laid bare. Quickly, he turned his back, ignoring Lysander’s lingering grin, and strode from the study.
As he hastened down the deserted corridor, intent on returning to his chambers, a hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. Assuming it was Lysander, Cassian spun, irritation bubbling, and pulled his arm free. It was not Lysander, however, but Master Elias. Startled, Cassian quickly composed his features.
“My apologies, Cassian. Did I alarm you?” Master Elias’s voice was soft, laced with concern.
“Oh, no, Master. It is quite well. I was merely… surprised.”
“I see. I am truly sorry, but… might we speak for a moment?”
“Master?”
“Just a brief word. Please.”
Master Elias’s usually placid face was unusually serious. Cassian nodded, a ripple of unease moving through him.
“Today, Lord Valerius requested Ser Theron’s residence,” Master Elias began, his voice cautious.
“Lord Valerius?” Cassian’s stomach tightened.
As the tutor, Master Elias could not possibly be unaware of the subtle brutalities within the noble circles. Yet, he lacked the authority or boldness to confront such a potent force directly. Still, he was not cold-hearted enough to wholly ignore it either. The fact he sought Cassian to speak of Theron was testament enough.
“I am not accusing or blaming Valerius, but…”
“No, Master, I understand. I do not find it strange,” Cassian interjected, perhaps too quickly.
“Well, as you often extended a kindness to Theron, I wondered if you might… accompany Valerius to his residence. Do you comprehend my meaning?”
Cassian could not answer immediately. His teeth clenched so tightly his jaw ached.
The potent emotions Lord Valerius harbored for Ser Theron seemed to creep toward Cassian, flooding his feet, rooting him to the spot. He clenched his fists. He could not stand still.
“Might I… have Ser Theron’s contact scrolls, then?”
“Ah, yes, of course. Here, allow me to retrieve them for you. Attempt to reach him first.”
“Certainly. I shall speak with him. Do not concern yourself unduly, Master.”
“Very well. I am counting on you, Cassian.”
“Yes, Master.”
On the surface, Cassian appeared calm. Internally, a frantic panic seized him. Master Elias handed him Ser Theron’s private contact cipher from the attendance rolls, an awkward expression on his face, before departing the corridor.
He had to prevent Lord Valerius from meeting Ser Theron. He absolutely had to prevent Valerius’s unsettling obsession from escalating. The moment Master Elias vanished, Cassian pulled out his own cipher and immediately began tracing Theron’s number. His leg twitched nervously. He clenched and unclenched his hand, waiting for the connection.
Surprisingly, the call connected swiftly.
“Hello?” A wary voice, young and uncertain.
“It is Cassian. Is this Ser Theron?”
As soon as he heard the voice, Cassian rushed to speak. A sudden clattering noise echoed from the other end of the line – something falling, striking another object, followed by a rustling sound. After a brief pause, Theron’s voice returned, strained.
“C-Cassian? Cassian! W-why… How… how do you possess my cipher? Did you… already have it?”
“No. Master Elias informed me that Lord Valerius requested your residence today. So I asked for your contact.”
“...”
“I merely wished to caution you. Be vigilant.”
“W-what of you? Are you well? Even as you attempt to dissuade him…”
“Do not concern yourself with me. Focus on your own safety. Should you require further absence from your duties, call this cipher. I will handle Master Elias. I am, believe it or not, held in some trust.”
“...Thank you.” The voice was small, hesitant.
“If Valerius attempts to harass you or use force at the academy, inform me immediately. If you cannot speak openly, simply touch my shoulder. It is far more difficult to mend matters once they are broken.”
“Understood…”
“Honestly, seeking a transfer to another house would be your wisest course.” Cassian slipped the suggestion in, hoping it would take root.
“...”
“At any rate, consider it. For now, either feign absence from your residence or remove yourself to a distant quarter.”
“O-okay…”
“Very well, I am severing the connection.”
“W-wait.”
“...?”
“Thank you, Cassian.” After a long hesitation, Theron’s voice came softly, trembling slightly. “What in the heavens?” Cassian thought. A wave of acute discomfort washed over him.
“T-thank you for always… aiding me.”
“It is nothing.”
“I merely… wished to express it. Thank you. S-see you soon.”
“Yes.”
“...Farewell.”
“Farewell?” Cassian did not bother to respond to the odd parting, instead severing the connection. The mere sound of Theron’s voice, crawling into his ear, was enough to send shivers down Cassian’s spine, leaving him thoroughly unsettled.
What transpired with Ser Theron that night, Cassian could not say. He only knew that from the very next day, Theron resumed his duties at the academy. And within a week, the faint, downy fuzz characteristic of youthful skin began to reappear on his face, softening the harsher planes. Theron also ceased his sudden approaches to Cassian, his demeanor shifting dramatically, becoming more guarded, more distant.
This abrupt change in behavior planted seeds of suspicion in Cassian’s mind. And when all the bruises on Theron’s face finally faded, Cassian could not help but feel a faint, albeit improbable, sense of hope.
Then, two weeks later, Lord Valerius approached him from out of nowhere.
“Cassian.” The voice, deep and resonant, cut through the quiet of the corridor.
“...” Cassian kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, feigning deafness.
“Cassian.” Valerius’s voice was closer now, directly behind him.
“...” Cassian’s lips felt as if they might split open with an involuntary gasp at any moment.
Could it be? Had Lord Valerius finally tired of Ser Theron? A treacherous thought, but a hope nonetheless. And in the silent, suffocating beauty of the Valorian Dominion, hope was a dangerous thing to hold.