Chapter 1143: Ashen Courtesy

Gervase did not move.

His Role Seal remained half-hidden beneath his fingers for several breaths before his hand closed completely over it. "No."

Lucavion’s smile barely shifted.

Elara had expected the refusal, and the ease in Lucavion’s face suggested he had been waiting for exactly that answer.

Gervase straightened one cuff. "The contents of a Role Seal are private. Revealing mine because another examinee demands proof would defeat the purpose of the exercise."

A perfectly reasonable answer.

"You’re right," Lucavion said.

Gervase’s expression shifted before he could quite hide it.

Lucavion slipped one hand into his pocket. "The seal is private. So I suppose we’ll never know whether you actually came here because of your role."

"That is hardly what I said."

"You asked me to justify my invitation through mine."

"I asked why Master Aerath would approach Lady Maraven."

"And when I ask the same of you, suddenly the seal becomes sacred."

Gervase’s jaw tightened. "I have nothing to prove to you."

"There we are."

"There we are?"

Lucavion glanced toward the hand still covering Gervase’s seal. "You were very concerned about whether my invitation fit my assigned role. The moment the question turns around, privacy becomes more important than proof."

"That comparison is absurd."

"Then show me where."

Gervase’s mouth thinned.

Around them, the Rotunda continued preparing for the Second Measure, but the disagreement had begun drawing attention. A nearby pair had stopped speaking. Farther back, Cedric watched beside Selphine, while Mireilla approached from the outer ring wearing the unmistakable expression of someone who had already guessed who was responsible for the disturbance.

Gervase saw the growing audience as well. His shoulders settled, and when he spoke again, the irritation in his face had been pushed beneath something more presentable.

"I came here to invite Lady Elowyn," he said. "That should be sufficient for anyone with basic social awareness."

Lucavion’s eyes curved faintly. "So now we’re discussing social awareness."

"We should have been discussing it from the beginning."

The direction of the argument shifted.

Elara could feel Gervase moving away from the Role Seals before she understood where he intended to take the exchange.

"You have treated this examination like a diversion from the moment you entered the Salon," he continued. "Every custom becomes something to twist merely because nobody has physically stopped you."

Lucavion’s amusement receded by a fraction. "Go on."

Gervase accepted the invitation readily. "At the opening ceremony, you ignored established precedence before the First Flame. The instructors allowed it to pass, and perhaps this examination rewards the ability to speak around your own disrespect. That does not make disrespect refinement."

Lucavion said nothing.

Instead, Gervase turned toward Elara. "Lady Elowyn has demonstrated throughout this examination that she understands that distinction. She carries herself appropriately. She recognizes the purpose behind social forms rather than treating them as toys."

Elara’s brows rose before she could stop them.

Somehow, she had become evidence in an argument she had never agreed to join.

"Someone like her deserves a partner capable of matching that."

Lucavion blinked once. "And you believe that would be you."

Gervase’s mouth curved faintly. "I believe I would be a more appropriate choice than a barbarian who has spent the evening proving that he cannot comprehend the most basic rules of elegance."

Conversation faded among the nearest students.

Lucavion looked almost pleasant.

Elara had spent enough time around him to find that considerably more worrying than anger.

His gaze moved briefly toward the ceremonial fire burning beyond the Floor before returning to Gervase. "Basic rules of elegance."

"Yes."

"And you are their authority?"

"I was raised to understand them."

"Congratulations."

The single word sharpened Gervase’s stare, but Lucavion continued before he could answer. "You interrupted another man’s invitation, questioned whether Lady Elowyn should accept it, and demanded justification from someone who owes you none."

"That is a remarkable distortion."

"Is it?"

Lucavion turned toward Elara, bringing her fully into the exchange. "My lady. Did I ask you to accept?"

"You invited me."

"Exactly."

His attention returned to Gervase. "I invited her. The answer belongs to her."

Gervase’s expression tightened.

Lucavion kept his voice light. "So where exactly does etiquette grant you the right to decide which answer would be appropriate on her behalf?"

"I did nothing of the sort."

"You called me an unsuitable partner."

"Because you are."

"That sounds suspiciously like an opinion."

"A well-founded one."

"Still an opinion."

Gervase looked toward Elara again. "I meant no such disrespect."

Elara had barely opened her mouth when Lucavion answered for himself.

"Of course you didn’t," Lucavion said.

Gervase snapped his attention back toward him. "That wasn’t directed toward you."

"I know. That is what makes it entertaining."

A muffled sound came from Mireilla’s direction. Elara kept her gaze firmly forward rather than discovering whether the woman had laughed.

Gervase’s restraint continued fraying. "You are deliberately twisting my words."

"Then choose better ones."

"That arrogance—"

"Is that part of elegance too?"

Gervase stopped.

Lucavion leaned forward by the slightest amount. "Because I’m learning quite a lot."

The Marquis heir’s attention shifted. Elara could almost follow the search as Gervase abandoned one line of attack and reached for firmer ground.

His gaze settled upon the ceremonial flame.

"You make a mockery of customs you barely understand," Gervase said. "That rite exists to honor the woman whose flame founded the Empire you now benefit from. Yet you stepped through it as though the entire ceremony existed for your amusement."

Something in Lucavion changed.

The smile remained, but his black eyes hardened behind it.

Gervase continued before Elara could determine what had caused the shift. "You speak of etiquette while lacking even the humility to recognize when you stand before something greater than yourself."

Lucavion’s attention returned to the fire. "Something greater than myself?"

"The First Flame."

For a moment, he gave no answer.

Elara watched the pause more carefully than she had watched the insults that preceded it. Lucavion had mocked the ceremony earlier, certainly, yet he had never mocked the flame itself. Whatever Gervase had touched upon now belonged somewhere else entirely, because the easy provocation disappeared from Lucavion’s face for one brief breath.

Then he laughed softly.

Gervase’s face darkened. "You find that amusing?"

"No."

Lucavion looked back at him. "I find you amusing."

Mana stirred beneath Gervase’s skin.

Lucavion’s voice remained conversational. "You keep invoking the First Flame. Why?"

"Because someone ought to remind you what that name represents."

"And you believe you’re qualified?"

"I am certainly more qualified than you."

"Based on what?"

"My House has served this Empire for centuries."

Lucavion tilted his head. "So?"

Gervase went still.

"Your ancestors performed useful work. Wonderful." Lucavion did not raise his voice. "What does that have to do with you knowing what the First Flame would think?"

The mana around Gervase thickened.

Lucavion continued pressing the same point. "Did she speak to you? Leave instructions specifically for Gervase de Warenne?"

"Watch yourself."

"Why?"

"Because there are limits to insolence."

"Are there?"

"My patience is reaching one."

Lucavion gave a quiet laugh, though the amusement no longer reached his eyes. "Then perhaps stop using a dead woman greater than either of us as a shield for your pride."

Gervase’s practiced calm broke at the edges. "Do not speak of the First Flame that way."

"What right do you have to tell me what she would approve of?" Lucavion asked.

His voice had gone quieter.

"You never knew her. You’ve inherited stories, ceremonies, a House name. Maybe a few old books written by people who never met her either. And somehow you’ve turned all of that into permission to speak for her."

Gervase’s hands tightened.

Lucavion smiled again. "If the First Flame stood here now, I doubt she’d thank you."

His head tilted slightly. "Actually..."

Elara knew enough of him to brace for whatever came next.

"She might have spat in your face."

Mana snapped outward.

Several students nearest them recoiled at once. One pair separated entirely, opening space between themselves and Gervase as a murmur spread across the Rotunda. Invitations farther away continued, but the disturbance had grown too obvious for anyone nearby to pretend it belonged to an ordinary disagreement.

The air compressed around Lucavion.

Nearby voices dulled as invisible pressure folded toward him from several directions. His coat drew tighter against his frame, and the polished floor gave a faint complaint beneath one shoe. Elara caught the outer edge of the technique against her skin before Gervase concentrated most of it upon Lucavion.

Warenne suppression.

The old March had earned its reputation by holding narrow passages against stronger forces, and its cultivation traditions followed the same logic. Restrict space, weigh down movement, and make every attempt at resistance increasingly expensive.

Cedric stepped forward.

Selphine caught his sleeve before he could take another, and when he looked at her, she shook her head once.

Lucavion still had not moved.

Gervase tightened the suppression.

Condensed mana caught Lucavion’s index finger, opening a thin line across his pale skin. Blood gathered along the cut.

"You should learn when to stop speaking," Gervase said.

Lucavion lowered his eyes toward the blood. "Mere tricks."

His voice passed through the muffled space without strain. "They won’t work on me."

Gervase’s eyes sharpened.

"If this is what House Warenne uses to make people lower their heads, you’ll need something considerably heavier."

The suppression closed another fraction.

The bead of blood slipped farther down Lucavion’s finger, and black ashen fire appeared beneath it.

Elara’s breath caught.

She knew that flame.

The tiny tongue of black carried almost no heat, yet her body remembered its presence before thought could catch up.

Lucavion lifted his hand.

Gervase shifted his stance in answer, preparing for an attack that never came.

Lucavion merely drew one finger through the air.

The blood followed the motion in a thin crimson thread before the black flame consumed it. PUFF! A small burst of ash opened where the droplet vanished.

His finger curved again. PUFF! Another black bloom joined the first.

Elara watched the shape begin assembling above his palm. A few measured turns of Lucavion’s wrist drew the remaining blood into the flame, each brief crimson line disappearing inside another soft burst of ash. PUFF! The suppression continued pressing inward while his hand moved through it with deliberate patience.

Then Lucavion stepped forward.

The first step carried him deeper through the weight.

The second brought him beyond its densest point.

Ash gathered along the path traced by his finger until Elara recognized what he had been constructing.

A flower rested above his palm, its petals formed from black ash with faint remnants of dying crimson along their edges.

Gervase’s suppression still pressed after him.

Lucavion simply walked out of it.

He passed Gervase without looking back as the last trace of blood burned from his finger. PUFF. The final mark disappeared.

Then he stopped in front of Elara.

The surrounding students had quieted enough that she could hear the musicians adjusting their instruments above the Rotunda.

Lucavion turned his wrist.

The flower came apart between them.

Black petals loosened into flakes of ash, and one drifted close enough to Elara’s cheek that she nearly felt it before it dissolved into the air.

Lucavion lowered himself into the same formal courtesy Gervase had interrupted earlier, placing one hand behind his back while extending the other toward her.

His finger no longer bled.

Behind him, Gervase de Warenne stood with fury straining the last edges of his composure.

Lucavion never looked around.

His eyes stayed on Elara.

"My lady."

The final remnants of ash faded between them as his offered hand remained steady.

"Would you grant me the Second Measure?"