Chapter 1121: A Matter of Timing

"You really are a cruel man."

The voice came from behind him.

Deep.

Calm.

And carrying absolutely none of the sympathy the words themselves might have suggested.

Lucavion had already sensed the approach.

Caeden’s presence was difficult to miss even when he tried to suppress it. At the moment, he wasn’t trying at all. His mana sat heavily around his frame, dense and settled, while the steady rhythm of his steps announced a man who had apparently finished whatever the Academy had thrown at him and still possessed enough energy to remain upright.

Lucavion glanced over his shoulder.

Caeden Roark approached from the residential path with his training coat folded over one arm. The collar of his shirt sat slightly loose, and a faint sheen of sweat remained near his temples.

Lucavion smiled.

"Cruel?"

Caeden’s gaze moved past him.

Toven remained frozen several steps away.

The excitement that had occupied his face moments earlier had vanished so completely that Lucavion almost felt responsible.

Almost.

Caeden looked back at him.

"You knew exactly what that would do."

"I reminded him of an important academic obligation."

"At the worst possible moment."

"Timing is part of communication."

Caeden stared at him.

Lucavion decided that was probably agreement.

His eyes dropped briefly toward the folded training coat.

"Returning from Weaponship?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Lucavion’s interest sharpened.

"Which instructor did you spar?"

Caeden considered.

"I am not sure."

Lucavion blinked.

"You didn’t check the name?"

"I heard it."

"That is usually where remembering begins."

Caeden ignored that.

"The names within the Empire sound the same to me."

Lucavion stopped.

Then slowly looked at him.

"Really?"

Caeden’s expression remained perfectly serious.

"Yours is kind of an oddball."

Lucavion placed a hand against his chest.

"I noticed."

"I am proud to be different."

Caeden said nothing.

Not even a sigh.

Lucavion waited another moment before accepting that the conversation had apparently reached its natural death.

Both men turned.

Toven had not moved.

His lips were working quietly.

"Etiquette..."

A pause.

"Why...?"

His eyes lowered toward the ground.

"Etiquette... why?"

Lucavion remained silent.

Beside him, Caeden watched Toven for several seconds.

Then he spoke.

"You knew he was like this."

Lucavion’s mouth tightened faintly.

"...I may have forgotten."

Caeden looked at him.

Lucavion endured the stare.

"You did not."

A beat passed.

"Yes," Lucavion admitted.

"I did not."

Caeden watched Toven continue his quiet descent into misery.

"Etiquette... why..."

Toven dragged one hand down his face.

"Why does anyone need an examination for etiquette?"

Caeden’s mouth moved faintly.

"He was like this during the preparatory lessons."

Lucavion glanced sideways.

"Was he?"

Caeden turned toward him.

"You were there."

Lucavion considered that description.

"Occasionally."

Caeden’s expression flattened.

That was fair.

Once the Academy confirmed the five commoner admissions, the students had received several weeks of preparatory instruction before正式 enrollment. The lessons covered the gaps noble children usually filled through tutors, family gatherings, ceremonies, and years spent being corrected whenever they held a glass incorrectly in front of somebody important. Imperial customs, forms of address, dining conduct, ceremonial precedence, formal dress, dancing, and enough smaller rules to make Lucavion wonder whether wealthy people had invented etiquette simply because ordinary conversation left them with too much free time.

Toven had attended every lesson.

That had failed to produce enthusiasm.

Caeden folded his arms.

"He spent half the etiquette course arguing with the instructor."

Toven lifted his head.

"I asked reasonable questions."

"You asked why three different forks were necessary when one worked."

"One did work."

"You proved that repeatedly."

Lucavion looked between them, already beginning to enjoy himself.

Toven straightened slightly, encouraged by the presence of someone who might appreciate common sense.

"And nobody ever gave me a proper answer."

"The instructor explained it."

"The instructor explained tradition."

Caeden gave him a steady look.

Toven pointed at him.

"Exactly."

A laugh escaped Lucavion before he could help it.

Caeden ignored him and continued.

"You also questioned ceremonial precedence for almost twenty minutes."

"That system was ridiculous."

"It was the system you were being taught."

"That does not improve it."

Lucavion’s smile widened.

He understood Toven’s pain considerably better than he understood whatever magical theory the man had tried explaining five minutes earlier.

"Kaleran was furious by the end."

Caeden breathed through his nose.

"Vice Head Kaleran...."

Lucavion’s attention shifted.

"Isn’t his name Kaleran?"

Caeden looked at him.

"Yes."

"Then why add unnecessary words?"

A small silence opened between them.

Toven’s muttering stopped long enough for him to glance over.

Caeden answered with the patience of someone who suspected he had stepped into a conversation that would reward neither effort nor reason.

"Vice Head is his title. Using it is a sign of respect."

Lucavion gave him a long side-eye.

Caeden faced it directly.

His expression carried the calm certainty of a man who believed this principle required very little debate.

Lucavion shrugged.

"Kaleran is Kaleran."

Caeden sighed.

"It is pointless with you, isn’t it?"

"Indeed."

"At least you’re honest with this one."

Lucavion’s brows rose.

"Come on now. I am oftentimes honest."

"Oftentimes."

"Oftentimes."

Caeden held his gaze for another moment.

Lucavion offered him nothing beyond complete agreement with his own wording.

Eventually, Caeden let the matter die.

Behind them, Toven had resumed staring toward the ground as though the stones might reveal a legal route around the evening examination.

"Etiquette..." he murmured.

Then, quieter:

"Why?"

Lucavion decided the man required time.

Caeden apparently reached a different conclusion, because his attention moved from Toven to Lucavion and stayed there.

"You should probably worry too."

Lucavion tilted his head.

"Should I?"

"Yes."

The certainty made him smile.

Caeden continued before Lucavion could turn the exchange into something useless.

"You missed most of those lessons."

"Some."

"You missed enough."

"I attended the first etiquette lecture."

"You slept through part of it."

Lucavion thought back.

"That still counts as attendance."

Caeden’s stare carried judgment with impressive efficiency.

Toven looked up again.

A trace of life returned to his face.

"You slept?"

"I became tired."

"You leaned against the wall and closed your eyes."

"Yes."

"That is sleeping."

Lucavion considered the distinction.

"I suppose."

Toven’s posture improved another fraction.

Caeden noticed it too, though he continued addressing Lucavion.

"You also left the dining-conduct lesson early."

"The instructor began repeating material."

"He had moved to the second service."

"The differences were small."

"They mattered."

"To someone, certainly."

Caeden’s jaw shifted once.

Lucavion suspected Kaleran had worn a remarkably similar expression during those weeks.

The memory surfaced more clearly now. Kaleran standing at the front of a borrowed instruction room with one hand pressed against his forehead while five commoner students sat before him in various stages of exhaustion. Caeden listened like every rule might later save his life. Mireilla absorbed the practical parts and challenged whatever seemed needlessly ceremonial. Elayne remained quiet while remembering more than people assumed. Toven treated each custom as a personal invitation to debate the foundations of civilization.

Lucavion had developed a flexible relationship with attendance.

Some mornings he appeared.

Some mornings he had training.

Other mornings sleep won.

Kaleran had expressed opinions about that arrangement.

Several opinions.

Loudly.

Caeden’s voice pulled him back.

"And the paired ceremonial sequence?"

Lucavion looked at him.

"I attended that lesson."

Toven’s growing hope faltered.

Caeden asked, "How much of it?"

Lucavion searched his memory with genuine care.

"The first half."

Toven brightened again.

Caeden’s shoulders dropped.

"You left before the actual pairing began."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I had sword practice."

Toven stared at him.

Then he slowly turned toward Caeden.

"He really skipped it."

Caeden’s expression suggested this discovery had arrived several weeks late.

"I told you."

Toven looked back at Lucavion, and the despair that had consumed him moments earlier began retreating beneath something far healthier.

Or perhaps far more dangerous.

Confidence.

Lucavion recognized the change immediately.

Toven had spent the entire entrance period and most of their first weeks at the Academy watching Lucavion perform increasingly unreasonable things with irritating consistency. Combat favored Lucavion. Practical danger favored Lucavion. Strange situations somehow became worse whenever he appeared, yet he usually walked away from them looking pleased with himself.

Etiquette offered Toven something rare.

Preparation.

Real preparation.

He had endured every miserable lesson while Lucavion wandered in and out according to whatever possessed his attention that day.

Toven’s mouth slowly curved.

Lucavion looked at him.

"Why are you smiling?"

"Nothing."

"That sounded suspicious."

Toven’s smile widened.

Caeden studied Lucavion instead.

"Do you actually remember enough for tonight?"

The question carried genuine concern now, and Lucavion gave it the attention it deserved.

"Some."

"How much?"

Lucavion’s eyes drifted toward the residential tower while he searched through what remained from those lessons. Forms of address surfaced easily enough. Seating precedence existed somewhere nearby. Dancing felt familiar for reasons that had far less to do with Kaleran’s lessons and considerably more to do with a childhood he still possessed only in fragments.

The rest would reveal itself when required.

Probably.

"I remember pieces."

Caeden’s brow furrowed.

"That is less reassuring than you seem to think."

"I wasn’t trying to reassure you."

Toven laughed.

Caeden ignored him.

"Appearently....the evaluation covers introductions, rank recognition, formal conversation, dining conduct, ceremonial movement, and paired sequences. They may also place deliberate mistakes into the setting."

Lucavion’s interest shifted.

"They do?"

"Yes. We are expected to recognize them and respond appropriately."

That sounded considerably more entertaining than forks.

Lucavion’s mouth curved.

Caeden saw the expression and immediately regretted something.

"I meant that as a warning."

"I understood."

"You look pleased."

"It improved the examination."

Toven stared at him.

"You are worried about the wrong part."

"Perhaps."

Caeden gave him another long look.

"You should review."

Lucavion nodded.

"I should."

Both men went quiet.

Toven’s eyes narrowed.

Caeden studied him as though searching for the trick hidden somewhere inside the agreement.

Lucavion looked between them.

"What?"

"You agreed," Toven said.

"Yes."

"Immediately."

"I can argue if that would make the experience more familiar."

"...."

"But should does not always mean would."

Toven shook his head.

"Leave it."

"Gladly."

Caeden seemed willing to accept the answer, though his attention remained thoughtful.

Toven, meanwhile, looked considerably healthier than he had at the beginning of the conversation.

His shoulders had straightened. The distant grief had disappeared from his eyes, and he was now studying Lucavion with the expression of someone who had finally discovered favorable terrain.

The group continued occupying the path long enough for the afternoon traffic to begin filling around them.

Mireilla arrived first.

She came from the direction of the examination halls with her briarwood focus hanging at her hip and enough fatigue in her stride that Lucavion decided greeting her too cheerfully would qualify as unnecessary violence.

Her eyes moved across the three men.

"Toven looks happier."

"He discovered hope," Lucavion said.

Toven pointed at him. "He barely attended etiquette preparation."

Mireilla stopped.

Then she looked at Lucavion.

"That explains the hope."

"Everyone has become very supportive."

"You earned this."

Before Lucavion could defend his character, several familiar voices approached from farther down the courtyard.

Marian appeared between the twins, carrying a folded examination folio beneath one arm while the pair spoke over one another about some disagreement that had apparently survived whichever evaluation they had just finished. Marian noticed the gathering and redirected them without hesitation.

"Well, this looks suspiciously social."

"We’re discussing Lucavion’s impending humiliation," Toven said.

Marian brightened.

"Ah. Then we came at the right time."

Lucavion pressed a hand against his chest.

The cruelty was spreading.

Another presence brushed against his awareness near the edge of the courtyard.

Quiet.

Careful.

Familiar.

Lucavion turned his head.

Elayne had already altered her path.

He smiled.

"Elayne."

Her steps stopped.

Several heads turned.

Elayne looked toward the group, then toward the route she had clearly intended to use for escape.

Lucavion raised one hand and beckoned.

"Come suffer with the rest of us."