Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1077: Tower Courtesy

The woman entered without hurry.

She was tall enough that the severe cut of her ash-gray robes made her appear even narrower, almost austere, while her dark hair had been drawn away from her face and secured at the back without ornament. There was little about her clothing meant to attract attention at first glance. The fabric was excellent, certainly, but deliberately plain, its quality expressed through the precision of the tailoring rather than embroidery or jewels.

The cuffs told another story.

Three narrow bands of silver ran around each wrist, broken at regular intervals by small sigils worked directly into the cloth. They held no visible mana and produced none of the subtle pressure associated with enchanted equipment. They were older than that, regulatory marks whose authority came from what they represented rather than what they could do.

Selenne recognized them before the woman had taken her third step into the chamber.

The Magic Tower.

More specifically, one of its archival authorities.

The Tower had changed its insignia enough times across the centuries that younger mages often mistook its older marks for decorative script. Selenne had spent enough years inside those spiraling halls to know better. The first silver band denoted authorization to examine restricted magical records. The second permitted intervention in disputes involving classified arcane phenomena.

The third was rarely worn outside the Tower itself.

Whatever position the woman held, it carried weight.

Her pale eyes crossed the chamber with the clinical ease of someone accustomed to deciding whether everything before her had been arranged correctly. They passed over the cultivation platform, lingered briefly upon the formation posts, and then moved toward Elir.

”Professor Varnen.”

Elir inclined his head.

”Madam Forthen.”

So he knew her.

The woman’s attention shifted.

It landed on Selenne and remained there for a fraction longer.

Something in her expression tightened.

Only slightly.

Anyone unfamiliar with Tower politics might have mistaken it for surprise.

Selenne did not.

”Magister Selenne.”

”Tamara.”

That earned the smallest pause.

Tamara Forthen had aged very little since Selenne last saw her. Perhaps the lines beside her mouth had become sharper, though that may simply have been because Selenne remembered her from a distance, usually seated behind a council desk with several senior scholars between them.

They had never been close.

They had, however, attended enough of the same Tower proceedings that pretending unfamiliarity would have been absurd.

Tamara stepped farther into the room.

”I had heard the Academy was making broader use of its senior faculty during examination week.” She removed one glove, folding it carefully into the other. ”I hadn’t realized that extended quite this far.”

Selenne rested one hand against the observation table.

”The cultivation wing is still part of the Academy.”

”Of course.”

Tamara’s smile appeared almost immediately.

Polite.

Measured.

Empty enough that Selenne found it familiar.

”I was referring to the allocation of expertise.”

”I know.”

A small silence followed.

Elir lowered his gaze toward the formation post with the unmistakable concentration of a man who had just discovered an urgent need to inspect something he had already inspected twice.

Tamara looked toward him.

”Still checking the intake lattice?”

”Finishing.”

”You began before I arrived?”

”I enjoy optimism.”

Her gaze stayed on him for a moment, perhaps deciding whether the answer qualified as humor. Then she returned to Selenne.

”I suppose one cannot criticize thoroughness today.”

”People manage.”

”Mm.”

Tamara crossed toward the observation alcove and placed a narrow leather case upon the table. When she opened it, several sheets of cream parchment rested inside alongside a black signing quill and a Tower seal set into dark wood.

Selenne’s gaze touched the seal once.

Senior authority, then.

Tamara noticed.

”I came under the Tower’s review mandate,” she explained, although Selenne had not asked. ”The affinity discrepancy was escalated yesterday evening. Considering the nature of the manifestation, someone felt an independent record would be prudent.”

”Someone?”

Tamara looked at her.

”The Tower.”

”Of course.”

Another tiny pause.

Selenne had learned years ago that the Tower became particularly fond of referring to itself as a singular organism whenever nobody wished to attach a personal name to a decision.

Tamara began arranging her papers.

”I understand yesterday was unpleasant here.”

”Elir and I were just discussing examination reports.”

”Were you?”

”Yes,” Elir said, without looking up. ”We reached the conclusion that there are too many.”

Tamara’s mouth shifted faintly.

”A conclusion faculty members have reached every examination cycle since the Academy began keeping written records.”

”And yet nobody has corrected it.”

”Some traditions deserve preservation.”

Selenne glanced at her.

Tamara met the look without changing expression.

Elir finally stepped away from the formation.

”At this point, I would settle for preserving fewer copies of each tradition.”

That almost softened the room.

Almost.

Tamara pulled one of the observation stools away from the wall and sat, though she kept her posture straight enough that the stool seemed more like an inconvenience she had decided to tolerate.

”How has the week been otherwise?” she asked. ”The Tower has received several preliminary notices, though administrative summaries tend to make students sound either brilliant or deceased.”

”Most remain alive,” Selenne said.

”A promising beginning.”

”Barely.”

Elir folded his earlier parchment and tucked it beneath a ledger.

”Rune examinations have gone reasonably well. We lost one resonance plate.”

Tamara looked toward him.

”Lost?”

”A student attempted to improve the calibration.”

”Why?”

”He believed the sphere had underestimated him.”

”And afterward?”

”It underestimated everyone.”

Tamara closed her eyes briefly.

Selenne’s lips moved by a fraction.

Elir caught it.

”You may laugh.”

”I wasn’t going to.”

”You nearly did.”

”That is difficult to prove.”

Tamara opened her eyes again, and for the first time her expression carried something approaching genuine amusement.

It faded when she looked back toward Selenne.

”And the Magicians’ Block?”

”Busy.”

”I heard the oral assessments were brought back.”

”They were.”

”Suddenly.”

”Yes.”

”How fortunate that you were available to supervise one personally.”

The change was almost elegant.

One moment they had been discussing overconfident freshmen and damaged equipment. The next, the conversation had narrowed without any obvious turn.

Selenne felt Elir’s attention return from the formation.

She looked at Tamara.

”I supervised a session.”

”So I heard.”

”The Academy does keep records.”

”Very detailed ones, from what I understand.”

Tamara lifted one of her sheets, examining the heading before placing it down again.

”You evaluated the reason why I am currently here yesterday.”

”Yes.”

”And now you’re here.”

There was no accusation in the words.

There did not need to be.

Selenne had heard variations of this technique throughout her years in the Tower. Statements arranged beside one another until the listener was invited to build the accusation themselves, thereby allowing the speaker to deny having made one.

She had once found it irritating.

She still did.

Experience had simply made the irritation less useful.

”He is the student being examined,” Selenne said. ”That tends to create overlap.”

Tamara’s pale eyes held hers.

”Quite a lot of overlap, apparently.”

Selenne waited.

Tamara’s fingers brushed along the edge of her paperwork.

”I don’t mean to imply impropriety.”

’Naturally.’

”But you must understand how it might be interpreted from outside the Academy.”

”I understand interpretations very well.”

Something in Tamara’s gaze sharpened.

Selenne continued before she could respond.

”I also understand procedure. His affinity test produced an unresolved anomaly. Professor Varnen filed for additional oversight, and my authorization was accepted.”

”All perfectly proper.”

”Then we agree.”

Tamara’s smile returned.

”On the paperwork.”

Selenne felt the first real thread of annoyance settle beneath her ribs.

It was an old sensation.

Years ago, senior Tower scholars had spoken to her in much the same way whenever her research produced conclusions they disliked. They praised the calculations, questioned the methodology, praised the methodology, questioned whether her position gave her enough perspective, and when all else failed, they wondered aloud whether success had encouraged her to move beyond the limits of her expertise.

Then she became an Archmage.

The wording changed.

Very little else did.

Selenne folded her hands loosely behind her back.

”Say what you intend to say, Tamara.”

The woman tilted her head.

”I thought I had.”

”No. You have carefully approached it from three directions.”

Elir looked down.

Tamara’s eyes cooled.

”For someone who dislikes politics, Magister, you’ve become rather good at hearing it.”

”I had excellent teachers.”

That landed.

Tamara allowed a few seconds to pass before answering.

”Very well,” she said. ”Then perhaps I will be less delicate.”

”That would save time.”

Something tightened around Tamara’s mouth, though her voice remained smooth.

”You supervised his oral examination yesterday, despite having little reason to involve yourself personally. Now, before the records of that examination have even completed their ordinary review, you appear here under an amendment added at the last moment.” She paused, fingertips resting lightly over the Tower seal beside her papers. ”You can hardly blame someone for wondering whether your interest has become... selective.”

Selenne regarded her.

There were several possible answers.

Most would only lengthen the conversation.

”I evaluated him according to the same standards I used for everyone else.”

Tamara tilted her head. ”Naturally.”

”If you believe otherwise, review the examination.”

That gave her pause.

Selenne continued, her tone remaining even.

”The memory crystals are sealed. My questions were recorded, his answers were recorded, and every mark I assigned can be traced to the rubric. Anyone with the proper authorization is welcome to find whatever mistake they believe I made.”

Elir glanced between them, then quietly moved one of his sheets farther away from the edge of the table, perhaps deciding paperwork was safer when removed from the immediate vicinity.

Tamara’s gaze stayed upon Selenne.

”That takes time.”

”Most proper investigations do.”

”And time,” Tamara replied, ”is often all someone needs.”

Selenne’s eyes narrowed by a fraction.

Tamara tapped one finger against the table.

”A complaint is raised. Records are requested. Committees deliberate. Another office asks for confirmation, then someone discovers the appropriate official is away for three days, and by the time anything meaningful happens, the student in question has already passed through half a dozen additional examinations under the protection of uncertainty.”

Her smile returned, faint and knowing.

”An effective shelter, when used properly.”

The word lingered.

Shelter.

Selenne had heard accusations dressed in that shape before.

A talented commoner received access others disliked, and suddenly whoever had approved that access must have been cultivating influence. A scholar produced inconvenient work, and the person defending its validity must have possessed some private interest. Fairness became favoritism the moment the wrong person benefited from it.

She looked at Tamara for another moment.

”You sound as though you are speaking from experience.”

Tamara’s expression stilled.

Elir’s eyes lowered immediately.

A beat passed.

Then Tamara gave a quiet laugh, though very little amusement reached it.

”And you remain fond of turning questions around.”

”Only when they arrive facing the wrong direction.”

”That tendency of yours has caused difficulties before.”

”So I have been told.”

”Frequently, I imagine.”

”Usually by the same people.”

Tamara drew breath to answer.

The outer ward chimed before she could.

All three glanced toward the entrance as the Academy seals brightened, ran through a short authorization sequence, then unlocked.

The door opened.

Marcus entered with a leather folio tucked beneath one arm, his robes immaculate despite the hour and his expression already carrying the faint displeasure of someone who had expected the morning to be simpler.

His gaze moved first to Elir.

Then Tamara.

Then Selenne.

There it stopped.

”Magister Selenne.”

”Professor Marcus.”

He stepped inside while the stone door closed behind him, and his eyes flicked briefly toward Tamara as though he had caught enough of the atmosphere to understand that he had entered midway through something.

Tamara spared him the effort of asking.

”We were discussing the Magister’s unusually attentive involvement with Student Lucavion.”

Marcus’s expression shifted.

Barely.

But Selenne saw recognition arrive before he answered.

”Were you?”

He placed his folio on the observation table.

”Well. I suppose someone had to mention it.”

Selenne looked at him.

Marcus opened the clasp of the folio and began withdrawing his papers with unnecessary composure.

”You have been rather present around him this week,” he continued. ”The oral examination yesterday. This trial today. And before that, several... interventions involving his treatment.”

”I perform several duties at this Academy.”

”Of course.”

His tone resembled Tamara’s closely enough that Selenne briefly wondered whether the Tower distributed lessons.

Marcus arranged his documents before adding, ”Still, there comes a point where professional concern begins to look rather like favoritism.”

Elir’s hand stopped halfway toward a tuning crystal.

Tamara said nothing.

Selenne studied Marcus instead.

He appeared calmer than during their previous encounters. More careful.

That only made the pattern easier to see.

”Favoritism.”

”Yes.”

”Toward Lucavion.”

Marcus gave her a patient look. ”You understand the concern.”

”I understand the word.”

His jaw shifted.

Selenne let her gaze fall briefly toward the papers he had brought, then returned to his face.

”Though if we are discussing favoritism, Professor Marcus, you seem to show considerably more of it toward him than I do.”

For the first time, Marcus lost the rhythm of the conversation.

Only for a heartbeat.

”I beg your pardon?”

”You appear everywhere.”

His expression hardened.

Selenne continued before he could interrupt.

”His preliminary arrangements. His evaluators. Complaints surrounding his examinations. Faculty discussions concerning his placement.” Her eyes remained calmly upon him. ”Somehow, whenever I look closely at one of his trials, I find traces of you nearby.”

The silence that followed felt different from the one Tamara had created.

Elir slowly set the tuning crystal back down.

Marcus stared at Selenne.

Then he laughed once.

”Baseless accusations.”

”I did not accuse you of anything.”

”You just implied—”

”I observed a pattern.”

”That is the same thing dressed in prettier language.”

Selenne’s eyebrow rose slightly.

Tamara glanced between them.

Marcus realized what he had said a fraction too late.

Selenne allowed the moment to settle.

”Interesting.”

His mouth tightened.

”Do not twist my words.”

”I have no need. They arrived conveniently arranged.”

Marcus placed both hands against the table, then seemed to reconsider the posture and straightened again.

”You are reaching.”

”Perhaps.”

”Perhaps?”

”I prefer evidence before conclusions.”

The answer came simply.

Marcus’s eyes sharpened.

Selenne watched him, her expression unchanged.

”That is why,” she added, ”I am here.”

Tamara’s fingers became still over her papers.

Marcus opened his mouth.

The ward chimed again.

Once.

Clear and perfectly timed.

Everyone turned toward the entrance.

For a moment, nobody spoke.

The authorization plate flickered as it read the identity presented from outside, and then a name appeared in pale lettering across the stone.

Student Lucavion.

Elir exhaled quietly.

Tamara’s gaze moved toward the door.

Marcus’s face became unreadable.

Selenne looked at the glowing name and, despite herself, felt something close to dry amusement pass through her thoughts.

”Oh....Right on time, isn’t it?”