Most of the Gold Dorm remained asleep at the early hour but the servants were already busy. They bowed their heads as Orphelia passed. They didn’t know her but it was assumed she held a higher status than them. The Hall may preach all to be equal on the road to magical excellence but good intentions couldn’t change reality. Nobles had noble wealth. They expected better and could afford it, the wealthy families handing out ‘donations’ to ensure their scions could remain in the pampered comfort they’d grown dependent on.

Even if they were stripped of their luxuries, it wouldn’t be enough to dent the monumental egos developed from a lifetime of being told they were special. Especially if they were special, possessing the talented blood that had originally separated the nobles from the common masses during the time of the kingdom’s founding. Those initiates and acolytes would expect those around them to show proper respect and, no matter the rules that prevented direct confrontation, had ways of punishing those who dared to ignore the unspoken rules.

Most of the servants employed by the Hall were simple people, men and women willing to cook and clean for a good wage. While they could mount a resistance with the Hall’s protection, most didn’t value a bit of salvaged pride over a peaceful life.

Perhaps her current situation made her more empathetic but Orphelia found herself in a sympathetic mood for those she never gave a second thought. Servants and masters. Such a different concept depending on where one sat. For masters, they reveled in the idea of having power over another. For the servants, they cursed the world where power made them worthless. But there existed exceptions. Servants who gained power from their masters. Masters broken down by the responsibility to those who served them.

Not for the first time, Orphelia considered simply escaping from the game altogether. Shucking her chains and disappearing into some corner of the vast continent. Forsaking half her abilities and becoming a water caster who ensured a small village wasn’t poisoned by their local water sources.

Or perhaps see the world forgotten by most of humanity. Join one of the expeditions led by the Guiness Company, who always needed competent water casters on the seas, and see sights unseen for centuries.

Now more than ever, she longed for the opportunity. She was this close to turning around and marching out of the Hall. Nothing less than such a commitment, such a drastic action, could have a chance at success. She might have done it if not for her meeting earlier.

Her father was a threat but, in the end, he was a mere servant, the true threat coming from his masters. Faceless individuals, though she had speculations on who exactly gave the baron his orders. People who didn’t know her and wouldn’t throw resources away on a tool that couldn’t be controlled, no matter her potential. She reckoned they’d give it a month of effort, maximum, before cutting their losses and moving on with their many schemes.

The succubus, however, was a very real, very present threat. Orphelia had witnessed her power, her personal power, the only kind that truly mattered in the end. She had no doubt in her mind that there was nowhere in the world that the creature couldn’t find her if it wanted. Her recent actions didn’t suggest as much so she figured the certainty she felt had to come from the conversation she couldn’t remember.

While the memory was blank, she knew they had had a conversation and the questions she had wanted answers to. Namely, the creature’s true identity, ability, and intentions. Whenever she thought on that feeling of missing time, an overwhelming dread overcame her. It was so powerful, it made her nauseous, her stomach threatening to throw up her fear, as there was little else that would come up at such an early hour. She desperately worked to put the whole encounter out of her mind.

No, there was no running. The only way out was through. With that thought, Orphelia turned her mind to the tasks of the day. It was going to be busy. Last night, a messenger informed her that someone wanted to speak to her and her charges. Likely an agent of one of their patriarchs, or perhaps all of them, come to express the displeasure of the powers that be. She also expected to receive new orders, either a termination or adjustment of her assignment. Her life depended on her ability to hear the unspoken words of the mouthpiece and read between the lines of any correspondence.

Her first stop was the dining room, where she ordered breakfast for four. While the cooks started on the meal, she went to find her charges. The first being Cecile Guiness.

The girl had not taken the events of the qualifiers well. After seeing her fiancé’s corpse and Orphelia’s murder, the girl had confined herself to her room, requesting meals be delivered and turning away all guests. She refused to leave even for servants to clean.

Orphelia didn’t know what the girl hoped to achieve. A door wasn’t enough to keep the world at bay. Today was a perfect example. She would be attending the meeting. Orphelia would drag her if needed, regardless of how scandalous such a scene would be.

Her determination leaked into her knocks as she rapped sharply on the girl’s door. To her surprise, it was immediately thrown open. Cecile stood in the doorway, dressed in a simple white and gold dress, her light brown hair pinned up elegantly. Her green eyes looked tired and Orphelia could see redness that spoke to restless nights, but otherwise, she was composed. The opposite of the neurotic mess Orphelia expected.

“Good morning.”

“…morning.” Cecile stepped out of her room, glancing up and down the hall. “The others aren’t awake yet?”

“I started with you.” In case drastic measures needed to be taken. Robert would no doubt object to her dragging the girl out of the building if Cecile proved too reticent to leave her room.

Cecile winced. “I’m fine. Everything that happened…” She started to run a hand through her hair but paused, unwilling to disturb the style. “I’m surprised you aren’t affected more. You, well. You died.”

“I came out unscathed and dwelling on it serves no purpose,” she said quickly and harsher than she intended. If she wouldn’t touch her forgotten conversation with the succubus with a stick, she wouldn’t enter the building holding the memories of her brief separation from life. “If you’re ready, you can go to the dining room. They are already preparing breakfast.”

“You’re going to get the boys?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

Orphelia didn’t comment as she led the way downstairs and to a staircase on the opposite side of the building. Separation of sexes was more important in Gold Dorm than any other. A fling between the commoners and fourth sons in Bronze Dorm affected them more than anyone else. A dalliance between the spare heirs and children of richer families in Silver Dorm could be scandalous.

A drunken night between those who lived in Gold Dorm? That could shake the country. With some of the initiates of reckless age, the Hall put a bit more effort in curtailing any mishaps.

Lanston was the closest. It took several moments for him to open the door. Like Cecile, he showed signs of restless nights and without a woman’s expertise in face powders and paints, they were much more pronounced.

The thick black bags under his eyes made them seem sunken in, his wavy brown hair was a disorderly mess, and he had grown a few hairs on his chin. Nothing manly, just a prickly shadow that showed he’d neglected his hygiene. Combined with the simple pants and shirt, he looked like a young hunter freshly pulled from his favorite tavern after a night of indulgence.

He stared at Orphelia for a moment, as he had always done after the day he watched her die and come back to life, before stepping from his room. He gave them both a nod before going still, lost in his thoughts. Orphelia didn’t bother engaging him, content that he followed when she walked, but from the corner of her eye, she saw Cecilia grab his arm and lean toward him.

Another of her charges managed to surprise her. As they approached Robert’s door, the future Harvest Hero exited, closing it with a sigh. He looked up at the sound of footsteps and even managed a small smile.

“Morning everyone,” he said. “Guess I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep?”

“Morning,” Orphelia returned.

“Hey, Quin,” Cecile said, mustering up an answering smile while Lanston nodded.

“Breakfast is being prepared in the dining room,” Orphelia said. “My summons was a little vague, telling me to come ‘first thing in the morning’, but I imagine we can take our time as the sun hasn’t fully risen.”

“Good.” Robert fell in step with her as they headed for the stairs, the other two falling in behind them. “Because we need to talk.”

“About?” she questioned, not liking his tone.

“About what we’re going to say. I have no doubt whoever was sent here will want their own account of…everything. We need to make sure we present a united front and a clear message.”

“And what message would that be?”

He looked sideways at her. “You know probably better than we do what happens if we stoke any rumors about an assassination attempt. That Ethor character…he tried to rob us for a prank and messed up his spell with fatal consequences. A shame, but an accident.”

“We don’t know it was an accident. You especially, as you were not conscious at the time.” She chuckled. “Tell them whatever you want, Bobby. The capital isn’t going to care about the opinions of a few novice casters.”

“We have to at least try and minimize the damage.”

She waved him off, picking up her pace as she entered the dining room. A waiter met her and led her to the table that had been prepared for them. There were already steaming cups of tea waiting in front of the chairs. She focused on preparing hers to her liking, a single scoop of sugar as she hated overly sweet things, with a dash of milk, and peered over the rim of her cup at the others.

Lanston was unresponsive but Robert spoke quietly to Cecile, no doubt swaying the girl to his real agenda. One she had an inkling about. “There is one part of our responses that I would like straightened out.” She waited until all three faced her before continuing. “What do you plan to say about Lourianne Tome? At the very least, tell me you’re not planning to incite your guardians against her.”

As it had every time it was spoken since the qualifiers, the name Lourianne Tome brought a sour expression to Robert’s face. “What happened to saying what we wanted?”

“Your animosity for her is your business but badmouthing her in front of the wrong people can ruin her reputation.” She left unsaid how serious such a thing could be. There were nobles who valued reputation more than their life, their honor over their own children. Perception was a currency of its own.

“I think it bears mentioning that she killed you.”

“She injured me, in defense of another. It was her home and her right to pass judgment. Do not make it out to be something else. Do you even know that I died? Did you check my pulse?”

Lanston fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. Robert scoffed. “I didn’t need to. Your neck was broken.”

“Are you sure? You—”

Robert slammed his hand on the table, making the teacups jump. “Look! I don’t know what you want with that woman and I don’t care! Unless you’re going to use your position to order me, which I am beginning to doubt, I will handle this meeting how I see fit.”

Orphelia stared at his stern expression. Then she channeled her inner brat and gave him the most dramatic eye roll she could manage. “As you are still under my care, I thought I would warn you against offending someone not even an instructor of the Hall wanted to challenge but if you insist.”

Their breakfast continued in silence, which suited her fine. She finished her meal quickly and left them to their collusion. She waved down a servant and requested a carriage be prepared. It was brought along in short order and she dismissed the driver, taking the bench herself. She let her thoughts wander, a rare indulgence, until her charges exited the building. Robert stared at her defiantly while the others refused to meet her gaze.

I have bigger things to worry about.

Orphelia turned her gaze and retracted her limited amount of concern for their futures.