Ser Hektor, his face ruddy with indignation, clenched a fist. He held it aloft, a clumsy threat, but before the gesture could solidify, a voice like honed steel sliced through the air. Lord Kaelus Volkov, seated with unnerving ease, merely shifted a hand. His index finger tapped twice, sharply, against the polished surface of his desk. The sound, though soft, seemed to reverberate with the weight of unstated authority.
Then, just as swiftly, Hektor’s bravado dissolved. His face crumpled, a strange, guttural sound escaping his throat like a trapped pheasant. Ser Ulric and Ser Gareth, who had been watching with poorly concealed amusement, let out nervous titters. Hektor, stung by their mockery, rounded on Gareth, a frustrated shove his only recourse.
“Amusing, is it?” he snarled, his voice thick with impotent rage.
The three, a picture of clumsy retreat, stumbled out of the great study chamber.
Before exiting, Gareth paused. He turned, offering a weak, conciliatory wave in my direction. I offered a slight nod in return, a practiced, noncommittal gesture. There was no cause to refuse, no social gain in ignoring him. Settling back into my chair, I withdrew my academic slate and stylus.
My fingers had just closed around the cool, smooth stone of the stylus when, before parsing the first line, I lifted my gaze. It swept across the soaring arches of the chamber, past the intricately carved oak paneling, to the narrow, leaded windows. Beyond, the silverleaf trees, ancient guardians of the estate, were beginning their autumnal blush. A faint, earthy scent, like damp soil and distant hearth smoke, drifted on the crisp air. The sky, however, was an impossibly vivid azure.
My attention returned to the slate.
I was deep into the third complex cipher, my stylus tapping a restless rhythm against the parchment, when I abruptly looked up.
“Young nobles,” the old Lore-Master, Lord Theon, would often lament, his voice raspy from countless hours lecturing. “They are but untamed beasts, for all their silks and inherited titles. A veritable wilderness. They must establish their pecking order, you see. By the late spring, things settle, a fragile truce. But until then? Endless jousting, displays of shallow wit, tests of influence, each scrambling to claw his way higher. Gods, my head aches. And I must face it all again with the next crop of aspirants. Let’s see… what year of the Argentum Calendar were they born under again?”
He would then spread his gnarled palm, counting off his knuckles one by one, a soft murmur accompanying each digit.
“The Lion, the Viper, the Gryphon, the Basilisk… Ah, yes, that means…”
I tried mimicking the motion now, stretching out my own hand, counting the joints of my fingers. But the ancient calendar’s complex patterns eluded me, a frustration that pricked at my scholar’s pride. I turned my hand over, instead counting the distinct, raised bones on its back.
One. Then thirty-one. Two. Twenty-eight. Three. Thirty-one. Four. Thirty. Five. Thirty-one. Six. Thirty. Seven. Thirty-one. Eight. Thirty-one… Nine.
I never would have anticipated, back in the languid days of early summer, that late autumn would feel so much like the tension of nascent spring.
“Boys are nothing but savages,” Theon’s voice echoed in my memory. “Irrational, emotional, impulsive idiots.”
I stared at the prominent bone on my middle finger, absently tapping the desk as if playing a silent harpsichord. Lord Theon’s voice, raw from a lingering chill, seemed to drone on in the background of my thoughts, accompanied by the sharp scrape of chalk on a distant learning board.
A fleeting glance strayed to the empty chair near the front of the chamber. For a moment, I imagined the impression of a head against the desk—one side pressed deep, the other hovering, untethered.
My fingers stilled their tapping.
I turned my head. Lord Kaelus Volkov was there, hunched over a folio, his face half-buried in the pages. His eyes, though half-closed, were not truly slumbering. They were fixed, almost predatory, on a particularly dense passage, as if he meant to devour its meaning whole. Then, with a sudden, almost imperceptible slump, his forehead pressed against the parchment.
I watched the slight contortion of his nose against the bound pages before turning my attention away.
“…Did my thoughts wander so far?”
My mind felt distant, disjointed. I marked the third cipher with a small, neat star and moved on to the fourth.
---
Luncheon was served with meticulous ceremony: a delicate spiced stew, accompanied by a cool, fermented berry drink. Kaelus, having finished his drink first, spoke without looking up.
“Elian. You are second in the scholar’s registry for this academic cycle, are you not?”
“Yes, my Lord,” I replied, my voice carefully modulated. “Within the Archival Order.”
“And across the full Imperial Academy?” he pressed, finally lifting his gaze.
“Also second, my Lord.”
“By the gods.” A flicker of surprise, quickly masked.
“Is something amiss, my Lord?”
“So the primary scholar of your order is the primary scholar of the entire Academy?”
“Did you not know, my Lord? Lady Seraphina has held that distinction. Her diligence is peerless.”
“She is even more burdened than you, then?”
“Indeed. Her courtly duties and auxiliary studies keep her engaged until the late hours.”
“A formidable schedule.” Kaelus’s tone was almost grudging. “Such dedication.”
I had no inclination to prolong the discussion. I scooped a precise measure of stew onto my spoon, bringing it to my lips. Fortunately, Kaelus offered no further questions. He simply inclined his head, a gesture of quiet acknowledgement.
“Hmph.”
The lull felt sudden, discomfiting. The thread of conversation had snapped too abruptly. I debated whether to offer a new topic. I abhorred awkward silences, these gaping voids that demanded filling. Without quite thinking, I blurted, “And you, my Lord? What is your standing?”
His spoon, suspended mid-air above his own bowl, froze. I found myself staring at his hand. His grip on the utensil was impeccable, a mark of refined upbringing. If Lord Kaelus possessed one undeniable grace, it was this—the effortless precision of his manners.
“Within my own cohort of the Imperial Guard aspirants…”
“Yes, my Lord?”
“Ninth.”
“…My Lord?”
“Why do you look at me so?”
I quickly averted my gaze from his hand. Was he serious? No deception? The revelation was so unexpected that I almost voiced my surprise, but a desperate surge of self-preservation clamped my jaw shut. By the Seven Divines, that was a near calamity.
If I allowed a lapse, if I slipped and implied offense, I would surely face the sharp edge of his displeasure. My mind, a frantic calculus of social survival, raced through possible responses. Would he prefer commendation? Or feigned indifference, as if such a standing were entirely expected? He did not appear overly fond of his current companions. The latter, then, was the safer route.
“Ninth, my Lord. That is… more accomplished than I might have anticipated.”
“Oh? Anticipated? Just how dim-witted did you take me for, Scholar?” A ripple of irritation in his voice, quickly smoothed.
“Not at all, my Lord. It is merely that… I recalled you once found the study of ancient heraldry particularly arduous?”
“Ancient heraldry is my sole vexation. Only that. Every other discipline, I master.”
“Yet you do not attend the private tutelage of the Grand Academes.”
“The absence of a Grand Academe tutor does not preclude diligent study, Elian. By the Serpent’s Tongue, did you truly believe me a simpleton?”
“No, no, my Lord, not in the slightest.” I waved a hand, a hasty, placating gesture. “It is, however, remarkably impressive, to achieve such a standing without the benefit of formal private instruction.”
“…Truly?” A curious softening entered his expression.
“Indeed, my Lord. It is quite impressive.”
For some obscure reason, Kaelus began to methodically mash his spoon into the stew. And… was he flushing? I caught a glimpse of the tips of his ears, faintly crimson.
Now that the thought struck me, Lord Valerius, that oaf, had ranked thirty-second. And that was only because there were even less capable sons of lesser houses beneath him. Thirty-second out of thirty-six in his own cohort. Reflecting upon it, I realized I had never truly paid attention to anything about Valerius that did not directly pertain to my own prior entanglement with him. And with that stark realization, it pierced me like a poisoned dart: I had been drowning in the very sort of pathetic, obsessive infatuation I once so vehemently disdained.
Meanwhile, Kaelus, entirely oblivious to my inner existential turmoil, had clearly received a boost to his confidence. His tone had shifted, now brimming with a subtle satisfaction.
“Ah, yes! You likely would not know—I excel in the Imperial Histories. Flawless marks.”
“Oh? How proficient, my Lord?”
“Perfect scores. I have never lost a single point in any Imperial History examination.”
“Hkk!” I choked. The words caught in my throat. The instant he uttered them, I inadvertently spat a fine mist of my berry drink onto the table.
Kaelus scowled, instantly yanking his tray further away. “What in the Abyss? What sort of reaction is that?”
“I merely… was not expecting such an… exacting boast, my Lord.”
“Is it truly so astonishing?” He frowned, a slight pout to his lips. “My command of ancient heraldry may be lacking, but that is inconsequential.” There was an odd, fleeting hint of self-deprecation in his voice.
So I ventured a jest in return. “Perhaps, my Lord, you might attempt perusing a volume of ancient heraldry, once in a while.”
“What nonsense is this? I am a devoted patron of letters, Scholar.”
“A patron of letters? I have yet to observe you reading anything beyond your required folios.”
“That is because I indulge my literary pursuits in the privacy of my chambers.”
“And why, by the Emperor’s will, would such a pursuit require concealment?”
Kaelus’s eyes, which had been curved in amusement, drooped ever so slightly as he spooned a measure of stew into his mouth. Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, he casually pressed his lips to the edge of the spoon. Something about the gesture unsettled me deeply. I bit the inside of my cheek.
Kaelus met my gaze as he drew the spoon away, then lowered his eyes and pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to its tip. “Even the most scandalous romances are still literature, Elian.”
That was undeniably a jest. The scoundrel. My face burned. To conceal the flush, I seized a crumpled napkin from beside my tray and tossed it in his direction. It struck just beneath his long, narrow eyes, dropping harmlessly onto the polished tabletop. One of his eyes twitched, a minuscule betrayal of annoyance. Not that I cared, but in the improbable event he was genuinely incensed, I feigned a flicker of regret.
“Refrain from such vulgar displays, my Lord. Especially within these sacred halls. It is… thoroughly unbecoming.”
“Oh? You refer to this? Is this not one of Valerius’s charming affectations?”
“I care not whose affectation it is, my Lord. Simply cease.”
“Is it not, however, a rather prevalent trend amongst some of our peers, now?”
…………
I stared at him, my mind scrambling to discern if he truly jested or probed for a reaction. I had been sleeping less. That, at least, was a certain indication that my body had grown accustomed to the unrelenting tension of my new circumstances. Mornings, which had once felt arid and leaden, now held a strange, brittle crispness. It was a welcome transformation—for in my estimation, the gravest transgressions at my age were complacency and oversleeping.
“Ah, damnation—” My jaw clicked, a sharp, painful protest as I brushed my teeth. Ever since Lord Valerius had struck me that day, my jaw emitted an odd grinding noise whenever I opened my mouth too wide. Beyond that lingering ache, this day had unfolded rather favorably. Yet, even amidst this fragile peace, sudden stabs of irritation would surface. The cause, inevitably, was Lord Valerius. Or, more precisely, the unpleasant incidents that invariably stemmed from his presence, most of which transpired within the Academy walls.
“Ah, yes. I saw Valerius last night.” Ser Ulric spoke, his mouth full as he bit into a convenience store pastry, one of those lamentable confections rumored to contain ground bone meal and lesser scraps of meat.
Ser Hektor, who had been playfully jabbing Ulric’s ankle and making mock knife-hand strikes, suddenly perked up. “By the Seven! That’s right! You’ve just reminded me! I was entirely on the verge of mentioning this. I heard something through the whispers—you all know Baron Silas, don’t you? The rather… eccentric Baron, the one who consorts with unorthodox company? I hear Valerius is residing at his estate.”
“Baron Silas? That peculiar old Park Silas?” Kaelus Volkov, rummaging through a silken pouch that had materialized from his sleeve, inquired with casual indifference. When he withdrew his hand, he held two small, elegantly wrapped candied fruits. For some inexplicable reason, he offered one to me.
“…………?” I stared at the sweet, bewildered. “…………What is this, my Lord?”
I met his eyes with a questioning gaze, but Kaelus merely offered a slight nod, as if the gesture alone sufficed as explanation. The most pronounced reaction came from Hektor, whose pouch of snacks had apparently been plundered.
“By the Emperor’s Beard! I purchased those! Why in the Abyss are you pilfering my provisions, you rogues?”
“Oh, as if you’ve never helped yourself to mine, you glutton.” Ulric made another mock knife-hand strike towards Hektor’s throat. Hektor instantly spun, grabbing Ulric’s collar, and swung a feigned punch towards his face. Of course, the blow never connected. Such was the peculiar interplay amongst them.
I ignored their puerile bickering, my gaze fixed on the candied fruit in my hand. Its wrapper depicted a miniature, perfectly segmented lime. I peeled the delicate paper, popped the sweet into my mouth, and finally lifted my head.
“What do you surmise, Scholar? The taste of first affection?” Kaelus offered a faint, knowing grin.
“I do not care for lime, my Lord.” My response extended beyond the mere confection; it was an unspoken verdict on his attempt at wit. And more importantly, I found no amusement in the notion of ‘first affection.’ That sticky, cloying bitterness clung to the back of my throat, spoiling any appetite. In the end, I could not even finish the candy. I discreetly tossed it into a hidden waste receptacle.
“Oh no, such an unforgivable waste,” Kaelus mocked, cupping his cheeks with both hands, a picture of feigned dismay. Ignoring him, I reached into Hektor’s pouch, seeking a different candied fruit. All were either lime or lemon. Lime was, by far, the lesser evil. I unwrapped another and placed it in my mouth.
“At any rate, Baron Silas, then? Sounds entirely like Valerius,” Ulric mused.
“What, because they are both… promiscuous?” Kaelus’s words were sharp, honed to a razor’s edge. A profound discomfort settled within me. I turned to look at him. He was sucking on his own candied fruit, expressionless, twirling the white stick between his lips. I pulled mine from my mouth. Something about this felt profoundly wrong. Kaelus, however, seemed utterly unconcerned. He tilted his candied fruit in the air like a miniature rapier, making random, jabbing motions.
“He plays with supplicants—be they men or women, it matters not. And when he finds someone adequately… pliable, he guides them straight to Valerius. It is a calculated rotation. Coupling with one, then passing them to the next.”
“So Baron Silas is also… like that?” Hektor suddenly interjected. Whether he had concluded his playful skirmish with Ulric, or simply halted mid-tussle to eavesdrop, I could not ascertain. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, as if genuinely attempting to process the scandalous implications of what he had just heard.