Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

Chapter 1153: A convenient silence

The freshmen had spent five straight days being examined — written evaluations, practical assessments, oral questioning — until even meals had become extensions of the examination halls. Now it was over, at least for a few days, and the Grand Dining Hall had loosened with them. Chairs drifted out of neat rows. Conversations carried farther than usual. Several groups had long since finished eating without showing any intention of leaving.

Dellen set down his fork. ”Finally, we are free.”

”Technically,” Aurelian said, reaching for the vegetables, ”only for a few days.”

”You ruin every good moment.”

Selphine laughed into her cup. Further down the table, one of the Linwen twins added, ”He’s right about one thing — nobody mention the next evaluation until tomorrow.”

”Or rankings,” someone said.

”Especially rankings.”

”I suspect,” Elowyn said mildly, ”the rankings will be released whether you acknowledge them or not,” which earned her a look of profound betrayal from Aurelian and nothing else from anyone, because by then Mireilla had already stolen half of Toven’s dessert and Dellen was losing a quiet war with Selphine over the breadbasket.

Then Mireilla’s attention sharpened toward the aisle. ”Oh. Mister Performer has arrived.”

Lucavion set his tray down with exaggerated care. ”I am sitting right here.”

”We noticed,” Caeden said, shifting over to give him room.

”Then surely you can all see how dignified I am.”

”Lord of the Rotunda?” Mireilla offered, then immediately grimaced. ”No — forget I said that.”

”Too late. I liked it.”

”That makes it worse.”

The table dissolved into laughter as he reached for the last of the meat. Toven waited until he’d swallowed before saying, ”I would like it recorded that this man slept through an etiquette lesson, left another early, and then walked into the Rotunda and danced like someone’s retired court tutor.”

”You told us to find something useful to worry about,” Caeden reminded him.

”Lianne Morvel crossed half the Rotunda to invite you,” Aurelian said. ”You didn’t even know her name until after.”

That stopped the table for a moment. Lianne hadn’t chosen him at random — not with a room full of examiners watching. Her invitation had been a test, publicly delivered, and everyone at the table knew it.

”She was testing you,” Caeden said.

”That part I noticed.”

”Maybe she likes you,” Mireilla said, delighted.

”Please do not encourage yourself.”

The theory ran its course and the table drifted back toward food, satisfied with the simplest explanation: Lianne had wanted to see what he was made of, and the Court Variation had given her a public excuse. Then Selphine’s gaze slid toward Elowyn and back again, and her mouth curved.

”Though Lianne was rather fierce. Still — I think your second dance was more interesting.”

Elowyn stopped with her cup halfway to her lips. Lucavion’s fork slowed. Selphine caught both, and her expression sharpened into something delighted.

”Oh. This was why you refused to practice with Elowyn before the examination, wasn’t it?”

Elara said nothing. Yesterday, his refusal had seemed perfectly in character — he’d skipped half his preparation and clearly intended to improvise the rest. She had assumed she would spend their dance compensating for whatever he’d forgotten.

That assumption had lasted perhaps three bars of music.

He had matched Lianne’s Court Variation without hesitation, then led Elara through an older Lorian sequence no Academy lesson could have taught him. His refusal to rehearse looked very different in hindsight — less like carelessness, more like something he hadn’t wanted her to see coming.

”I never said I needed her to teach me,” Lucavion said.

”You certainly let us believe it,” Elara said.

”I don’t remember advertising helplessness.”

”You made very little effort to correct the misunderstanding.”

”That sounds like everyone else’s mistake.”

”So you were surprised,” Selphine said to Elara, delighted. ”Pleasantly?”

”Do not become greedy.”

”I think honesty should be encouraged,” Lucavion offered.

”Nobody asked you.”

That was enough to send the table back into laughter, Lucavion enduring it with the air of a man who had decided resistance was temporarily beneath him — though the corner of his mouth suggested otherwise. Elara reached for her cup and let the moment sit. She had expected to help him. Instead she had spent the dance discovering exactly how little he’d needed it, and understanding, a beat too late, that he’d let everyone — including her — reach the wrong conclusion on purpose.

”So why hide it?” Selphine pressed.

”I didn’t have a reason to bring it up.”

”You had an easy one. You could have told us so we’d stop worrying.”

Lucavion’s fingers stilled against his plate. ”You were worried?”

The question came without its usual polish.

”Of course we were,” Selphine said. ”You may be irritating, but people here still care whether you fail an examination.”

”Particularly,” Aurelian added, ”when the failure is preventable.”

Toven muttered something about having personally sat through every miserable lesson and refusing to watch someone waste it through laziness. Caeden, not looking up from his food, said, ”It would have reflected badly on all five of us,” which was somehow the least sentimental and most damning thing said at the table all week.

Lucavion’s gaze moved around the table — Selphine, Mireilla, Toven, Caeden — and for once the answer didn’t come immediately. Elara had seen him meet open hostility with less hesitation than this.

Then the familiar ease returned. ”How touching.”

Mireilla threw a napkin at him. He caught it beside his shoulder without looking.

”That,” Selphine said, ”is exactly why people regret caring about you.”

”And yet they continue.”

”Mistakes happen.”

The table loosened back into ordinary noise — Toven demanding retroactive compensation for the worry inflicted on him, Lucavion suggesting that surviving the experience had surely built character. Around them the Grand Dining Hall thinned, students filtering out toward the afternoon, the urgency of the examination week finally gone from the room.

Selphine leaned back. ”Still.”

”No.”

”I haven’t asked anything.”

”I recognize the expression.”

She ignored him. ”You clearly don’t dislike attention as much as you pretend. Explain the beginning of the Rotunda.”

The table’s amusement thinned at once. Elara’s fingers stilled against her cup. She knew exactly what Selphine meant — the ceremonial flame.

”You reached the front, ignored the prescribed gesture, summoned that thing of yours, and made the ceremonial flame answer,” Selphine said. ”The attendants nearly interfered. Then it touched the flame and every one of them just — stopped. Even the incense changed. That isn’t showing off. That’s different.”

”Did you know it would react?” Aurelian asked.

”No.” Lucavion considered. ”I thought it might. That’s different. Something about the ceremony felt wrong when we entered — the scent, the formation under the basin, the flame itself. I wanted to see how mine would answer it.”

”So you experimented,” Elara said, ”on an Academy ceremony.”

”I performed a gesture. It worked.”

”Several attendants were preparing to stop you,” Aurelian said.

”And then they didn’t. I don’t entirely understand that part either.”

”Entirely?”

”There are degrees of ignorance.”

”That always seem to end exactly where the useful answers begin,” Elara said, and he gave her a look of pure grievance, which did nothing to make her doubt it. Whatever else he was hiding, she’d seen his face in the instant the flame answered — and that surprise, at least, had been real.

”I suspected a reaction,” he said. ”I did not expect the entire Rotunda to behave as though I’d desecrated an ancestral tomb.”

”You nearly did,” Aurelian said.

”It survived.”

Selphine pressed two fingers to her temple. ”You cannot keep saying ’apparently’ as though any of this is normal.”

”What would you prefer — panic?”

”One explanation that doesn’t create three more questions.”

”Then you keep choosing the wrong person to ask.”

Aurelian summarized what remained of the theory — Lucavion had noticed something, tested his flame against it, and been surprised by what came back — and Lucavion allowed it to stand, mostly by not objecting, which by now the table understood was the closest thing to agreement he offered. Toven spent a while longer questioning the wisdom of testing an unfamiliar flame against an unfamiliar ceremony; nobody expected an answer, and nobody got one.

The interrogation dissolved back into lunch. Mireilla stole another piece of Toven’s bread; Toven protested with more energy than he’d shown all examination week. Elara let herself enjoy the noise. This table had come from almost nowhere — commoners and nobles thrown together by circumstance — and somewhere in the last few weeks it had stopped needing to be official about staying together. They simply kept sitting here.

Then Selphine straightened again, and Lucavion saw it before she spoke.

”No.”

”I haven’t said anything.”

”The Second Measure,” Selphine said anyway, and the table’s amusement shifted into something more careful. Everyone had seen it: Gervase de Warenne crossing the Rotunda toward Elowyn with enough purpose that nearby conversations had thinned before he arrived — and Lucavion, already beside her, stepping between them and turning Gervase’s invitation into his own before it was ever spoken. The black ash. The flower. Elowyn on the dance floor a few breaths later as though none of it deserved comment.

”You noticed him watching her four times during the First Measure,” Reilan said — no longer performing amusement. ”Then Initiative passed to you in the Second, and you went straight to her before he could move. You barely glanced at your Role Seal. There were dozens of people on that floor you could have chosen, and you’d already chosen her before he gave you a reason to.”

Elara’s thumb stilled against her cup. That was the part that mattered — Lucavion hadn’t crossed the Rotunda after spotting a rival. He had already been standing beside her. Gervase moved. Lucavion moved first.

Selphine’s eyes lit with the pleasure of watching a theory complete itself. ”It wasn’t Gervase at all. He only made you act sooner.”

”Or,” Lucavion said, ”I possess remarkable confidence in my improvisation.”

”That doesn’t contradict anything I said.”

”It contradicts several instructors.”

Usually, by now, he would have found one badly chosen word and pulled the whole argument sideways until everyone was fighting about something else. Instead he sat with a faint smile and let her talk, which Elara found considerably more irritating than any of his usual deflections.

”You realize what everyone on that floor saw,” Selphine said. ”Gervase de Warenne going for Elowyn Caerlin. You got there first, stood between them, took his suppression, turned your blood into a flower, and asked her to dance. The knight in black flame.”

Heat crept up the back of Elara’s neck. She ignored it.

”You could settle this,” Selphine told him. ”Tell us why you chose her.”

His eyes found Elara’s — only briefly — before returning to Selphine. ”No.”

”No?”

”I don’t believe I will.”

”That sounds like a confession,” Toven said.

”It sounds like a refusal.”

”Same thing,” said Selphine.

Caeden, who had said almost nothing through the entire meal, finally set down his utensils. ”There’s another possibility. He recognizes people before the rest of us understand why they matter. He’s done it before.” He looked at Lucavion directly. ”Do you know something about Gervase?”

The table went quiet. This was not the same question Selphine had been asking.

Lucavion finished the last of his bread before answering. ”Many things.”

”Anything relevant?” Reilan asked. ”To Elowyn.”

”Gervase was interested in her. He was approaching her. And I wanted the dance.”

”That’s all?”

”I didn’t say that.”

Nobody spoke. Elara watched him give them, once again, something true and stop exactly where it would have become useful. Selphine’s theory still fit. So did Caeden’s. Perhaps both did. Whatever had made Lucavion move before anyone else understood there was a reason to, he wasn’t going to name it here.

Selphine’s smile returned, unbothered. ”Fine. I have enough. You’re interested in Elowyn.”

Nobody spoke. Lucavion turned to Elara, and their eyes met, and he smiled — and the whole table waited for the denial that would surely follow.

He reached for the teapot instead, and tipped it over his cup.

Nothing came out. He looked inside, set it back down, and said nothing at all.

Selphine’s smile became unbearable. Elara decided the empty teapot was somehow worse than any answer he could have given.

******

By the time they left, the Grand Dining Hall had nearly emptied. Aurelian was still disputing Selphine’s methods as they crossed the entrance hall — ”You cannot declare yourself correct because the accused refused to answer” — and losing, by her account, decisively.

Elara only half listened. Lucavion walked ahead with Caeden and Toven, apparently untouched by having just spent an hour under interrogation. He had noticed Gervase. He had moved early. He had refused, twice, to say why. Selphine had chosen the simplest explanation available. Elara wasn’t convinced it was the true one — but when he glanced back and caught her watching him, the faint curve at his mouth didn’t help her case for staying unconvinced.

Outside, the last daylight caught against the tower windows. Their paths would divide soon toward the residential blocks, and Elara let herself think, for the first time since the Rotunda, about Gervase de Warenne — refused — and what his family’s absence from her future would cost the network she meant to build. House Warenne could have offered access no minor barony’s heiress ought naturally to have. Instead she’d rejected it, and accepted someone whose reasons for stepping between them he wouldn’t even name.

She’d chosen with what she knew. The consequences would tell her the rest.

”Are you coming?” Selphine had stopped ahead, the others already arguing their way down the path — Mireilla dragging Caeden into a debate he was visibly losing on purpose, Toven protesting beside her, Aurelian making everything worse.

”Yes,” Elara said, and went to join them.

There was no examination tomorrow. No Rotunda. Nothing that needed solving — Gervase, Lucavion, or otherwise — before the dormitories.

Only the noise, ridiculous and comfortable, and the hope, quiet and unexamined, that there would be more evenings like this one.