Seeing Galier Caerest —or more correctly Galier Derran now, the seat of a house whose leader had just been brutally killed— walking into the lecture hall was quite the surprise. Galier was a thoroughly explored topic of conversation at every noble gathering now, and likely would be until his alliances were solidified and his stances known on a whole host of things. How he had managed to leave house Derran’s holdings without being mobbed by lesser nobles looking for a chance for notoriety was a mystery, but it was only the beginning of the strangeness.

Firstly it was strange that he came alone. Scythese would have expected guards at least, quite a few too given his newfound power and the circumstances under which he inherited it, but when he sauntered into the room, resplendent as always in his gaudy clothing and makeup, there was not a single guard in sight. He did not seem to have an escort at all in fact. Everyone knew about Galier Caerest’s reputation now that he was of interest, it would have been a surprise to anyone that he did not have some empty headed lady or other on his arm or simpering after him as he swaggered into the lecture hall. It was not as if he was trying not to be noticed either. His forest green jacket was heavily embroidered with silver stags, the sigil of house Derran, and his boots, gloves, and even his trousers were touched with silver as well. Even if Scythese had not recognized him, it would have been more than clear who he represented. Seeing him strutting about to show off his new station was not a surprise, but why here? Plenty of the students would recognize him but they held very little power, not enough to interest someone of his newfound station. Besides, nobility was not something that made many friends here. Quite the opposite as Scythese knew firsthand.

Clearly Galier meant to make an entrance and Scythese had to admit, grudgingly, that he had succeeded. The usual sort of student that attended Stellaphrena’s lectures was lowly in social stature compared to Galier, though not so lowly as to not have some inkling of who he was. There were waves of audible gasps as he entered the room, those tall boots of his clicking on the stone floor and the sunlight filtering through broad windows reflecting off of his silver finery. Scythese did not think a single person in the hall was not looking at Galier. It would be difficult not to with all of that light reflecting off of him like a mirror. For a moment, Scythese thought to turn away, to deny Galier the attention he clearly wanted but Scythese knew that it would make no difference. The damage was done. Not a soul in the hall would forget about his appearance even if they did not know who he was. Scythese could not stop a frown from pulling on his lips. This was not the place for nobles and their schemes. By even being here, Galier was tracking mud into the pristine house of knowledge. It was more than just disrespectful, it was anathema to the ideals of this place.

The disturbance passed relatively quickly once Galier found a seat on the front row of benches. Some poor fool moved away to allow him space without even being noticed by the lord with his haughty bearing. People still glanced his way more than was normal but at least there was nothing more than that to mark Galier’s presence. Scythese hoped that he noticed. This was not the place for him to flaunt his wealth. It would earn him no favors. The hall was a place of learning, not one of his banquets or parties. It was disgraceful that he came at all, more so because of the manner in which he did.

When Stellaphrena finally arrived and made her way to the raised podium, another hush fell over the gathered students. This one was different though. There was something reverantial about the way the people quieted to focus all of their attention onto the great philosopher as she took her place before them. It was natural to pay her respect, Scythese could feel it in his bones. When Galier had entered in all his splendor, there were whispers throughout the crowd, barely audible but obvious anyway. When Stellaphrena walked through the doorway, wearing a simple linen dress and utilitarian working sandals, her only ornamentation being the crimson veil she wore tied across her face, there was not a hint of conversation among her pupils. Galier would see that the attention he sought was meaningless beside that. The thought made Scythese grin.

Stellaphrena was damp with sweat even though a bite of chill was in the air today. She had been working at the smithy again most likely. Scythese had thought it strange when she first started working as an apprentice to the nearby harborsmith. The smith for his part had been confused too that a woman well over double the age of his usual apprentices wanted to work in his forge but she did not ask for pay and her work was good. The smith knew not to complain. Scythese did not think that she planned to work there long but now, at least a month later, she still started each day at the forge in the early hours of the morning.

The forge work showed on Stellaphrena. She had never been the slender ideal of the old blood but now her comparatively wide shoulders were showing the signs of corded muscle and hands that had never been quite dainty bore callouses and burns in equal measure. The nobility would say the work was disgraceful for someone of her heritage but she had committed worse sins in their eyes before and would doubtless do so again. Besides, Scythese had to admit that the changes suited her. As a voice for the common people as well as the aristocracy, she had to show kinship with all people and it could not be a false kinship. She worked to understand the people she represented, and she represented everyone. For that, her work was never done. He admired the courage she showed, in truth. He himself could hardly do what she did, but then, that was why he was the student and she the teacher.

Silence reigned from when Stellaphrena entered the hall until she began to speak at the podium. Scythese had heard the speech before, he had helped write it, at least the parts that she did not change while speaking. She often needed a second pair of eyes on her work. The speeches were never bad of course, far from it, but she had a tendency to ramble. Especially when the topic was politics, as it was today. After the first few minutes, Scythese knew she had no intention of keeping with her plan. That was as common as the alternative and it did not really bother Scythese. He was happy to help her with whatever task she deemed necessary, if she made changes, it did not matter to him, he had done his work.

She started with a recollection of a conversation she had had with the harborsmith that very morning, or so she said. Scythese knew that she did not care when the conversations took place, perhaps she did not always remember, all that was important was that they happened. She always said that the only way to understand people was to talk with them, all of them. The most lowly of beggars had just as much to say as the highest of priests. Humankind was a synthesis of all of those voices.

It was impossible to talk to everyone of course, even just those in the city, but sometimes it seemed like she intended to do just that, regardless of what was possible. The harborsmith was only her most recent target. He had a lot to tell evidently, though Scythese had a suspicion that he offered more than just conversation. He knew that she spent fewer and fewer nights in her own home now than ever before. It did not take an intelligent mind to put two and two together, the late nights and early mornings, and come to a conclusion. Stellaphrena always lauded logic and reasoning, Scythese simply exercised those skills.

Of course he did not mean to pry, he was only a student after all, but someone had to look after her. This harborsmith fellow was not the most reputable and Stellaphrena was known to put herself into dangerous situations in her pursuit of knowledge. Jealousy had nothing to do with it.

As the recounting of the conversation carried along, Scythese found himself growing bored. He usually had no trouble paying attention except during her most circuitous lectures but today was different. Frankly, the subject matter was simply not that interesting even though this harborsmith certainly seemed much more intelligent when his words came from her mouth. It all sounded much the same as the conversations she had had with the fruit vendor, the fisherman, the oarsman and on and on except that they had all been interesting in their nearly imperceptible variety. Of course each unique person had a point of view worth analyzing, but she was spending a little too much time on one man, Scythese thought.

He already knew what she meant to say, it would not hurt to spend his attention elsewhere today. Scythese carefully arranged his parchments and pens, folded his leather writing case and latched it closed, all without making a sound to distract the others in the hall. Perhaps they would still be able to take something from the lecture. He was about to stand and leave when something stopped him. Throughout the hall, everyone focused intently on Stellaphrena as she spoke, every single one. Including Galier Caerest on his bench at the front. He did not have a pen or parchment or anything at all. The lord had not come prepared. Of course not everyone took notes during her lectures, in fact only the most dedicated did, but it felt wrong that Galier should make such a disturbance and not even intent to take notes. Scythese was willing to forgive him however, this was not Stellaphrena’s most captivating lecture and even without pen and ink the lord sat forward attentively, hanging on every word. Scythese felt hot shame rising in his cheeks. He was about to walk out of the hall when the lecture had barely begun. Not everyone stayed through each lecture of course but he would not be the first to leave.

He still did not open his writing case again. He did not really listen either, Stellaphrena’s words did not capture his attention as they usually did. Instead, he let his mind wander. He had two hours easily before the lecture ended, if she did not get too off topic. His eyes kept being drawn back to the front row of benches where Galier still sat attentively, leaned forward with eyes wide. Scythese was surprised to see it. The plan had been to speak about the abuse of workers at the hands of Maerinen nobility, certainly not a subject that would produce such a response in Galier but the lord was enthralled.

Scythese had, until this point, been Stellaphrena’s only pupil of any real social standing. There were other lords and ladies among the students of course, mostly of little import, but Scythese had always been the one who was talked about. The son of a powerful old blood family corrupted to turn against them. He took pride in that reputation. It would change now, if Galier came back. Whether for better or worse he could not predict but it would change, of that he was sure.

Of course Galier had no idea what he was doing. Sitting down there with his chin resting easily on one hand, he clearly had no idea of the stigma that came with the life of an intellectual. Scythese knew, he knew all too well. It was a soft mark, you would never notice it on yourself except for the looks you began to gather. The way whispers began to follow your path. There was only one solution as Scythese knew. Abandon the courts or abandon the lecture hall. Scythese had chosen the former. There had been no competition. If not for Stellaphrena’s urging, he would have completely cut his noble ties. As it stood, he only made chance appearances at banquets or parties, always in such a way as to contradict their narrow minded notions of what a philosopher was. Last time he had taken part in a frivolous duel. He should have won it really, if not for his opponent playing a dirty trick.

That duel was only another reason that high society was to be avoided by Scythese and his ilk. Perhaps, if he had spent enough time studying his opponents, he would have known they would not fight fair but he had gone in without crucial information. He had assumed that they would follow their own rules. He should have known they would not. An easy life of leisure corrupted the soul. It taught the lesson that rules were for others, for the ones below you. It was a life that corrupted no matter the intentions of the individual. The lords and ladies were not themselves to blame, not at first. But eventually, without fail, they moved from being victims of the system to the propagators of it.

Looking down at Galier below, Scythese could not help but see the latter. He had embraced the life of luxury that was handed to him wholeheartedly. He could not be saved unless he saved himself. Perhaps he would see the error of his ways with Stellaphrena’s teaching, but Scythese doubted it.

As the lecture continued, a few people began to filter out, mostly workers whose shifts were about to begin but also a few who simply did not have the ability to remain. It took skill, like any other calling, to be a philosopher. Alhough today Scythese had a little more sympathy for them. This particular lecture was not as riveting as usual. Those who left early often claimed that they lacked the patience for long lectures, unaware that in so doing, they admitted exactly why the lecture was not for them. Anyone who saw the experience as something to be endured did not fully grasp the magnitude of what was being said and done. If they did, they would not be so flippant in their disregard. Patience was not what they lacked. No, they lacked understanding. That and that alone was why Scythese himself stayed. Even though every time he tuned back into the lecture he was confronted again by an anecdote about the smith whose words were becoming more than grating, he could see the truth buried in the chaff.

The smith might be a particularly bumbling and inept example, but he was really just a stand in for the common people. More specifically, for those common people who managed to hold some small shred of power. The man owned his forge, his hammer and his anvil. He even owned the building itself and because of this he could trick himself into thinking he was better than the common workers he relied on for his trade. The miner without whom he would have none of the materials that his trade required. The apprentices who worked the bellows without whom his forge would always stand cold. Even the traders and merchants who purchased the vast majority of his stock. Without all of them, he would be useless. He was in fact less than them even though he thought himself more. The smith deluded himself, thinking that he had risen above the true commoners, that he sat somewhere between the rabble and the aristocracy, as many did, and therein was the real message of the lecture.

No matter how successful the harborsmith was, he would tumble and fall without those whose products or services enabled his own. No matter how successful he was, he would never equal even the lowest of lords. He was, in the end, disposable. The smith, like the trader, the farmer, the beggar lived, on the whims of those above him who in turn relied on those even higher and so on until only one culprit was evident. Not the highest of lords, not even the empress herself, no. It was far less material than that. It was the structure that was at fault. Built and solidified over the ages to become so all encompassing that it ground the smith into the dirt with its heel without need of a human hand to guide it. And there was that mark, that soft mark that Galier did not yet know he wore. The knowledge that even though he now knew the root of the empire’s evil, he could not and could never do anything to save himself from it, much less anyone else. It would begin to grow within him, as it had in Scythese’s own mind and others would begin to see it there.

At the close of the lecture, silence kept its hold for a moment longer, then another, as it always did. The students collectively contemplated what they had just learned and there was nothing to say. As always, there were few arguments to be made, Stellaphrena did not leave errors in her lectures. Only the least competent among her pupils would raise dissenting opinions and they had all left when their limited patience ran out. Sometimes Scythese wondered if she planned it like that. Surely she knew the limits of those less understanding students and they always seemed to be gone when the lecture was done even if they returned for the next one.

Eventually even the more dedicated students left. Some made passing comments to their teacher as they left, some stopped for a quick conversation, but most shuffled out with brows furrowed in thought, not speaking a word. They hardly seemed to notice when they collided in the doorway or stumbled on eachother’s feet. Scythese smiled as he watched them leave. It had been some time since he had acted that way, so swept up in newfound knowledge that he could not spend any time thinking about where to walk. That was not to say that he did not learn anything anymore, far from it, but usually he knew the content of the lectures beforehand. He did all of the processing they did after during the speech. It left him with more time afterwards to watch the others, an activity he had found amusing as well as informative.

In the stream of people Scythese could see a few who appeared more conflicted than others. It took a keen eye to see the hint of disdain in some faces, betrayed by a deeper frown or a clenched jaw. Not all of Stellaphrena’s students agreed with her, but she did not care. Free thought was just as important as the truth, even more so, she claimed. Scythese did not agree himself but he deferred to her ruling. Besides, the best way to convince those who did not yet understand was to keep showing them the truth until it battered through the walls of their minds with sheer force and volume.

The dissenting faces were familiar ones. It was often the same few who left looking disgruntled but they always came back, no matter how unhappy they were in leaving. Scythese did not know them personally but it did not matter, he could tell more about them now than anyone.

The weaver with her eyebrows drawn together tightly always balked at hearing about the kinship between laborer and craftsman. She was proud of her shop and how far she had come. It would take time for her to see the ultimate futility of what she had built.

The street tough with a finger missing from each hand always chewed his lip when he was unhappy with the lecture’s conclusion. Scythese could not discern his reasoning, he certainly did not have any connection to the nobility. It would be a surprise if he even owned whatever cubby he slept in. Regardless, his face always darkened when Stellaphrena spoke of the empress unfavorably. Some men gave their loyalty for nothing in return, Scythese supposed. There was little sense to it.

Scythese did not spend as long as he usually would watching the other students today though. The one that interested him was still seated on his front row bench, still sitting forward as if the lecture had not ended. His immaculately styled hair had been disrupted by those walking around him and bumping into him, but he gave no sign of caring. He was not watching Stellaphrena anymore, she had left her podium, leaving his unseeing gaze to pass to the wall behind her. Scythese did not know his face well enough to know what he was thinking, but whatever ran through his head, it was weighty. Perhaps he would accept the truth he had heard. Perhaps. Scythese would not count on it though. Even if he had a lot to think about, Galier still wore his extravagant finery without noticing, he still expected the other students to break around him while he blocked their path. He would take longer to convince.

When Galier did rise to leave, he did so slowly. He did not bother to button his coat and nearly tripped on the doorframe on his way out. He did stop to speak with Stellaphrena for a moment before he left, unfortunately too quietly to be overheard. He would be back Scythese would have wagered. He could not help but grin to himself. It was a testament to Stellaphrena’s skill as an orator that she could convince even entrenched aristocrats.

Aside from Scythese himself, Galier was the last student to leave. Scythese always stayed behind. The others had finished their duties for the day or were about to start new ones, but for Scythese, the lecture had only been the beginning. He picked up his writing case and made his way down the hall’s steps towards the podium where Stellaphrena had taken a seat. In the empty hall his footsteps echoed clearly. The stone walls served to amplify the speaker’s voice from the podium but now, with all of the others gone, the slightest sound traveled from end to end clearly. It was eerie and made the hall feel even vaster and emptier.

Usually the echoes of his footfalls did not bother Scythese much but now he cringed at them. He felt guilty, now that the lecture was over and walking from his seat near the back all the way down the aisle to the front of the hall felt much like a march to the gallows. In the past he always had detailed notes on the lecture and a head full of questions to ask. Today he had neither and he knew that she would notice. She was not easily fooled.

“Disciptor,” She called out to him when he was not even halfway to the podium. She often used that word when they were alone. She knew he did not much like his given name. It was tied too tightly to his aristocratic heritage. No common man would be named Scythese unless his parents were delusional. Disciptor was a word from the homeland, old Phoenaxia, and meant student, or perhaps more accurately disciple. The word had fallen out of use and was considered archaic now but it carried a connotation of intellect and wisdom. That she used it now only made Scythese feel even more guilty.

“Disciptor,” She called again as he neared the floor. She did not sound angry, more concerned if anything. “Are you well?”

He nodded as he came to a stop on the hall’s floor. “Yes mistress, I am well.” He said, not attempting to hide his guilt in his voice. He looked down to the tiled floor, finding patterns in the marble. It was not of good quality, there were many impurities speckled throughout like spots of dirt if you did not look closely. It was better than meeting her veiled, all too knowing gaze.

“You do not seem well.”

“I am, mistress.” He assured her.

“I saw that you did not take any notes today.

“No, I didn’t.”

She paused for a moment and regarded him critically. Her eyebrows rose over her veil. He could nearly see her eyes beneath it, the shapes and shadows, enough to know that she was waiting for more. She often used silence as a tactic, the discomfort got people to divulge information they would prefer not to.

“I am sorry. It will not happen again.” He said, his shame coming through clearly in his voice. Of course she had noticed. He was meant to be her most ardent follower, it was disgraceful for him to show such lack of respect.

“That is your choice to make, disciptor. I only ask why.”

“What?” He was shocked. He had never not taken notes, though he could not remember her expressly instructing her students to do so. But everyone who cared did, they always had.

“I do not care how you listen, only that you do.” She stood up, took a step towards him in the flowing manner that ladies cultivated and brushed a hand against the leather of his writing case. “You are a man of ink and paper.” She touched the case with one finger, producing a tap that echoed quietly in the empty hall. “These words have meaning to you. That you write them down tells me this.”

He swallowed hard. He could not tell her why he did not write today, but she was clearly looking for a reason. “I…” He started, then stopped, mind searching for an excuse. “It helps me make sense of things, mistress, writing them down.” He hugged the case tight to his chest. It was true what he said, it always helped to go back over the lecture later with time to think. Perhaps she would not ask directly. It would be better that way.

“Yes, I understand.” She strode back to her podium and leaned against it, tapping one finger to her lips in thought. “Perhaps today’s lesson was not my masterpiece.” She shrugged. It did not matter to her if one lecture was not perfect.

“No, I…” She cut him off with a wave of her hand. The matter was settled, there was no further need to discuss it. Scythese bowed his head in acquiescence. It was done. He would be sure to take notes tomorrow.

He turned to leave, writing case tucked surely under his arm. He already knew what his assignment for the day was. He was to watch the Monarch’s square. Again.

He stopped when she called after him again.

“I noticed when you stopped writing, disciptor.” He froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing upright. So she wasn’t going to let it go. Of course she had noticed, Scythese should not have been surprised.

“You do not like Osmund much, do you.” It was not a question and she was not wrong. Scythese could feel his muscles tensing and a certain tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with anger as she said the smith’s name. He did not deserve to have her even mention his name, not even in passing.

Osmund. It was a new blood name, if that term could even be applied to commoners. Scythese sneered but then caught himself. Distance from imperial nobility was no reason to dislike the man. Old habits could be difficult to be rid of but it was essential to do so. No, Scythese disliked the man on his own merits. A brutish man who could not see the sheer luck he possessed at attracting Stellaphrena’s attention. He was more beast than man to work her so hard and still take advantage. The anger and resentment boiled frenetically but he hid it as best he could which was to say, very well. Some things learned from a noble upbringing could still be of use.

He turned slowly, buying time to compose himself which proved to be a more difficult accomplishment that it usually was.

“No, mistress, I am not overly fond of him.” Scythese said cautiously. Stellaphrena’s eyebrows rose even further, indicating her surprise. “Forgive me, mistress, it is not my place to judge who you deem worthy of study.” He added hastily.

“No?” She said, seeming genuinely confused. “If not you, then who?”

“I…” Scythese paused for a moment, unsure of what to say. Stellaphrena often used wordplay to lead conversations where she wanted and although Scythese could hold his own against most, he could never seem to keep up with her. So he decided to play it safe, to make her say what she meant before divulging anything. “I’m not sure what you mean…”

“You know that I value your opinion, disciptor.”

“Yes, in matters of scholarship, but…”

“And what is this, but scholarship?” He did not have a response to that. The way she framed it, her only interest in the smith was an intellectual one. She was trying to make him bring up the nature of that supposedly intellectual relationship. No doubt she just wanted to watch him squirm. She did delight in teaching through discomfort. She said those lessons always lasted the longest.

“It was just that… I was under the impression that you and Osmund…” He trailed off as he saw Stellaphrena beginning to chuckle at his flustered response. She was just toying with him. He ought to be used to that by now.

“I understand,” She said while motioning for him to approach again. “You don’t approve of my relationship with Osmund. And I suppose you’re correct, emotional entanglements don’t make for good research.” She tapped her lips thoughtfully with one finger, like she did when she was considering a compelling argument.

Scythese nodded quickly, glad for the excuse and he supposed that that was a reason why he did not approve of their relationship. It did seem like it would make for a conflict of interest.

“Well I suppose I could find another smith to study…” She said with a shrug. Scythese could not help but gape. That was not the conclusion he thought she was coming to. He tried to think of a response, he really did, but all that he could come up with was a deep seated anger stopping him from thinking clearly. How dare that man have such a hold over her! How dare he! He did not even know the harm he was doing but somehow that obliviousness only fed Scythese’s anger. In that moment he decided that something would have to be done about Osmund. And Scythese would have to be the one to do it.

Scythese nodded as if that was the most natural conclusion in the world. “If I may take my leave.” He said and without waiting for a response he turned towards the door. In his haste he did not catch the joking smile on Stellaphrena’s lips nor her hand raised to stop him from going. He had already left the hall and entered the busy street outside by the time her calls reached him. They did not penetrate the noise of the pedestrian mob.