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Varis took his time in the bathroom. The feeling of dirt and grime washing off him was a close second to feeding at the moment though perhaps that could be arranged as well. Treating himself after such an awful experience could only be expected after all. He was sorely tempted to run a bath but Eris would be coming over later and he needed to handle the boy before then. He didn’t want to think about this evening until tomorrow night and Eris would be the perfect distraction, even if he did just listen to his empty rambling about whatever nonsense his dreadful sister was up to. At least it wouldn't remind him of this sad excuse of an exam.

And honestly if Ryner was going to put a Sinnenodel through an exam, Varis would have expected something more scholarly. Using vampires as test components was bad form in his opinion. The whole thing was an insult to every institution of education in the realm. Varis doubted even an Astorio would have put together something so distasteful. Assuming they could put two brain cells together long enough to plan an exam of course. Brutes.

Varis turned off the shower, drying off and got dressed. Simple clothes this time, just a dress shirt, slacks, and a new pair of gloves. Varis made a mental note to have the boy order him more as he pulled them over his hands and pulled the cover off the mirror to fold it away neatly. He made his way out of his room and into the boy’s, snapping and ordering him to stand immediately. Varis spent several silent moments looking him over, tongue clicking in disapproval with every injury he noticed. He was thorough, moving and inspecting Aaron like he was little more than a mannequin on display, and his hand lingered on the scar before he pulled away with a sigh of disappointment.

“For someone who boasted about their training with a premier member of Princess Nox’s retinue, you lack stamina and fortitude clearly.” Varis gestured at the markings. “Get dressed in something appropriate for seeing a life mage. Meet me in the study. We have some points to review after your abysmal performance tonight.” Varis turned sharply and stalked into the study. He collected the belongings the boy left there and took a seat, pulling out paper and writing instructions on exactly how much care the boy was to receive.

Aaron was still as Varis inspected him, eyes down as the Count prowled, poked, and prodded to his satisfaction. He even resisted glancing over when Varis touched his scar, even as his apprehension from the clearing came roaring back. There he was with the ear again. He sincerely hoped he was just overthinking things, but Varis’ odd behaviour in the clearing and the renewed attention to his scar made him fear that his clone—if that was indeed who Varis had faced inside the skull—had said something he shouldn’t have.

But despite his worry, he couldn’t help but inwardly scoff at Varis’ comment. Lacking fortitude? Stamina there may have been an argument for, but there wasn’t much to be done about the toughness of one’s flesh. If not for exhaustion and his lingering sour mood, he might have smirked as a memory of something Salem told him over the break popped into his head: maybe Varis thought mages could build an immunity to bruising like they could to poison, enduring small injuries to grow immune to big ones.

The humour didn’t quite catch, though, and he simply nodded as Varis left and went to work, relieved that he’d be allowed to receive at least some care for his injuries. Bruises were far from the end of the world, sure, but with his mild dependency on life magic, it felt like they took forever to heal, and that was one inconvenience he really didn’t need to deal with at the moment. His choice of clothes was a bit more casual than Varis’, a thick long-sleeved shirt and black jeans, easy enough to take on and off when the life mage examined him. Once dressed, he took a moment in his mirror to run a hand through his hair, neat enough to look presentable but slightly mussed to Varis’ taste, before crossing the hall to the study.

Varis didn’t look up from what he was writing, only pausing a moment to snap at his feet and continue on. With his mild dependency, seeing a life mage was unavoidable. The boy’s new and upcoming training regime was more important than the lesson a few bruises could teach. Damn Noilas. All of their precious Starags probably have a severe dependency if the boy already developed this much. He supposed it made sense. Can’t have the symbols of good faith and peace looking even a touch out of place although Varis would have preferred more mundane means himself. Makeup was borderline magical when used appropriately and it didn’t come with a nasty case of addiction. Varis finished his instructions to the life mage, signed and sealed it, and handed it to the kneeling mage.

“These are exact instructions about how much magical assistance you are permitted. I have no interest in exacerbating your inability to depend on yourself but after tonight’s poor display, it’s clear you cannot be trusted to maintain your own physical wellbeing. As such, I’ll be drawing up your new training schedule.” Varis turned the chair to face the boy. He considered him for a moment and his next words were more to himself than the boy. “I don’t think I’ve seen you use much other than a sword. Maybe I’ll bring…” Varis trailed off for a moment. If he wanted to make a proper training schedule, he’d need to see all of the boy’s abilities first hand. He jotted down a note on a scrap of parchment he had on the desk.

“I’ll put together a mock schedule tomorrow and the day after you’ll complete the first portion in its entirety. I can adjust afterwards.” Varis decided, facing the boy again. “But for now, I think I’d care to hear your opinion on the events of the evening.”

Aaron took the letter, absently examining the familiar seal as he processed the Count’s words. More time for physical training actually sounded more like a privilege than a punishment; between his duties to Varis and his school responsibilities, the time he could spend at the arena was getting shorter by the night, and he’d noticed an antsy buildup of tension without that regular release. Training with something other than a sword, however, was a different matter. Sure, he did a lot of hand-to-hand and grappling training, and he’d tried out myriad weapons as a child before deciding to focus on the longsword, but he couldn’t claim proficiency in anything else. If Varis expected otherwise, there would surely be another lecture about the inadequacy of the Noila training model in his future.

Being asked his opinion, though, made fumbling around with an axe or a glaive in front of every noble at the Academy sound attractive by comparison. There was never a good way out of it when Varis asked his opinion. It was a plainly obvious trap that he had no choice but to step into, and Aaron had yet to completely master twisting his words so as to be truthful enough not to be accused of lying while remaining innocuous enough that he didn’t draw too much of Varis’ interest.

He liked to think he’d gotten a little better though, and as luck would have it, he had at least one opinion on the exam that he expected Varis to fully agree with, recalling their puzzle with the keys and his experience inside the skull. “I think Her Highness is entirely too fond of introspection, Master.”

“Indeed. Every vampire here has had a century to do so. If it didn’t help them in that time, it won’t do them any good now. However, it seems you could do with a great deal more.” Varis said as he studied the kneeling mage. There was a great deal he was curious about after his time in Ryner’s sadistic challenges. The copy of the boy wilted beneath the same insecurities and frustrations this one barely knew how to hide in the first month of his time here. The boy had gotten better thanks to Varis’ tutelage but nothing wiped away the deep sense of betrayal and uncertainty when your glorious, guaranteed future was ripped away from you by the very vampires you trusted. The thought almost made Varis smile but he kept himself in check. Now wasn’t the time to break character.

“Remind me, boy. What exactly happened with that scar on your ear?” Varis asked pleasantly. “The details escape me but it was a training accident, right?” Varis would give him the opportunity to open up. He had his suspicions the night of the dinner with his Lady that the boy hadn’t given him the full truth and this night confirmed his suspicions. The attack was far too targeted, far too personal, for it to have been a coincidence. Varis hadn’t considered the half truth any further than that evening and even he’d admit it wasn’t really a problem. Just a trump card when the boy got too comfortable.

But that wasn’t the case for the clone. No, no. The clone could have burned out his eyes, could have taken his writing hand, burned the tongue out of his head, could have attacked any of the instruments of abuse Varis preferred but instead, the clone made him match with an injury from a passing training accident. And since it meant nothing to Varis other than one of many other scars, it was important to the boy and Varis wanted to know why.

Eclipsing the comment about introspection, Aaron’s stomach turned at the mention of his scar, his worried suspicions from the clearing suddenly coming true. Should he just come out with it? Technically, he already had; everything he’d told Varis had been factually true, after all. It just… wasn’t all there was to tell. But why was Varis so interested? The full truth might hold some power to him, but even Aaron didn’t know how much—Varis couldn’t possibly predict that. And why did he suspect that he’d lied, anyway? What had that clone told him?

No, no, he needed to stop running away with his thoughts. The clone may have said something, but it didn’t necessarily have to be anything new. If the clones worked on their subjects’ insecurities, it might have dug into the events preceding the accident, when he’d felt utterly helpless in the face of his mother’s illness. There was no need to panic.

“Yes, Master. Sir Bordeleaux raised his rapier just as I lunged for an attack, and I failed to dodge it. The blade was blunted, but the force still tore through the cartilage and ripped my ear in half.” He confirmed, running a finger over the bumps of the scar. “It happened while my mother was ill, if you recall. I was scared for her and angry that I wasn’t allowed to see her, and the distraction made me less attentive in training.” There, those cliffnotes were true enough, and avoided the lame excuse he’d made last time. “May I ask why the sudden interest, Master? If it bothers you, I’ll be sure to keep it covered up until it can be fixed.”

“Stop fidgeting. There's no reason to while you’re being addressed.” Varis scolded, considering the boy’s answer carefully. While at first glance his response was acceptable, Varis was likely the only person outside of the Noila family to know it was still a sidestep. A good one too. Varis appreciated the sacrifice of personal comfort for the sake of establishing trust. Clearly, the boy had more than a quarter brain. Varis shook his head and unlocked one of the drawers of his desk, pulling out the records Aaron relinquished to him near the beginning of his service.

“I’m sure you recall handing this to me, yes?” Varis asked rhetorically. He flipped them open, looking into his medical records. “We already know you personally intervened to keep this mistake of yours out of public view but looking through this…” Varis ran a finger down the extensive list of injuries and started reading them off. “Fractured rib—Training Accident. Broken nose—Training Accident. Three broken fingers—Training Accident.” Varis put his foot under the boy’s chin and forced him to meet his unamused stare. “Clearly, your trainer had little care about your physical wellbeing through this ordeal and I doubt he took responsibility for each of these. All of these injuries are probably just a long testament to your ineptitude and that one would have been no different if it was on here since it could clearly be fixed.” Varis slammed the folder down on his desk and snapped forward, grabbing the mage’s chin roughly. Varis’ eyes darkened as he stared the boy straight in the face.

“The one thing I am unable to criticize you about is your infallible sense of responsibility. You accept your mistakes and you try to learn from them even if you end up failing worse. Better than most mages I’ve met, honestly. So either, you are about to clarify my misconception about your singular redeeming quality or you are keeping something from me.” Varis snarled, fangs bared. “Leaving out details is just a lie of omission and I will not tolerate lying.”

Fuck.

Aaron’s mind burst into expletives when Varis grabbed hold of him, mostly aimed at himself. Of course Varis saw right through him! His excuse the first time had been asinine—why would he hide a training injury to protect Lucan if Lucan injured him far worse each time they trained without fear of discipline? It was stupid. He was stupid! He’d been appalled that no one back home ever confronted him about the scar at first, always chalking it up to the fact that it was hidden under his hair. After five years of only ever having to explain it as an “accident”, he didn’t have a solid story put together—truth be told, back then he’d barely bothered, expecting anyone who pressed any further to already know what happened and just bracing for the consequences. But how had he never thought to shore up his story once he changed households? Stupid!

His first instinct was to lie again, but even if he wanted to risk drawing even more of Varis’ ire, it was pointless. The Count could probably feel his quickening pulse under his fingertips; there was no way out now. He could throw himself on his sword and beg forgiveness - Varis admitted he was good at that—but a nagging sense of guilt made him hesitate. But what choice did he have? For the umpteenth time he felt torn in two, weighing his former loyalties against his current ones, heart only quickening as the consequences of telling the truth and the consequences of lying vied for the title of worst-case scenario.

As the precious seconds he had to deliberate ran out, Varis’ hand on his chin and the sight of his fangs only added to his burgeoning panic. Suddenly it was as if he was back in that training room with the Count’s fingers wrapped around his throat, fangs bearing down on him, black eyes burning like some wicked creature and on instinct, Aaron snatched his face from Varis’ grip, stumbling back.

The image disappeared when he broke contact and Aaron shook his head, running a hand over his chin and around his neck, and took a steadying breath, settling himself back where he’d been on his knees. “I’m sorry Master, I didn’t mean…” he trailed off, the impotence of his lame little apology not worth completing.

He dropped his head, defeated. “You’re right,” he admitted. “What I told you was true—that’s precisely what led up to my injury - but it wasn’t everything.”

His next words caught in his throat for a moment, held back instinctively like bile, but Aaron forced himself to continue. He’d lost this little battle—that much was clear from the smug look on Varis’ face.

“My injury was an accident,” he reiterated. “I lunged into Lucan’s sword without thinking and tore my ear in half. But I barely even noticed; the pain was somewhere off in the background, and I just wanted to reset and go again. Lucan tried to stop me—apparently there was a lot of blood—but I wouldn’t listen, and eventually when he wouldn’t attack me, I charged at him instead.”

The images of what happened next flashed through Aaron’s mind again, disjointed, broken pictures that didn’t quite tie together cleanly, but this time he was prepared for them. “I don’t remember a lot of what happened next. It happened so fast - I think he hit me, and I remember going down and then up again, and punching, and the next thing I knew I was on the floor and Lucan had his hand around my neck, about an inch away from tearing my throat out. I can’t believe he didn’t kill me.”

A wave of potent shame washed over Aaron, just as it had the night it all happened, and he paused to let it settle before continuing. “The life mage on duty was Lucan’s stepmother. Apparently I’d lost a fair amount of blood, alongside a number of worrying injuries Lucan gave me. In her haste to heal me, she didn’t mend the ear very cleanly, hence the scar.” Despite knowing Varis had already seen it, he moved his hair away to expose the scar, clearly hastily reassembled from the puckers and bumps, and not quite perfectly realigned either. “I begged her to keep everything off the record, and she agreed. She didn’t see what happened, and if anyone found out…”

He didn’t bother finishing that sentence; he was sure Varis knew perfectly well what consequences could be in store for a vampire who almost single-handedly ended the Starag line.

He shook his head, mostly to himself, and lowered his head nearly to his knees. “I am sorry for lying, Master. I don’t expect forgiveness, but know that what happened that night was my fault; none of it would have happened had I not pushed Sir Bordeleaux to the brink like a petulant child. Please don’t let it colour your opinion of him.”

“Don’t beg on behalf of another vampire. It’s pathetic.” Varis wrinkled his nose in disgust. This information was interesting. Nearly ending the Starag line? Best scenario, he would have been stripped of his position and sent away with the rest of his family and worst scenario, he would have had a wonderful view of the next sunrise. Having the information could unlock an interesting avenue for some of his side projects but for now, he had a larger issue to deal with.

“As for my opinion of him, it certainly has been colored. A vampire who allows a mage of all things to disrupt his control is a disgrace to our kind.” Varis sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back in the chair. “I think now we need to deal with a more pressing issue. This is important information for me, your current master, to have and you thought it acceptable to keep it from me. Why?”

Aaron raised his head when reprimanded, but kept his eyes on the floor, his posture defeated. How could he feel any different? In one fell swoop he'd incurred the ire of one vampire and tarnished the reputation of another, all because of the years-old stupid actions of a hot-headed teen. He wasn't sure how many times he'd wished nothing that night had ever happened, but he was certainly adding to that number now.

Varis’ question was expected, but unwelcome nonetheless, especially knowing he'd never find the honest answer acceptable. But there was no point in lying now, and Varis would probably see through any attempt to anyway.

“I wanted to protect Sir Bordeleaux, Master,” he answered simply. “Since it was my fault and nothing similar ever happened before or since, I convinced myself there was no need for any of it to come to light.”

“I don’t think I need to remind you that your loyalties no longer lie with the Noilas and, by extension, him. Your skills, your experiences, your knowledge are all bound to the Sinnenodels now. Keeping secrets, no matter how slight you think they may be, is unacceptable behavior for someone of your pedigree.” Varis shook his head in disappointment. Keeping secrets from your betters was quite the offense and frankly, he’d let himself believe the boy was above that. Clearly some retraining was in order. “As your punishment for that, you’ll have a new set of lines starting tomorrow. I’ll have the parchment ready for you when you wake up. Hopefully, another thousand and a half will drill it through your thick skull and we can put this behind us.”

Varis considered where to move the conversation to next. He hadn’t expected something of this magnitude to come to light but he certainly wouldn’t waste it. It made him wonder what else this boy had floating around inside his skull. Maybe he should have a mental mage examine the boy’s head before he learns to resist it. Varis scowled at the thought and shook it away. Even he found that distasteful, as useful as it was, and he had no intention of turning into her. He didn’t need magic to control his mages. “See, had I known this tidbit of information, perhaps I could have used it to avoid being set on fire in that challenge. Your copy had the audacity to use sunlight to chop off my ear in the exact same place and set my hair on fire. Now, I’m being gracious enough not to hold that against you but I did not have all the tools to defend myself in that situation. Consider that next time you think something doesn’t need to be brought to my attention.” Varis leaned forward again, frowning thoughtfully.

“What I am interested in was the choice of venue. I was in some sort of marble building with a statue of Landar Starag and the names of his wife and children on the walls. Did you have any insight into what that might have been?” Varis asked. Here was a wonderful chance for the boy to redeem himself. Varis had no clue what that was meant to be but clearly the place was significant to the boy so he was offering him a chance to start being truthful.

Aaron stiffened, taken aback. Set on fire!? All this time he'd been worried that the clone had simply said something it shouldn't have, or given Varis a distorted impression of him, but to attack him with sunlight? Despite knowing the clones had advanced magical prowess, somehow the possibility had never crossed his mind. Sure, it was a combat scenario—at least, it had been for him—but in retrospect, the real challenge seemed to be overcoming the insecurities dredged up by the clones, or whatever such inane introspective exercise the Princess intended. Plus… he couldn't really see Varis fighting, so he supposed the possibility of injury never crossed his mind. No wonder he'd seemed especially testy when they were leaving the clearing; surely being so sorely betrayed by someone supposedly loyal to you would put anyone in a foul mood.

Of course, as with every conversation with Varis, the worst was yet to come. If he’d stiffened at the mention of a sunlight attack, he was outright petrified at the description of the venue, disguising his shock behind a pensive expression. He usually didn’t like to speak—or even think—ill of the royal family, but had Princess Ryner lost her mind? He doubted she personally oversaw the illusion made for each student, but she hadn’t thought to tell whichever mages were in charge of that challenge not to include illusions of extremely secret and illegal tombs on royal grounds?! Far be it from him to chastise the Princess, but Aaron couldn’t help but feel like a letter to her office was in order about that. With luck, it was just an oversight, and not some dangerous game.

And once more, he found himself at a crossroads. It was like he lived at those lately. Back home, Aaron had never considered himself a man of many secrets—in fact, aside from putting on the occasional brave face and his singular secret about that incident with Lucan, he would have called himself an open book—but his time with Varis so far felt like one deceitful sidestep after another. Was this just how it felt to be a Sinnenodel, weaving one lie after another until you lost track of the truth? Or was he just so used to an environment where none of his knowledge was unique that he’d forgotten how much sensitive information he was privy to?

Truth be told, he was tired of secrets. If it were up to him, he’d tell Varis about the mausoleum and everything else he was keeping from him, if only so he could finally clear the fog from his head and act without worrying about what was being revealed to who. But it wasn’t up to him, was it? His secrets—some of them, at least—related directly to the royal family, so surely they weren’t truly his to reveal. But, as Varis rightly said, his loyalties didn’t lie with them anymore. Moreover, it was Princess Ryner herself who chose to put him in Sinnenodel care; surely she’d considered the consequences, right? Surely she knew that giving him away (especially to the Sinnenodels, of all families) also meant giving away anything inside his head?

“I grew up around depictions of my grandfather, Master. There are several on the castle grounds, especially in the mages’ quarters. Was there anything else of note nearby?” he asked cooly, scrambling for time. Ugh, why would Her Highness put him in this position?! This wasn’t just about loyalties to the Noilas or the Sinnenodels, this was personal. That mausoleum was precious to his family, as well as highly illegal and top secret, hidden even from most of the castle staff. Only the royal family, his family, and a few select guards even knew it existed, and if word got out that it did… he didn’t even want to think about it.

“No, not that I recall. I was busy avoiding sunlight.” Varis replied dryly. Interesting, interesting. Varis quite enjoyed that reaction but he wouldn’t push this issue yet. No, no. He’d have his talk with Ryner first and then he’d come back to it. Varis smiled, amused at the boy, and continued past the location issue for now. “Which is far more interesting than some dusty representation of your unwavering devotion to your family. I have to admit, experiencing your betrayal and discovering your lie have shaken my faith in your devotion to the treaty’s primary tennant. If you truly don’t know this place, then it’s likely just a representation of what’s most important to you.” Varis paused to consider that.

“And one could argue that it took your loyalty to Landar’s legacy and manifested it. But then, you disgraced that legacy and attacked a vampire unprovoked in front of him which makes me think it was symbolic of your devotion to your family instead.” Varis continued musing, snapping his fingers as a thought occurred to him. “Which means, you care for your family more than your duty. Especially since you destroyed that Landar statue at the end and I talked you into killing yourself.” Varis waved off the last statement as meaningless.

“But, it’s all just idle speculation of course. I’ll be discussing the magicks employed with Ryner tomorrow and we’ll revisit the subject after she gives in to the various charges I’ve levied against her for facilitating an attack on a noble heir.” Varis said, turning to the desk and writing on the scrap piece. “Discuss location development in challenge. Now I won’t forget and we’ll both get to find out why it picked that place of all places once and for all.”

Mention of his clone killing itself was shocking, but it paled in comparison to Varis’ mention of the Treaty. Aaron was accustomed to all sorts of demeaning, belittling, and humiliating comments and tasks from Varis, but doubting his devotion to the Treaty? That may have been the most insulting thing he’d heard come out of Varis’ mouth. Inwardly, he bristled, but he was careful not to let his displeasure escape, especially considering the position he was in. Hopefully it was a combination mistake and jab rather than a genuine observation, and he could at least help to clear it up.

“I can’t say I know how the arenas were generated, Master, but regarding the clones, I think I have a few ideas on what they were generated to do.” He offered. “My exchange with Max’s clone was… well, I’d call it disturbing. When I didn’t respond to its insults and started insulting it back, beyond the ranting about strength and weakness I told you about in the clearing, it talked about killing vampires. It seemed to think killing me would prove that it was powerful enough to kill…” he paused a moment to recall the names, “... his master, Princess Ryner, and anyone else who supported our system, I believe.”

“Judging by that, I came up with two theories,” he continued, counting them off on his fingers. “For one, I thought the clones might be exaggerations of the outward personality of whoever they were reflecting. In Max’s case, it would be easy to take his obvious disdain for vampires and blow it up into something approaching rebellion.” He counted off one. “For the other, I think it’s possible the clones are designed to present the test-taker with whatever would set them off the most. With me and Max, the two could overlap; I can see how an outside party could think Max’s distaste could be exaggerated to murder, and of course, the idea of rejecting our system and murdering Her Highness would certainly shake me.” He shook his head pensively. “But given what you’ve described, Master, I think the latter is more likely. I would hope I wouldn’t need to say this, but I don’t think even an outside observer could think I’d ever hurt you, though a proctor could easily imagine that betrayal from a mage and an attack with sunlight would anger the heir to a noble House.”

He looked back up to Varis. “Did my clone do anything else that might shed light on that, Master?”

“You mostly talked gibberish.” While the boy explained his theories, Varis pulled out a piece of paper and wrote them down so he could see how close he was to the mark. He’d bring it with him tomorrow when he had his meeting with Ryner. “You talked about Yvaine and Ralmevik. You thought I should have something to do with them but frankly, I’d rather set myself on fire than be in a room with a Marivadli and until Salem’s dreams, I’ve never heard of a Yvaine in my life. No matter. I’ll be taking the issue up with the Princess tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll appreciate your analysis of the test and your opinion of the evening’s events.” Varis didn’t comment but frankly, he disagreed with the boy’s thoughts on the matter. How the copy targeted his comments and insults, over things he very well knew neither Ryner nor the mage knew, was far too direct and focused to be developed by some casual observer. That either meant their privacy had been invaded, which means Varis would need to thoroughly check his room before he changed every time, or…

Varis fumbled the pen he was holding for a moment as something hit him. There were only two vampires who knew some of the things the copy said: himself and his Lady. Neither of them would divulge that information, even with the threat of death, because of how badly it would destroy the family’s reputation. Yet despite that, the copy knew. Which made the realization hit him like a semi-truck.

Ryner got in his mind.

“Enough about the test. I’d like to discuss the sullen silence I returned to after the challenge.” Varis changed the subject but he’d clearly lost some of his earlier composure, rattled by even the possibility. “While I understand Eris’ mage is withdrawn and painfully unaware of the social niceties of his new position but it does not give you an excuse to ignore him. You’ll likely be in close contact with him regularly so you may as well maintain a working relationship with him and communication is important to that. Do not let it happen again, understood?”

Yvaine? The woman from the nightmares? Aaron grew pensive just as Varis did, wondering why on earth that name would show up in the trial. Maybe the clones were based on the people they copied, but not only outwardly? That would be another invasion of privacy on the growing pile, though not unexpected. But Ryner had told him to keep that name and all other information about the nightmares under wraps as a matter of national security - how could she be so careless as to let one of her proctors use it as an element of the exam? Theoretically, any other student could have ended up with his copy, and then be wandering around with sensitive information thrust into their heads. And why would the clone mention it anyway? It wasn’t as if it was a sore spot for Varis; like he said, he’d never heard the name before.

A movement in the corner of his eye broke his focus; Varis’ gloved hand nearly dropping his pen. That was odd. Small as it was, Varis didn’t make mistakes like that. The subject changed quickly, and while Aaron was happy to let it, it only emphasized that little hiccup. Or was he just being paranoid? No, the change in Varis’ tone was more than just coincidence.

“Understood, Master,” he acknowledged with a short bow, letting the strangeness pass. If Varis wanted to share whatever shook him, he would have, and Aaron was sure any prodding would not be taken well. “We did talk a fair bit before you returned, but I’ll endeavour to make more of an effort.”

Name: Radaam Esi

Age: 16

Appearance: Radaam has matured quickly, no longer the skinny long-legged boy some of his neighbours are at his age. He stands quite tall, towering over most of his peers, and his frame is solid and muscular, thanks in no small part to his dedication in honing it. The rich brown of his skin has been further deepened by a lifetime either working or training under the scorching sun, and his hands are rough and strong from both. His thick, long hair is black as river mud, and his eyes are dark as well; so dark, in fact, one may very well fail to notice they are actually blue. He does his best to look presentable in simple, loose-fitting clothing that allows him to move without getting in the way, usually made of well-used, inexpensive fabrics.

Background: Radaam comes from modest means. Hailing from a desert-dwelling people called the Chenzira, it was Radaam’s grandparents, along with a number of other members of their tribe, who did the arduous work of gaining Photepi citizenship and thus, leave to dwell within the city. Radaam’s family stayed where they originally settled, in a part of the city that acted like a buffer zone, a place filled with working-class (and often, recently naturalized) citizens separating the shantytowns from the middle class. Like many of their neighbours, Radaam’s parents were general labourers, working particularly as brickmakers helping to supply the ambitious infrastructure projects sanctioned by the Sekhmet. Still requiring some skill, their work was just too freelance to warrant membership in a craftsman’s fellowship. Income was modest and often irregular, but through diligent work and careful management, Radaam’s parents always ensured there was enough to get by.

Always present in Radaam’s community were the Khenetai. Often overlooked or outright ignored by his neighbours, they patrolled his area often, and were a common sight on the street. Their effect was profound; crime in Radaam’s area was rare and severely punished, and its residents thought little of sending their children to school unattended or hawking their wares in the street with minimal supervision. Radaam himself never thought of them as much more than a constant, as much a part of the streets as the lamps and paving stones, until such time that he needed their protection.

That time came one evening when he was about eight years old. It was dusk, and his parents were hurrying to finish their work before they lost the light, with Radaam and his little sister, only six, helping as best they could. When his sister opened the kiln hatch to try and stoke the fire, the sudden rush of air spit the flames out at her, engulfing her clothes and the dry thatch she carried in flame.

Instructed by his distraught parents, Radaam ran to the street and screamed bloody murder, beckoning two Khenetai officers to his aid. They rushed back to help his sister, administering medical aid with expertise the likes of which Radaam and his family could never have hoped to provide. Radaam attributes his sister’s survival to the actions of those two Khenetai that night, and from that day on, came to see them as akin to the heroes of legend.

In the years since, Radaam developed a fierce sense of patriotism in Photep and has dreamed of being selected for the Khenetai to serve the city as his childhood heroes did. He started training his body as soon as he reasonably could, but when he showed an aptitude for magic in school, both he and his parents worked their hardest to be able to send him to a moderately respected academy of sorcery, his parents hoping sorcery would brighten his future and Radaam hoping it would make him stand out in the eyes of the Khenetai. Applying himself diligently, Radaam’s work ethic rose him through the ranks of his school, and he stands now at commencement at the top of his class, a prime candidate for the Cults - provided there’s any room left after the picking from Pesedjet is done.

Personality: With his height, muscular build and oft-present stonefaced expression, Radaam cuts a much more imposing figure than he really is. While some may mistake him for cold or even angry by his usual thoughtful frown, Radaam is actually a kind and gentle soul, happy to keep quiet while others speak and simply do what he can to help. His greatest virtue is his work ethic; Radaam will do any task, no matter how small, as if it were vitally important, and has been known to make up for innate talent with an abundance of hard work. Above all, Radaam has a strong sense of responsibility, justice, and balance; it’s a small wonder the Khenetai appeal to him so much.

Aptitude: Were Radaam attending Pesedjet, he would hardly be remarkable; however, at his smaller academy, his unwavering dedication placed him at the top of his class. He’s dabbled in all disciplines with the exception of Divination (his religious beliefs decry meddling with fate as wrong and unnatural) and has taken a particular interest in the mysteries of biomancy, influenced in no small part by the medicinal expertise he witnessed that fateful night with the Khenetai. Overall, Radaam will admit that he is not interested in researching magic for magic’s sake, but rather to advance how it can be applied to improve everyday life.

Tutelary: Radaam rose to the top of his class through dogged effort, and one of the things that set him apart from his peers was being the first to summon his tutelary - even if he only preceded his classmates by a few weeks. His tutelary is named Toruk, taking the form of a young desert viper in colours much more vibrant than the dusty reds and brown found in nature, with pointed scales that look to be made of obsidian and ceramic. Toruk rarely speaks, but his curious and mischievous nature is abundant in his actions, contrasting his master’s much more reserved demeanour. It is not unusual to find Toruk snooping around in someone’s satchel or a bookshelf high out of reach, and he’s prone to investigating where he shouldn’t. He listens to his master (more or less) but never acts to his detriment; in fact, Toruk is fiercely protective of Radaam, and will do all he can to aid him in his endeavours and further his ambitions - even when his ‘help’ isn’t altogether wise or warranted.

Name: Nyaoki (get it?)
Age:
Gender: Boy
True Form: Nyaoki's true form is a sleek black cat, with short, shiny fur and a long, bouncy tail. His eyes are strangely blue, and that is the only outward trait that might tip someone off that he's not quite just a kitty.
Human Form: What does your human form look like? Age is typically 8-18, but you can go outside it if you want. Consider apparent age and manner of dress. You human form's gender is the same as your own.
Art for either form is encouraged.
Personality: Nyaoki makes his home in downtown [town name], a stray in the strictest sense, though he'd consider himself a cat of many houses. He's become a friend of many local restaurants, with staff and patrons alike charmed by the friendly black cat that loiters around waiting for attention and dropped scraps. He's actually become quite popular, and revels in the attention; he can never have enough eyes on him, and he could sit all day in a sunny spot getting pets from customers.

With time to kill, Aaron had taken to aimlessly strolling around campus after his little ‘altercation’ with Ralph, a new and foreign spring in his step and mood significantly lifted after getting the douchebag so satisfyingly riled up. Maybe this was the feeling Max got when he sent the more shy of Eris’ badgering fans running. It’d certainly explain some things; just that short exchange had turned Aaron’s dour mood around so completely that he even found himself humming as he walked, a habit usually reserved for tough cello passages or the odd time Eris got a particularly insufferable pop song stuck in his head.

Campus was buzzing—right, the other students had been given the night off—but predictably, Aaron was left alone, exempt as he was from getting caught up in slow-walking crowds or accosted for stories from the practical. By now, he didn’t even bat an eye; in fact, he’d long stopped noticing the hush that tended to follow him or the ease at which he could navigate a crowd. Like he’d noted long before, ostracization had its advantages.

It came as a shock, then, when the footsteps he heard approaching behind him failed to pass him by. His humming stopped short as the two mages flanked him, a wary tension coiling in his chest as they kept pace, not breaking off or passing as everyone else always had before.

Aaron had almost convinced himself he was reading too far into the situation when the one to his right with the thermos piped up, looking like he’d been rehearsing his little proposition in the mirror all night. Aaron didn’t know whether to be surprised or suspicious, and settled on something in between, regarding the man with a questioning look. Him, Aaron “Retriever” Starag, intimidating? Max would get a laugh out of that. Maybe it really was the sword, though he hadn’t been able to carry Dawn in almost a month. It might be possible that someone of his pedigree could come off as a little unapproachable to mages of lower standing, but he’d have to admit the thought never really crossed his mind. Especially not lately, seeing as a Starag who didn’t serve royalty wasn’t all that much of a Starag at all. Or, so the Princess would apparently have him believe.

That thought soured his mood a bit, but he was too distracted by his bizarre and improbable situation to worry about it for the moment. This mage and his friend seemed to have been keeping an eye on him for a while—unless it was really just that obvious when he was on assignment, which was always—and he’d confess he wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or a little violated. Above all, it was frankly just surprising that anyone who wasn’t Varis paid any more attention to him than the occasional strange look or tawdry rumour—aside from Ralph, of course, who seemed to dedicate a downright flattering volume of time and energy to hating his guts.

“We’ve been interested in asking you over for a while!”

“Have you now?” Aaron couldn’t help himself, drawling sarcastically as he turned to the mage on his left. The poor guy looked like he wanted nothing to do with this, like he’d been dragged along on the thermos one’s adventure with little to no say in the matter. “I can tell.”

Turning back to the bouncy one, Aaron stopped walking, crossing his arms. “I don’t suppose Ralph put you up to this, did he?” he half-joked. He wouldn’t put it past the frozen little prick to set him up for something humiliating after getting his ego bruised.

Malek appeared just inside the doorway at precisely 5pm. He smoothed down the lapels of his suit jacket, a simple black and white affair with a tie and a brooch displaying the Sinnenodel crest. He brought his briefcase with him, easier to bring the smaller documents and the mail on the first trip, and he took stiff but confident steps into the house. The second day here, Varis had a copy of the floor plan sent home so Malek and the others would be fully comfortable with the layout in the event they were ever needed. Malek made a beeline for Varis’ current assistant, the Starag.

Malek wasn’t bothered by the lack of doors. It was a trial all new mages faced. They earned privacy by proving they didn’t need it and clearly the boy had yet to prove it. The boy who was sleeping soundly in his bed. Malek would have to work on that. He placed his briefcase down quietly, pulling out a notepad and pen from his suit pocket to make note of the room’s contents and their locations. He’d handle this the same way he taught Eloise to be on her toes: fear.

He picked his briefcase back up, walked up to the foot of the bed, and dropped it on the Starag.

Aaron inhaled sharply when something tore him from sleep, shooting upright in his bed and searching blindly around the room for whatever had roused him. By the time he came to his senses, his eyes landed on a dark figure at the end of his bed, a second spike of panic shooting through his chest before he realized it was just a man in a suit. A very old, very strict-looking man in a suit, whom Aaron realized fairly quickly must have been Malek. Early. Great.

“Good evening, Mr. Abadi,” Aaron greeted more energetically then he felt, voice rough and gravely from sleep. He took a long breath and cleared his throat, head still spinning a bit, and moved his gaze from the man to the briefcase on his lap. “Events 12 through 27, I presume?”

"No." Malek didn't bother to elaborate. "Dress yourself, leave that on the Count's desk, and join me in the living room." Malek left without another word.

Aaron nodded and followed the man as he left, before dropping his head to his chest. Why, why couldn’t anyone in this household be normal? “In Varis’ hands when he left his room this evening” meant 8 o’clock, not… he fumbled for his phone on the nightstand, wincing at the time. Not five! He was even usually up long before the Count was, and was due to wake up even earlier this evening for lines, and yet somehow he’d still managed to screw up his very first task of the night.

Pressed for time, he all but jumped out of bed, hurrying—but not rushing, rushing meant mistakes—through his evening routine. Once he was clean, he put on a dark, long-sleeved dress shirt and a pair of slacks, fastening his earring carefully. He dropped the briefcase off in Varis’ study—strange that he hadn’t left out the line materials like he’d said he would, but that wasn’t all too relevant at the moment—and swept into the living room, where Malek appeared to be concentrating on something. Good thing, too; it meant Aaron had a moment to reconsider his ill-advised witty comment as he watched.

Makek focused on what he wanted, picturing each box clearly. He moved his hands, glowing blue magic flowing his finger tips, and formed two circles joined at the center, turning them as he made a circle around both of them, and spoke. "Spectu aeroque ootu."

The center of the living room took on a blue sheen that condensed from the center and expanded. Malek's whole body tensed and the frown that never left his face deepened into a grimace. The light pulsed once, twice… and vanished, leaving 17 file boxes in its place. Malek relaxed and rolled his shoulders. The boxes were labeled either History or Events.

"Take the History boxes to the study. Put Events in the sitting room." Malek instructed. "We'll have breakfast after. It is time we discuss your place in the household." Malek walked away to the kitchen.

Aaron watched with interest as Malek literally did his magic, eyes widening a touch when a mountain of file boxes materialized in the living room. Right, he’d heard that Malek was a Summoner of some flavour. Good lord though, that was just portions of History and Events? Surely Varis didn’t mean to read all of it in full; he must have just wanted them available in case he needed something from them unexpectedly. And if this was just parts of those archives, what on earth did all of Training look like?

He snapped to attention when Malek spoke, nodding in acknowledgement before the man made for the kitchen. Discuss his place in the household? Aaron would admit he was eager to do just that—this entire semester he’d felt like he was just floating out of place, more of an inconvenience to Varis than an addition to his staff, and knowing where he fit would be a welcome relief—but there was something undeniably ominous about the way Malek said it that put him ill at ease. Or… maybe that was just how he talked?

He picked up the file boxes three at a time, surprised at how heavy they were and reminded of an unfortunate stint in his youth where he’d been tasked with moving the entire contents of the schoolroom to another hall and then back again. As he moved things, though, a detail stuck in his mind. Varis said he wanted Events ‘in his hand’ when he left his room that evening, but that was plainly impossible, something Varis was no doubt aware of. Figure of speech, then? Just to describe urgency? He supposed it was possible, but Varis usually wanted his orders carried out to the letter, so exaggeration now seemed strange. Maybe there was a particular file he wanted from the collection. He’d have to ask Malek.

Fortunately, it didn’t take too long to move everything, and though the exercise twinged his nearly-healed bruises a touch, it left him with a pleasant burning in his arms. A fair enough trade, in his opinion. When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to see Malek cooking; Aaron wasn’t sure what he expected, maybe for the man to pull food out of the rift like he did the boxes, but frankly it was just bizarre to see the man who commanded Varis’ entire staff doing something so domestic.

Pushing that aside for the time being, Aaron adjusted his sleeves, giving the back of Malek’s head an inquisitive look. “Sir, do you know if there’s any particular file in Events that Master would prefer to start with?” he asked, hoping he’d phrased his question well enough to avoid a reprimand over being thick or slow or whichever insult of the day might have been on the man’s mind.

Malek didn't look away from the eggs and bacon he was preparing. "Why did we place History in the study and Events in the sitting room?"

Ugh. Nothing was ever easy. Suppressing the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall or possibly the countertop, Aaron opted to put his foot promptly into the bear trap, rather than waste time embarrassing himself by guessing. “I would say it’s because Master goes to the study first when he gets up, and the sitting room later in the evening, but since I was under the impression that Events was more urgent than History, that would be backwards. In that case, I’m afraid I don’t know, Sir.”

"Superficially, you are correct. Events is the more pressing matter but that is not our responsibility. Our responsibility is to prioritize the Count's preferences and unite them with the current situation." Malek explained as he chopped vegetables. "For example, this situation. Events is a tedious subject for the Count while History a delight, in this regard at least. If we reversed the position, he would wake up, come out and start sifting through Events only to lose motivation and drift into History. As his mages, it is imperative we predict this and adjust the routine accordingly. Instead, we will hand him a contents list of all the files so he can look over it before he arrives at the main bulk. Do you understand?"

Listening carefully, Aaron was pleasantly surprised when the insult he was expecting never came. Instead, it was… actually very valuable advice. Malek had a point, Varis always did say that his job as a mage was to predict his wants and needs, but Aaron spent so much time just catching up to the bare minimum he rarely managed to get ahead of Varis’ demands. Shamefully, he supposed he hadn’t put much thought into it—surprising no one, of course.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, that’s valuable information,” he replied gratefully. He did want to reach a point where Varis could rely on him to do his job well rather than watching over his every move, and in that regard, he needed all the help he could get. But he still kept up his guard. Malek was an invaluable resource, but he was also a Sinnenodel; even if the man just wanted to help make Varis’ life a little easier, Aaron doubted he’d give out his advice for free. He just wasn’t sure what on earth the man wanted in return.

"Tell me about your role in the Noilas’ household compared to here." Malek said. "Then we will discuss the Sinnenodels and your future."

More surprises, but not unwelcome ones. If he was honest, Aaron couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked about his life before the Academy without the intent of twisting the answer against him. Not that he was completely sure Malek wouldn’t do just that, but he’d indulge.

“I filled a wide range of roles back at the castle,” he began, a little less stiff than before. “Not having been assigned yet, the heads of staff had me carry out all manner of roles, from housekeeping and petty serving to occasionally aiding the upper staff and even the Princesses more directly. The royal methodology for my family is that we be as well-rounded as possible before assignment and develop expertise in a particular position after. By knowing the workings of each level of service, we— they can better fulfill their permanent roles in harmony with the rest.”

He neglected to mention that he used to hope that the focus on well-roundedness and familiarity with all of the inner workings of the castle meant that he’d someday be intended for a management role, possibly even serving the Queen; given his ousting from the family, it was clear that that was a silly pipe dream from the start. Still, he couldn’t deny that it was still an aspiration of his. Maybe a foolish one in Varis’ household, but with a lifetime ahead of him to learn, Aaron sometimes allowed himself to hope that he might someday rise to a position similar to Malek’s. Sometimes. Cautiously. There was a long way to go.

“Your new household is far less simple. Unlike the royal household, there is no point of mastery in a Sinnenodel household. There is no end in sight which marks a job well done or completed. There is only learning or failure,” Malek droned on in his monotone, raspy voice. He dumped the vegetables into the omelette and sprinkled some spices over it before flipping it. “Your improvement and development will entirely depend on your capacity to observe, analyze, plan, and execute in response to instructions both spoken and unspoken while taking into account the Count’s needs and driving your plan to facilitate those needs. Your success will go unnoticed, unheeded, and unrewarded. The lack of correction is reward enough.

“In short, take initiative. You will not be taught and rarely prepared. Ask your questions and develop a plan. Take the necessary precautions and execute that plan. A Sinnenodel keeps a delicate balance of chaos and order and has little time to devote to your incompetence. Adding to the Count’s stress is unacceptable.” Malek flipped the bacon and put the toast that popped out of the toaster on a plate. “Pour two glasses of orange juice and one glass of water and then set the table. I will be in with breakfast in a moment. In the meantime, think about what I’ve said. I’ll have questions.”

Aaron kept his expression carefully neutral as he listened, though Malek’s words sat poorly with him. No room for mastery? Surely mages at the heads of their departments, mages like Malek, were masters of their crafts if they managed to retain their positions in a Sinnenodel household. Maybe he only meant that there was no recognized mastery; Aaron could certainly believe that. The idea that no success would ever be recognized was admittedly a sad one, but he supposed that after an unstable lifetime of Sinnenodel control, the lack of humiliating and brutal correction really would feel like its own reward.

Disheartening, but at least it was honest. Aaron could appreciate that. He’d rather be prepared for a bleak future than hope for a brighter one that would never come. Besides, he shouldn’t need any more validation than the nightly business running smoothly; he knew from experience that satisfaction in one’s work done well could be potent in itself. And at least the way Malek said it, it sounded like he had some modicum of control over his trajectory in the household. Thus far, serving Varis felt like blindly feeling around a dark room, desperately hoping the next thing he touched was a candle and not a mousetrap; the idea that he could learn to anticipate Varis’ needs, get ahead of them, and someday succeed, was a hopeful one.

He almost laughed as he poured juice and set the table, putting everything neatly in its place with practiced ease. Adding to the Count’s stress is unacceptable. Well, he was certainly guilty of that, with all his tripping over his own feet. While punishing him seemed to be one of Varis’ methods of stress relief, it wasn’t exactly an excuse to keep on bumbling through the simplest things like an idiot. If Varis wanted to torment him for the fun of it, he was entitled to do that; no need to give him an excuse and further complicate his business by making him worry about a dunderheaded mage. Surely he could manage that. Aaron was coming to accept that he wasn’t as adept as attending as he used to think he was; even without Varis’ bi-nightly berating, the ease with which Princess Ryner tossed out the heir to the Starag family was more than enough evidence of that. But surely he wasn’t a completely lost cause. Surely he could learn. Maybe he just needed a little help. Hopefully, if Malek continued being so strangely charitable, he could find it here.

Malek came in a little while later, placing two omelettes at their respective spots and a plate of bacon and toast between them. Malek gestured for Aaron to sit. "With what I've said, how do you consider your performance so far?"

Aaron sat where indicated, but had to suppress a groan. Was ‘abysmal’ too blunt? It was one of Varis’ favourites when describing his performance, after all, but Malek wanted his opinion; apparently that was a Sinnenodel trend. But what more intelligent response could he come up with? Malek preached predictive action, and Aaron felt like he was chasing a car down a hill that he was supposed to be driving.

“I’ve made some progress,” he decided to begin with what little positive he had. “Master has given me some additional duties, and he rarely pays any attention to my regular tasks. But…” he suppressed a sigh, instead closing his eyes for a second. “I’d call my overall performance poor, Sir. I can hardly keep up with what he asks of me explicitly, let alone predict his needs before he voices them. And once I think I understand the rhythm, I fail at something else. It’s like I’ve gone backwards.” He couldn’t quite hide the shame in his voice.

Malek sat as Aaron spoke, pulling a long finger ring from his pocket and slipping it on. He tapped it to the glass of water and it frosted it over before he took a sip. The temperature of the room dropped a little.

"We rarely have new retainers enter the household this late. I suspect there will be a steep learning curve." Malek agreed, cutting into his food after laying out his napkin. "The important thing is to remember to observe, analyze, plan, and execute. Did you look at the books on the bookshelves in the study when you started your schooling here?" Malek took another bite as Aaron nodded. He chewed exactly 50 times and swallowed.

"Count Varis has been replacing the books. If you had to guess, what subject has he been putting on the shelves?" Malek asked as he continued to eat.

Aaron cut into his own omelette as Malek asked his question, savouring the rare opportunity to eat something other than fruit pastries and coffee for breakfast. He’d forgotten how much he missed starting his night with something substantial—though he’d admit he didn’t miss the protein supplements he used to choke down back at the castle. Malek’s question seemed suspiciously simple, but he’d bite. “History?”

"Correct." The temperature in the dining room dropped again. "Since there is finite space for books on the shelves, he must choose carefully which books he takes off. Which subject does he remove? It's his weakest by far."

Aaron took a moment to remember exactly what the shelves held when they started. He hadn’t really looked at them since he went looking for a geographical reference for one of Varis’ essays, but he remembered thinking they’d been stocked with a vampire’s general interests in mind, usually tending toward subjects tangentially related to politics. But there was one topic they clearly stocked there for mages, and that Aaron suspected could fairly be called Varis’ weakest, given that he’d asked him to request ‘resistance to bruising’ from the life mage last night. “Magical theory?”

"Normally that would be the correct answer. Given the importance of your development, disregard that subject." Malek replied as the temperature dropped again and he took another bite. "His weakest, and least favorite, of the remaining subjects is geography. You'll find any references replaced by his favorite historical texts while the books are likely kept hidden in his desk. I take it that you've failed to notice. It is a small detail but with a vampire of Count Varis' standing, the smallest detail may be all it takes to ensure success."

"When Count Varis takes his time to correct your actions, how do you assimilate his criticism into your behaviors?" Malek asked. "And how do you ensure you do not repeat the same mistake twice?"

Starting to notice a chill, Aaron reflexively looked around to ensure no windows had been left open; not that they would be, considering that the windows hadn’t been opened since the weather turned chilly in October. Was Malek making the room colder? He’d frozen over the glass, so he must have been an ice mage. It reminded Aaron a little too much of how the temperature would plummet around his grandmother whenever she got tired of dealing with him, or how Ralph used to freeze out Cerulean Hall at the very sight of him.

This question, though, took a little more doing. He’d have to admit he never put much thought into how he applied Varis’ criticisms. He knew he did, and he did so deliberately when he was reprimanded, but he’d never really given his methodology a name. “I suppose I keep his criticisms in mind whenever I encounter a similar situation,” he tried carefully, thinking as he spoke. That was a good enough way to say that Varis’ criticisms tended to replay in his head long after they’d been given. “I do my best to remedy my behaviour more enthusiastically than I think is necessary, so I don’t risk insufficiently correcting.”

The next part at least had a bit of basis in his past, but was no more defined. “Growing up, I always tested my boundaries. My teacher at Noila castle had me over his knee more times than I’d care to remember. But I never did make the same mistake twice.” He took on a puzzling look as he cut into his food. “I admit, I’m not sure exactly what I do to ensure that. It’s always felt like second nature.”

"That is where they failed you. Physical punishment is merely treating the symptoms of greater incompetence. It seems you have never encountered a situation where the path was not laid before you. Your struggles share a direct relationship to your previous methods but you are no longer theirs." Malek said bluntly, sipping at his water. "It is time you expand your capacity to analyze your situation without additional prompting, observe your surroundings without command. You are not a mindless slave. You are a mage, one who commands a power others dream of and it is not our nature to bow our heads and wait. Question. Why, why, why. The more questions you have answered, the more apparent the patterns become, the better prepared you are to handle your responsibilities. I, for one, keep a notepad on me at all times. I am no vampire; my memory is limited. I overcome this in order to better serve the Count with a simple tool. Looking at a situation and asking why it was a failure is the first step to broadening your horizons." The temperature slipped down some more. Malek's breath was visible now.

"It will be good practice for your mistake of a major. The Count informed me of your decision, and your disrespect, but did not seek to explain why." Malek stated, clearly asking for Aaron's input.

Aaron nodded as Malek spoke, eyes landing on his food as he turned the words over in his mind. Analyze. Question. He'd admit that Malek was right: critical thought was important back at the castle, but it was more to protect yourself and your master from manipulation than just to do your job. There was nothing to decipher about orders from the Noilas; operations were smooth, straightforward, and meticulous, everything made painfully clear to all parties involved to ensure nothing went awry. Trading the target on his back from serving the royal family for the thin ice every Sinnenodel mage seemed to tread was a jarring change indeed, but having things finally laid out clearly did make serving Varis feel a little less impossible.

He moved to take another bite, but at the mention of his major, lowered his fork again. Ugh, this again? He honestly wasn't sure why his choice was so hard for Varis (and other Sinnenodels, apparently) to wrap his head around. Yes, it was risky, and yes, there was the issue of Lady Sinnenodel collecting mental mages like puppets, but in a house where secrecy and subterfuge were paramount, how could it possibly be okay not to cover a gaping hole in his defences?

“I realize it’s… precarious,” he began, a little exasperated, “but after having experienced a mental invasion at the hands of our Lady and learning just how open to attack I am, it felt imperative that I learn to defend myself. I can't be near Master at all times, and leaving myself helpless to such infiltration seemed unacceptable, especially in this House.”

Malek frowned as he finished his bite, the temperature stabilizing. "I do not see how staying near the Count would protect you from Lady Sybil but it does not matter. I realize now you are hopelessly naive. I have no doubt these four years will rectify that." He took another bite, watching Aaron thoughtfully as he chewed.

"Your future here in Count Varis' household is all but guaranteed. Your pedigree assures you will be a show mage, much like my grand niece, and as such you will eventually earn far more independence than most mages in any Sinnenodel household." Malek explained. "It is imperative that you learn the basic essentials of being a Sinnenodel mage because you will find yourself with less and less support and held to even higher standards because of it."

Inwardly, Aaron slumped, though he'd never show it. It wasn't like he didn't know Varis wanted him as a show mage, and maybe he should just be happy that he didn't have to fight for his place in the household, but it also sounded an awful lot like there'd be no going up from there. So much for his ambitions. “And what exactly does that entail?”

"It depends if you are in service abroad or at the estate. While at the estate, your primary responsibilities will include maintaining your health, keeping abreast of all major political players across the realm, and monitoring news and events that need be brought to the Count's attention. It may seem a simple responsibility but it often comes hand in hand with further educating yourself as you come across events and individuals outside of your fields of expertise. Eloise rarely finds free time at home with the exception of meal times and even then she often brings a book or newspaper." Malek explained, pausing to take another bite. He took a little longer to consider the next part.

"While abroad, you will be expected to represent the face of the house and family. If the Count is with you, your job is to observe and shift the scenario in the Count's favor." Malek continued. "If you are alone or have been dismissed from his side, your job is the same but more active. Socialize with vampires and mages alike to find openings and weaknesses for the Count to exploit. Create favors and develop alliances with those Count Varis can rely on or intimidate into service. You are a honeypot. You will be expected to do whatever it takes to advance Count Varis', and thus our, prestige and influence."

Well, it wasn't management, but at least it wasn't idle. Aaron liked to believe he could tolerate doing anything so long as he wasn't doing nothing, and he let himself be hopeful he could enjoy a job that expanded on his existing interest in political affairs.

“I suppose I should count myself lucky to work so closely with our master,” he replied thoughtfully, gesturing around. “This… unique situation does give me the opportunity to hone those skills on mages and vampires of all sorts. Maybe I should see if I can contact Eloise; I imagine she'd have some valuable insight into how I can prepare for this role.”

“A sound idea.” Malek commented as the temperature plummeted sharply. He put his utensils down and his frown deepened as he continued, giving Aaron his undivided attention. “And has the Count informed you of the unique circumstances revolving the Sinnenodel heir’s appointment?”

Malek’s approval clashed with the plummeting temperature, Aaron fighting to resist rubbing his arms. “I know that our Lady chooses a new heir every century or so, throwing the House into turmoil in the process,” he answered cautiously, remembering Varis’ stark warning on their first night together to keep the circumstances of his particular ascension secret.

“That is a mild way of putting it. I was 15 when the Count took his place as the head of our family and the heir to the Sinnenodel seat.” Malek’s tone didn’t change but he had a fond look in his eyes. “Before that, the castle was impenetrable for two decades. We were only permitted to leave when absolutely necessary with armed guards in case someone tried to slip in as an imposter. Alliances were formed and broken each night and you never were sure if the next moonrise would be the end of everything you knew.

“It happens in parts and each part has a name. The first is Stratagem and it lasts fifty years. The various Counts and Countesses who failed recuperate, plan, form their early alliances, and lay their traps. No Sinnenodel may kill another Sinnenodel during this time but destruction of property is permitted.” Malek, if possible, became even more serious. “Count Varis’ birth signalled the end of Stratagem and moved us into Culling. Each Sinnenodel may attempt to kill one other if they wish. Disrupting their plans, business, and dealings is still preferred but one attempt each. Usually, various factions form and commit to one target. They commit their resources to the single cause so multiple attempts can be made.

“His 140th birthday will shift the competition into The Final Decade. Lady Sinnenodel ranks prospective heirs and lets them have free reign at each other. She also adds her own wild card to the mix, a random vampire she elevated from the streets over the past century. Removing them from the board puts the responsible vampire on top.” Malek continued grimly. “All the while, no one from the other families can find out about the game. If they do, Lady Sybil strips the Sinnenodel responsible for the leak, they disappear, and the vampires who discovered it conveniently forget it.” Malek sighed. “Your final responsibility as a show mage will be to protect the Count as the final line of defense.”

Aaron’s eyes widened as he listened, food all but forgotten. So, as every other family gaped and sneered at the outward chaos of the Sinnenodels, there had been order all this time? A brutal order, but order nonetheless. Lady Sinnenodel didn’t just delight in turmoil; she planned it, to the point that each stage in her game was named.

Lady Sinnenodel’s own words from their dinner with the Queen rang clear again, this time much more darkly. “We recommend you learn quickly. Our House tends to tilt every few years. It would be a shame to lose you in it.” Good lord, tilt was certainly a word for it. ‘Burn to the ground’ might reasonably be another. And if they were in the second half of her vicious cycle…

“Forgive me if I state the obvious, Mr. Abadi,” Aaron said apprehensively, “but doesn’t this mean that now more than ever, our master has a target on his back?”

“And you are currently responsible for safeguarding him,” Malek agreed as he returned to his slow eating. “Which means it is incredibly important that you learn the Sinnenodel way quickly. Your time here will end abruptly otherwise”

Aaron’s eyes fell somewhere on the table in front of him, and he took a long breath to quell the jittering in his stomach. He’d always very well known that all his martial training was done with the aim that he be capable of defending his master if need be, but now, to be in the position to actually do it…

“Duly noted, sir,” he breathed. It was a weight on his shoulders he’d been prepared to bear, but not so abruptly. He’d always been willing to throw himself into the fray if need be, but to think that Varis was at risk of more than just the routine dangers of aristocratic life, and to think that attacks could come from anywhere, probably meticulously planned and great in number… well, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt the weight of his responsibility so heavily.

"And after this conversation, I have no confidence in your abilities." Malek said, putting his cutlery down. "What have I been doing and why?"

The full force of the early hour fell on Aaron as he met Malek’s eye, some of his exasperation from the night before coming back. Right; helpful advice or no, it was still a Sinnenodel he was dealing with. “You’ve been making the room colder,” he stabbed, “either elegantly expressing your distaste without interrupting your meal or trying to throw me off more than I’ve already done myself.”

"Control yourself. Despite your inexperience, I have no quarrel with you. Either of those reasons are a waste of magic." Malek stood and slipped off his ring. "It was to stabilize the ice I was forming on the legs of your chair. Thirty seconds more and I would have torn your calves to ribbons and you would have bled out before you could stop me moving on to the Count. I expect better the next time we see each other, Starag. Your life is on the line too. Good evening." Malek nodded at Aaron as he made his way out.

There was little more for Aaron to do but stare in shocked silence as Malek took his leave, frozen in place until the sound of his fork clattering to the tabletop snapped him out of it. A glance down proved the truth in Malek’s words: his chair legs were frozen to the floor, a number of wicked-looking spikes jutting out of them mere inches from his legs. Every bit of what little resolve he'd gained from their conversation left him, and he didn't even have the energy to stand. He let his head fall into his hands, seething, and pure and heavy exhaustion was all that stopped him from screaming out his frustration. A fucking failure again!

Aaron sat in that spot for a long time, anger and frustration and crushing defeat swirling dark and wordlessly through his head until the feeling of cold water soaking his socks brought him out of it. Right, the ice was melting. That wasn’t going to stop just to give him a chance to seethe; the world kept turning even when he was knocked down, and there was no choice but to hobble to his feet and limp along with it.

With a long sigh he finally mustered up the strength to get out of his chair, dropping his wet socks off in the hamper before making a beeline to the linen closet for a towel. There was no use in mopping until all the ice had melted, so he simply laid the towel out under the chair to catch the water for the time being and turned his attention to the table.

The very sight of Malek’s dishes got him unreasonably angry, the blond collecting his plate and glasses with a white-knuckled grip. He had a strong urge to throw them into the sink or against the wall or even the tile floor, craving the cathartic sound of shattering glass and porcelain, but he refrained, clearing them of food and placing them gently in the sink - even though the force of his grip made his fingers creak when he released them. The same was done with his own dishes, orange juice and omelette going either down the sink or into the trash. So much for his rare chance at a substantial breakfast; he was far too agitated to eat now, and far too pissed at Malek to touch anything he made. He’d just have to take the garbage out before Varis woke up so he didn’t have to endure a lecture about waste.

He washed the dishes in festering silence, every little clink of glass and metal poking at his bruised ego until he finally paused to hang his head in defeat. Whatever vigour his anger had injected into him disappeared as quickly as it came, and he was left heavy and motionless, barely able to muster up the energy - or the drive - to wash the last dish.

He sighed. Maybe it was unreasonable to be angry at Malek. His sneaky little ending move notwithstanding, he had offered a great deal of advice and insight on the workings of a Sinnenodel house and Aaron’s place within it. He was confident he’d never manage to figure all that out on his own, so maybe he should cut the old man some slack. Malek had imparted to him the vast weight of his duty to Count Varis, and judging by the man’s description, the harsh nature of his training and punishment wasn’t anything special in this House. Hell, there was probably a time when the old man was young that he suffered similar ‘discipline’, and who could blame him for adopting the tactics he himself had to endure? That was how Count Varis’ household was run; to pretend otherwise was a fool’s errand and a disservice.

Still, no matter how many times he repeated that mantra, Aaron couldn’t quite shake his frustration. Hard truths were necessary, yes, but was this really the best way to teach them?! Malek said it himself: if it had been anyone else in the dorm with him that night, they would have done away with Varis before Aaron even had a chance to stop them. But must everything be self-taught? Surely actually teaching new hands the ropes was more efficient and more effective than letting them trip without guidance until they learned to keep their footing on their own! “Adding to the Count’s stress is unacceptable” his ass--wouldn’t it be less stressful to Varis if the head of the damn household made sure his underlings knew what they were doing rather than just avoiding the collateral damage and hoping for the best?! Or was it just spite that made him look on as other mages failed where he’d succeeded?

It was a miracle Aaron made it through the last few dishes without breaking any of them, and the rest of the cleanup passed in a haze, the mage flip-flopping between anger and guilt over said anger as he mopped and tidied. Cleaning usually helped clear his head and calm him down, but there just wasn’t enough work to be done to achieve that this morning. Once the trash was taken care of, he found himself searching for other tasks to no avail; every common area of the dorm was already spotless, the laundromat wouldn’t open for another few hours, and even the windows were clean from his deep clean a few nights before.

Wandering into his room offered only more of the same. It was pristine, not a speck of dust on any surface and no clutter to be seen. Not that the room ever got very dirty to start with; even months into the semester he still lived like a guest in his own dorm. The lack of doors ensured every personal item was promptly tucked out of sight as soon as he was done with it, and what few things did have to stay out, like his messenger bag, never strayed from the same few small, hidden spots. Even the closet was sterile, looking more like the racks at a clothing store than a personal wardrobe, but Aaron gravitated there anyway. Maybe re-organizing his closet would burn off the rest of his agitation, and he hadn’t had a chance to dust the very backs of the shelves in a while.

For a blessing, his plan ended up working. By the time 6:30pm rolled around, every shelf had been thoroughly dusted and every shirt, vest, jacket and pair of pants had been hung neatly back up in meticulous order. The very last thing to be done (before sweeping the dust off the floor, of course) was to put his empty luggage from night one back in its place on the highest back shelf, a cinch since they were so light.

Until one fell down.

Aaron scrambled to catch it, earning a sore spot on his shoulder for his effort, but managed to stop it from slamming to the ground and possibly waking Varis up. Good lord, wouldn’t that be a sight - “Oh yes, sorry Master, I was stress cleaning because your head of staff reminded me how much of a bumbling child I really am and oh my, wouldn’t you know it, here I go again being stupid!” Perfect.

He let out a potent sigh of relief, consciously relaxing his shoulders before moving to put the suitcase back in its place. It fit perfectly on the top shelf in front of the other, larger suitcase, the shelf just wide enough to hold both if they were placed on their sides. But when he replaced it, watching to make sure it stayed this time, it just wouldn’t settle, tilting forward after a few seconds every time he tried to get it to stay. Apparently it was somehow unbalanced toward the front, great. He supposed he could have just turned it around and stacked it with its back and wheels facing out, but that would be unsightly, and in a room with no doors, every detail had to be considered.

Groaning inwardly, he took the suitcase down, laying it quietly on the floor of the closet. Maybe he could put something in it to weigh it down and stop it from tipping. A quick scan of his room revealed an unused bookend as an appropriate choice; it came with the room at the start of the term, and its twin was the only one that saw any use at the moment. Snatching it and returning to the closet, he unzipped the suitcase and flopped the cover open, only to see something strange through the translucent lining of one of the inner pockets. Brow furrowing, he set the bookend aside and opened the zipper, fishing out the mystery object with confusion that quickly turned to awe when he saw what it was: a tuning fork, in middle C, with a note attached in Princess Ryner’s handwriting.

When the snake grows too venomous, find him and ring twice to escape and thrice for help.

Aaron simply stared between the tuning fork and note for a moment, both shocked and amused. He’d completely forgotten about the strange little gift; he’d received it in the mail the evening after that horrible dinner with his Lady, and somehow never given it another thought. Things picked up so abruptly he supposed he never got the chance to puzzle over it, and asking Ryner about it when he got the chance hadn’t even crossed his mind. Though, with every other perplexing and horrifying thing swirling around his mind these past few months, maybe that was a blessing.

When the snake grows too venomous… That must have been a reference to Varis, but Aaron wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. If he was too harsh? The note made it sound like the fork was an escape, some kind of last resort if serving Varis proved too much for him, but surely that couldn’t be it. The Princess wouldn’t give him to Varis in the first place if she thought he’d need rescuing. And why would she care if he needed rescuing if she was the one getting rid of him?

Aaron stood abruptly, dropping the fork and backing away from the suitcase. Something wasn’t sitting right. So what, he was supposed to believe that he’d spent these months with some kind of powerful magical artifact in his closet, suffering and failing when he could have just made it all go away? That this whole time relief was at his fingertips? That the punishments, the humiliation, the impossible tasks and the ostracization, none of it was actually necessary?!

He ran a hand down his face, pacing a circle in the closet doorway. No. There was no way; it was too much. It was all too much. He’d never had a say in his life; of course not! He was a Starag! From the very day he was born his path had been decided for him--and this was no different. It was some kind of red herring, or cruel joke, or some other impotent showmanship from Ryner to make him think she cared. No, if she cared she wouldn’t have put him in this situation to start with. If she cared, she would have left him alone to pursue the life he was intended instead of turning his world upside-down. And if by some miracle there was some reason beyond his pervasive ineptitude that she’d thrown him to the snakes, if she cared, she could have just told him!

Of course. It was bullshit. Of course it was! And he’d prove it!

He lurched forward, tossing the note aside and tramping out to his bedroom, fork in hand. He came to a stop by his bed and wound his arm back, ready to strike the fork against one of the bedposts. Why not? It wasn’t like anything would happen. Note or not, he’d ring the thing all damn day and nothing and no one would answer it.

But… what if something did?

He stopped mid-swing, twining his hands through his hair in frustration. No! This wasn’t a bedtime story with some miraculous happy ending to bring the tale to a close; there was no magic button he could press, or fork he could ring, that would make his life go back to the way it was before. That life was gone; his chance wasted, his reputation beyond repair, and his name barely holding on by a thread. Nothing was going to change that, and no foolish hope or cryptic damn tuning fork would make a damn whit of difference. And he didn’t need it anyway! Sure, serving Varis was hard, and frustrating, crushing and demoralizing, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle! What sort of pathetic excuse for a mage did Ryner think he was to think he’d get lured in by this crap in the first place?!

He wound up again, staring daggers at the bedpost, but after a few long moments of deliberating, dropped his arms in defeat. What on earth was he doing? What was he trying to prove? All that would happen when he rang that fork was Varis storming out of his bedroom and tearing a strip off him for waking him up. All this brooding and deliberating was just a self-serving waste of time.

Glancing down once more at the tuning fork, Aaron was tempted to march out into the backyard and throw the damn thing into the woods. But he refrained, returning it with the bookend to his suitcase and putting it back up on the shelf where it belonged, no longer threatening to tip over. He stared up at the thing for a while, deliberating over whether he should still trash the ‘gift’, but forced himself to turn away with a determined huff. He was just wasting time and energy, and he had work to do. Forest fires always stimulated new growth, and he was well and truly tired of burning.

Maybe he could see about finding a way to determine someone’s affinity without asking them. He’d like to see Malek try to pull one over on him then.

By the time Aaron’s 5:50am alarm went off, he’d completely lost track of time. Max had gotten him talking about magic in the dining hall, and it felt so unexpectedly nice to just talk (even with Max—who, to his credit, did more to participate than just sit there and yawn) that the morning had totally gotten away from him. There were no missed messages from Varis waiting on his phone, which was good, but that didn’t stop Aaron from breaking off hurriedly at the alarm and running back across campus to make it to his doorstep at 5:55.

He shivered when he came to a stop, the run not entirely negating the bite of the damp cold that seeped right through his jacket, and knocked promptly, surprised when the door opened sooner than usual. Granted, it opened to the back of Varis’ head, the Count retreating back into the dorm the instant the door was unlocked. It looked like he was talking to someone on his phone, and by his tone, he was irritated.

“... fully aware of the deadlines for that contract, Albainar. I set it. Unfortunately, family business reared its ugly head and you’ll have to secure it in my place. Eloise has been at Nintrella’s for the past week laying the foundation to my specifications; all you have to do is pretend you aren’t brain dead and we’ll have broken into the market there, understood?” There was a pause and the faint clicking of keys. “Just make sure the car is scheduled appropriately. If everything goes to plan, I’ll be back within a week. There will be words if I come back and find you’ve made a mess of things!”

Aaron stepped inside readily, but quietly, putting his boots and coat away as gently as he could manage so as not to interrupt the call. Varis, meanwhile, had sequestered himself in the study before Aaron’s laces were even untied. That was fine—gave him some more time to prepare. Straightening up his sweater from his little run, he took his position by the study door, pressing his ear to the wall. He listened for the call’s end, not able to discern any words but able to tell that Varis was talking, and fidgeted, trying to put his thoughts in order. As he did his best to itemize a list of all he’d learned, a ball of… excitement? Was that right? Whirled in his stomach, and it was hard to tell if the tingling in his fingers was nervousness or anticipation to be able to finally, finally tell Varis he did something right.

A few excruciating minutes later, Varis finally ended the call, and after waiting the customary ten seconds, Aaron knocked on the door.

Varis looked up at the knock, glaring through it. Of course the boy had to come back now. He checked the time, clicking his tongue irritably as he realized the boy was technically on time, and cleaned up everything he was doing, closing his calendar, putting away the file, and tidying up the pile of books he pulled off the shelves and started taking notes from. He considered sending the boy away but if he was knocking at the door just to announce his presence, it’d be an excellent opportunity to drill another lesson into him. On the other hand, there may be the tiniest chance he had something useful to say and Varis would end up banging his head against the wall if he missed something. Varis settled into his chair with a sigh.

“Enter.” Varis snapped, eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Good morning, Master,” Aaron stepped in and bowed appropriately, opting to cut to the chase. “I’ve come into some information I believe will interest you.”

“You believe or you know? That sounds like a guess and we discussed guessing. Do you need a reminder?” Varis demanded, snapping once at his feet. Apparently, it was option number one. Mortals and their indecisiveness, always wasting his time. “Well, let’s hear the fruits of your first foray as a gossipmonger.”

Aaron was unperturbed by the reprimand, kneeling in place almost as an afterthought and speaking with the same energy as before. “Mr. Samael is doing some digging into Sinnenodel family connections, Master,” he offered first, “specifically whether any existed with Greta Bordeleaux. Does that sound familiar at all?”

Varis, in a moment of weakness, let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand down his face. Looking into connections to the Sinnenodel family and a dead vampire he was accused of cheating with? What did the deluded vampire hope to gain? Now Varis was going to have to monitor that in addition to every other thing he was doing just in case Eris did stumble across something his Lady didn’t want getting out. And all without her knowledge because if she thought someone was sniffing around something important, she would not hesitate to end that investigation thoroughly. Varis was going to strangle the vampire once Eris finalized whatever plan he was getting up to. He was playing with fire and Varis sincerely doubted Eris was ready for that.

“Unfortunately, I am fully aware of this complication.” Varis replied shortly.

“Really,” Aaron’s response came before he had the chance to temper it, and he furrowed his brow down at his hands, puzzled. Varis knew? But how? Unless the woman manning the bakery was a spy with a direct, invisible line to the Sinnenodel dorm, there was no way there’d been enough time for an outside source to relay that information back to him. But surely Eris hadn’t outright told him—informing a Sinnenodel you’d be looking into their affairs was tantamount to telling a deer you’d be shooting it. The words would barely be out of his mouth before any lead he would ever have hoped to find was either safely buried or destroyed.

“Have you any idea why, Master?” he asked, looking back up. By all accounts, it made no sense for Eris to be snooping into Varis’ business. Their partnership aside, they worked in entirely different circles; a competitive advantage (if something like pre-treaty history even had any bearing on that—Aaron was skeptical, but stranger things had happened) was fruitless if the advantage was over someone with whom you’d never compete in the first place. Varis owned paper mills and energy companies and dealt with Treaty matters—Eris was a screen actor. Even if he had holdings in industries Varis involved himself in, it was all so far removed from centuries’ old history that Aaron couldn’t draw any connection between them that would be worth doing this sort of groundwork.

Of course Varis had an idea and it was all Ryner’s fault, the damnable Princess doing whatever she wished for her own amusement. It was frustrating beyond all belief but the deed had been done. Plus, Varis knew there wouldn’t be a connection between him and Greta; frankly, Varis was more concerned that Eris would find something even he didn’t know and it would give him a great deal of leverage. What a nuisance Eris was making himself to be right now but after his little temper tantrum last night, Varis supposed it was only logical in the emotional vampire’s eyes.

“Yes, really.” Varis would leave that discussion for after. The boy clearly needed to be reminded it wasn’t his place to question what Varis said. “Ryner pitted Eris against me, filling his head with the ludicrous notion that I was replacing him. She thought it amusing but whatever nonsense she said stuck and now he’s paranoid.”

“I see.” If it was Ryner’s doing, then this mess must have originated inside that trial, like Aaron had originally thought; unsurprising given he could have outright told Max that Varis wouldn’t have pointed Eris in that direction himself.

“So his interest stems from the trial, then…” Aaron quietly thought aloud. He raised his voice to explain. “I spent the past few hours with Max, Master. He came looking for information on Greta and any connections she might have had with the Sinnenodels—of which of course I told him there were none—but afterward, we got to talking about the trial again. He’s under the impression that the clones don’t lie, and after a bit of convincing with an old castle rumour, I was able to get out of him what Mr. Samael told him of his encounter with your clone.”

He looked up to Varis, visibly puzzled. “By what he told me, Mr. Samael’s encounter with your clone sounds awfully similar to your encounter with mine, Master. Apparently it was also talking gibberish, not sure where, when, or even who it was.” He wrinkled his nose in confusion. “Interestingly, it was apparently also spouting names, and the only one Max could recall was Lord Ralmevik.”

He spun his ring in his lap, averting his eyes in thought for a moment before returning his gaze. “Even if it is a ploy by Her Highness to put you off balance, Master, don’t the two sound strangely similar? Why exercise the same tactic on both of you? I struggle to think of a reason she might want Mr. Samael at a disadvantage, and it’s not like someone of her age and reputation to play with nobles just for fun.”

If he hadn't thought the boy a grovelling, brainwashed fool before, he most certainly did now. He did, in fact, consider the boy that way but this only confirmed it. Ryner lived to play with nobles. She was just usually far more discreet about it which in and of itself was a warning sign but it was likely meant to be just that. Varis recognized an obvious trap when he saw one and this had all the hallmarks of it. He wasn’t sure what the angle was but he was sure he’d find out soon enough.

And his clone spewed the same nonsense the boy’s did in his challenge? How odd. Ryner had proven the entire encounter was scripted but why use the same details? His was supposedly personal, the boy’s was definitely personal, and he presumed Eris’ mage’s ordeal was as well so why have him bring up Ralmevik to Eris? As far as he was aware, Eris had nothing to do with the Lord’s life or death. And why in the world would Varis not know where he was? His setting had been a vague interpretation of the boy’s dedication to the Starag bloodline so Eris should have been somewhere that represented something equally important to him. So why deviate from how she handled the others?

Varis tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. Why indeed. Something tugged at his memory, something Ryner said about Eris at their meeting that he’d overlooked, a detail he hadn’t considered important in his fury. It was right on the tip of his tongue and he couldn’t quite think of it. He clicked his tongue irritably. It would come to him in a moment.

“It does defy her explanation of the test but they must be able to lie. There isn’t anything tying the blood traitor to Eris. No one in his family came up in my research.” Varis muttered to himself thoughtfully. His attention came back to the boy briefly. “Why does Eris’ mage believe the duplicates are incapable of deception? And what rumor did you give him to loosen his tongue?”

Aaron took a breath to answer, but it caught in his throat when he realized he was even dumber than Varis probably thought. Try as he might to remember the answer to the first question, it just wasn’t there, and in half a second he had to come to terms with the fact that in his haste to find out what the Varis clone had said, he’d somehow forgotten to ask why.

“Apparently my trial’s representation of him rang eerily true—something to keep an eye on, but I doubt it’ll be any trouble for the moment,” Aaron embellished before he’d hesitated too long, voice firm as if nothing had happened. “He even demonstrated as much. His clone commented on being ‘real’, and wouldn’t you know it, the real thing tried to establish boundaries beyond which we’re meant to speak without fear of our words making it back to our masters.” He shook his head nonchalantly, though a finger of guilt did twist in his stomach as he spoke. “Obviously I won’t be withholding anything, Master, but it’s a useful promise to make to loosen him up a little.”

There, that would be enough to tide Varis over. “As for our little trade, I tempted him with an old family consensus from the Treaty days,” he continued airily. “Rumour has it that Princess Nox didn’t resist the Treaty just out of her hatred for magekind, but to spite Princess Ryner herself. The story goes that Ryner interfered in Nox’s mission to avenge Greta’s death, and she never forgave her.” He shrugged, though a ghost of that self-satisfied look returned to his eye. “Not terribly recent, but he was looking for information on Greta that was scrubbed from history. However, given that Their Highnesses haven’t spoken a private word to each other in Starag living memory, my family and I are inclined to believe it’s true.”

So it was circumstantial evidence that brought them to this conclusion? Varis scoffed at the time he wasted listening to it. Of course they didn’t need to lie to put the boy off balance; threaten his pathetic excuse of a world view and mission accomplished. Eris’ pet metal mage must have suited their needs just fine. One duplicate only speaking truth wasn’t enough to verify that they were incapable of it. It only proved that the boy was simple. Which would explain why he seemed to consider it with more than a passing thought.

Of course, that did bring another point to the table. Assuming they decided last minute to use Eris’ pet instead of him, they would have had to work an entirely new script and vampire or not, Varis wasn’t sure he knew anyone able to put something like that together in only a few minutes. Every other challenge revolved around forcing the partners into uncomfortable situations with each other and this one didn’t follow that pattern. Which just takes him back to square one with nothing to show. That wasn’t true; it just showed Ryner was clearly leading people around in circles and she knew it.

“It’s reassuring to hear it isn’t just a publicity stunt. I wonder if it's too late to capitalize on that wound.” Varis pondered the boy’s revelation. It’s possible that escalating the situation between the sisters would jeopardize their plans but it could also be a useful backup plan. He was sure Ryner had something up her sleeve herself; it was about time he did too. “However, that’s something to consider later. While your circumstantial evidence makes me disinclined to believe you, it did bring me to another avenue of inquiry. Ryner claims this was scripted beforehand. To the best of your knowledge, do you believe either yours or Eris’ pet’s experience could have been a well rehearsed performance?”

Aaron’s brow furrowed in thought. Scripted implied that, beyond maybe a few alternatives where multiple reactions were likely, the clones’ words and actions were predetermined. Max hadn’t said much about his trial with the Eris clone, but judging by his own experience with Max’s, Aaron wasn’t so sure that could be the case. Sure, the first half of their encounter could have been predicted easily enough; some cutting insults and predetermined responses to silence would be easy enough to prepare in advance, and the clone flexing its magic muscles was as good as guaranteed. The clone knowing about what happened to Dora under Lady Sinnenodel’s orders was odd, but not unpredictable; it was obviously something that bothered him, and Ryner herself could have inserted it. His own responses about the futility of Max’s chafing could probably even have been predicted, but something about it didn’t sit right.

“I… find it hard to believe someone writing a script could have predicted how my encounter ended,” he finally answered, thinking out loud. “When Max’s clone was goaded past strategy and his attacks were spent, he just melted the coin in his hand. If the encounter was predetermined, I would have expected that to be a loss condition.” He shook his head. “But when I appealed to him that it was pointless to fight anymore and that giving me the coin meant I could finally leave him alone, I didn’t even expect him to be receptive. My sword was gone and I was injured and at his mercy; with how bloodthirsty he’d been up to that point, not to mention the joy he took in the idea of my defeat, I would have expected him to kill me and send me back to the clearing empty-handed. But he didn’t.”

Aaron tugged at his ear, that little pang of guilt striking him again. “Instead, he said he could ‘respect me when I’m being real’, and after a bit more convincing, he just reformed the coin and handed it over. And like I said, that part was proven true tonight.” He looked back up to Varis. “If it really was all scripted, whoever wrote it —presumably one of the Academy’s mages—would have had to know Max much better than I do, and given they'd be in the Academy’s employ, I find that hard to believe.”

Unless they used mental mages. He wouldn’t be surprised if she did; with active research going on alongside students, it was the perfect place to develop more advanced techniques. Though he doubted Ryner would do that to her mages. The vampires without a doubt but her soft spot for the lesser race guaranteed they were safe from her meddling with some exceptions and he couldn’t see Eris’ pet being one of those as insignificant as he was. Varis sighed. There was too much disinformation and he had so much already on his plate. The information wasn’t adding up, everyone had a different idea and no concrete proof and the people who did have it were securely under Ryner’s heel. He did have an option but he wasn’t sure it was ready to be used yet. He might not have a choice.

“So Eris’ pet believes the clones tell the truth but the only proof we have is a single, circumstantial event. Clearly, Eris believes it otherwise he wouldn’t be investigating this silly fantasy. But I’m loath to accept it as fact without more information.” He had his own experience but he wasn’t about to divulge that to the boy. No need for him to think he had a grip on what he went through. Varis rubbed his ear absently. “But let’s entertain this notion for a moment. Imagine that my duplicate was me in true form, incapable of presenting any falsehoods. My first and most pressing question is why did it not know who it was? Who did it think it was and what purpose does presenting an honestly confused duplicate serve, what opportunity does it afford?” Varis tapped his foot and then waved at the boy.

“Stand. We’re going to do a little exercise. Imagine yourself as Eris, the playboy actor who took the world by storm, enjoys every bit of attention you can soak up, and hides a contemplative personality behind the exhausting facade. I send the person who you apparently have a more than professional interest in, confused, lost. What do you do? How do you handle it?” Varis asked Aaron even as he considered the answer himself.

Aaron nodded along with Varis’ reasoning, just as puzzled as his master was. Truth be told, he was relieved Varis didn't wave it all off as nothing—it made him feel a little less crazy to know that he wasn't the only one who thought things weren't adding up—but that there really might be an ulterior motive to all of this nonsense was a discomforting prospect nonetheless.

He stood when beckoned, pausing a moment to consider the prompt. Stepping into Eris’ shoes was a challenge, but after all the time he’d spent around the actor, Aaron liked to think he had at least a cursory understanding of how he ticked. From what he’d seen, Eris understood the world in relation to himself: people and things were judged on how they could help or hurt him, and valued based on how they could be used to his advantage. In that sense, it wasn’t surprising that he and Varis got along. But he was more sentimental than Varis, as evidenced by his distress when he and Max couldn’t get along—not to mention his insufferable fawning over the Count himself. Knowing that, it made sense for someone wanting to get a rise out of him to present him with someone confused; it would probably kill him to think he’d been completely forgotten.

“I shift the focus to myself,” Aaron decided, gesturing to himself. “Maybe this version of the Count can’t remember who he is, but surely he’ll remember his flamboyant associate and lover of thirty-odd years. So maybe I… reference a particularly important favour I did for him, or remind him of how we met. Some landmark in time that should be unforgettable.”

Which should have been enough if it had been a replication of himself. If Eris referenced a favor, Varis knew he’d talk about his sister. If they talked about when they first met, he would have mentioned the approach. “But it didn’t work. I was still confused, still not understanding why I was there nor my purpose. So I try to figure out why I’m here, I grasp at anything at all that I can remember, and those things I remember are names. But I also know the weakness of my target. That’s how the challenge is designed.” Varis stood up, stalking to Aaron as he approached.

“I know Eris, confused as he may be, is already adapting, shifting on his feet to match my pace, so if I want to shut down his analytical side and get an unbiased answer, I have to…” He snapped out of the chair, grabbed the boy’s shirt, and yanked him into the chair he just vacated, one knee between his legs and brought their faces close. “Do something Eris didn't expect. Invade his personal space, scare him, upset his expectations so when I list off names and ask him questions, I get what I want. So what can Eris give me, someone without an identity, that would make me think he could help?”

The chair’s legs screeched against the floor as it slid backwards with the force of the landing, Varis’ grab too fast for Aaron to escape. The mage’s heart jumped in his throat when the world came to a stop with Varis’ face mere inches from his, the pair of them in a position similar to feeding, but decidedly more… aggressive. He was distinctly uncomfortable, ears burning, but he forced himself to swallow his discomfort and focus on the task at hand. At any rate, the Count’s move did as intended; if nothing else, it certainly scared him.

Scared him… “Wait,” Aaron interjected suddenly, eyes flashing up to Varis’, even if he did inadvertently shy away as much as the chair allowed him. “Before I answer that, Master, there’s something else. I brushed it off as theatrics for shock value at the time, but apparently Mr. Samael saw the clone using magic.” He shifted in the chair as that twist of guilt came back with a vengeance, painfully reminding him that he'd gotten this information well into what Max insisted be a protected conversation. But with a silent apology in the back of his head, Aaron soldiered on; agreement or no, he wasn't about to make the mistake of keeping things from Varis a third time. “Max described it as the clone ‘overpowering’ the mental mage controlling it. I assumed it was another scripted tactic to induce fear—I mean, any vampire would be frightened by a vampire using magic, and it would play into your tendency to control—but do you think there might be more meaning to it?”

Varis considered this new piece of information. A vampire using magic? Absurd. That was the entire reason they permitted mages to exist. Without a claim to the mortal exclusive resource, what use would they be? He certainly couldn’t use it. He had a few things up his sleeve but they were well grounded in science and old research and it definitely did not include choking a mage. How barbaric. “I doubt it has more meaning than to confuse him further. Even if I could command magic, I wouldn’t use it for something as debased as murder.” Varis decided, waving it aside as irrelevant. “He was in a world of fantasy and imagination. I’m sure they took plenty of creative liberties.”

Aaron’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Murder? Where did that come from? His wording must have been unclear. “Oh no, Master, I don't think he killed the mage. Or at least, if he did, Max didn't tell me so,” he corrected carefully. “But either way, I imagine you're right. Max said Eris’ clone had full control over the environment in his trial, so this is probably more of the same. Pardon me for interrupting you.”

Returning to the task at hand, he paused to think. What would Eris possibly have to give a confused Varis? “If the purpose of the trial really was to knock Mr. Samael off balance, then the clone’s confusion was probably the focal point of the exercise. Making him feel forgotten would surely serve that aim,” he pondered aloud. “In that sense, there might be nothing I—Eris— could possibly offer that would satisfy it. Seeing someone so close confused and being unable to help them no matter how hard you try must be distressing.”

That's how it seemed in movies, anyway, when they presented characters with some sort of degeneration of memory. Aaron had never personally experienced it, thank goodness, but he wasn't sure how he might react if he did. “If that's the case, and assuming I don't immediately clue in to the fact that I'm being manipulated, I would probably start saying… well, everything. The more my input fails to help, the more I’ll probably be willing to divulge in the hopes that something jogs his memory. Continue that long enough and I may end up letting something sensitive slip.”

That must have been it. Varis stood with an irritable hiss. She was looking to cement her stranglehold over one of them. Something must have tipped her off that Eris was an easy target; maybe she’d even known about this thing Eris had for him. Manipulative hag. Varis considered his options for a moment. He could always confront her about it but that would probably work as well as it had this morning. So that really only left him with his tried and true methods. Normally that would thrill him; he always appreciated a challenge but the reality of the situation was, his workload was already at its max. His mages were occupied, his breaks already spoken for, and his responsibilities here bound him to the campus which was probably why she was laying her plans now. It would have to wait until next semester but it didn’t mean he would sit idly by.

“And he probably played right into her hands. Fantastic.” Varis sighed, tapping his fingers absently on the desk. If it had been any other vampire, Varis wouldn’t have cared. Eris knew how to handle himself but dealing with Ryner was like dealing with a Lord or Lady. If you didn’t grow up surviving their schemes, they’d eat you alive. He wasn’t ready to cut this asset out of his plans. The things he tolerated for this idiot. “I’ll have a letter delivered to his useful mage. Whatever Ryner’s planning, a set of eyes prepared for it will give us time to react if she springs it early. Maybe I’ll even send one to his useless one too. Do you have anything else?”

Aaron’s spirits drooped as Varis’ did, anticipating that anything poised to give his master a headache would certainly become his problem sooner or later. He made a mental note to keep a closer eye on Eris in the future before running a quick checklist in his head. Eris looking into the Sinnenodels, old rumour about Greta, clones talking amnestic gibberish; check, check, check. He didn’t have to reiterate the importance of keeping his total betrayal of his pact of secrecy with Max quiet—and he’d surely insult Varis if he tried—and, as far as he could recall, that was the extent of his news.

Content with a report (hopefully) well-made, he stood politely from Varis’ chair and circled around to the proper side of the desk, shaking his head. “Only that your order at the bakery has been received and will be implemented this coming week, Master,” he concluded, straightening his sleeves and offering a neat bow. “Is there anything I can do for you before I leave you to your work?”

“Yes, I do have something to ask you actually. What was going through your head when you had the audacity to question me earlier?” Varis asked sweetly. “Just mild curiosity. It’s not every night you have the audacity to say “Really”.”

Aaron resisted the urge to roll his eyes, shaking his head instead with a painted-on pleasant grin. He was doing so well, and that was what Varis was going to focus on? Had he really never heard someone reply to a statement with “really?” before? Or was he just feeling particularly nitpicky tonight? Who was he kidding, of course he was; his meeting with Princess Ryner had Varis prickling and he was taking it out on him.

“A verbal tic, Master, nothing more,” he assured Varis smoothly, tacking on a polite dip of the head. “It won’t happen again.”

“A verbal tic?” Varis repeated, faking surprise. “Then I guess it’s all better. No, by all means, continue it. I would love to see if our Lady thinks it as cute as Ryner would.” Varis dropped the act with a wave of his hand. “Leave. Your presence exhausts me.”

“Good evening, Master.” Aaron bowed appropriately and took his leave, closing the door gently behind him.

He made a beeline for his room, mentally debriefing himself all the way: Varis getting his ass up about a common turn of phrase was unplanned, but overall, the report went better than he expected. The experience did remind him that his subterfuge skills weren’t as sharp as he thought they were—the information he’d gotten out of Max sounded more impressive in his head than it apparently did out loud—but it was a step in the right direction, and good practice for the future. He could definitely live with that. Malek was set to visit tomorrow; maybe he’d have some advice.

Aaron groaned inwardly before he knocked, closing his eyes for a second to prepare himself for what lay beyond that door. He’d been more or less dreading this moment ever since Varis had told him that Eris would be ‘borrowing’ him for the evening. Most of the time, he didn’t particularly mind Eris, really. He was certainly quirky and a little much, but once Aaron learned that the actor needed little more than a sign of life in conversation before he continued talking about himself, time with him had become almost enjoyable. Certainly a reprieve from being around Varis, in any case; there, he had to be on the lookout for tests and tricks at every turn, so it was nice to be able to turn his brain off for a bit once in a while.

But ever since the nights following the practical, learning about Eris’ weird digging and the tension between him and Varis, Aaron felt a little more uneasy. Things had gone back to normal between the two of them awfully quick, and he couldn’t help but feel like whatever happened was just lurking under the surface, waiting to come back and bite him. These things did always find a way to make it back to him somehow, after all.

But, it wasn’t as if he could just refuse, and he reconciled his discomfort in his mind by telling himself it was a good chance to gauge Eris’ state for himself. He hadn’t spent much time with the actor since the night of the practical, after all; maybe tonight he’d find that he really did just bounce back that quickly, and whatever motive he had for digging into the Sinnenodels was just some passing whim he’d since abandoned. Besides, the fact that Varis hadn’t said Eris wanted to ‘play’ with him was a plus. Apparently Eris just wanted help choosing a suit for the blood tasting and Varis didn’t want to lose half a night of work listening to his ‘indecisive tittering’. Aaron wasn’t sure he was exactly qualified for the job, but orders were orders. How hard could it be?

After a few seconds, the door opened and Aaron was greeted with the comical image of Eris in a green face mask and a bathrobe speaking in a foreign language at whoever was on the other end of his phone call. He barely looked at Aaron, more occupied with the call, though he did tug at the towel wrapped around his head. Maxie barked at his feet, interested in the new person at the door, although she quieted as she was hushed at. The blond didn’t skip a beat, motioning for Aaron to follow, and he walked straight to his room and left the door open.

He stayed on the phone, throwing both towel and robe onto their racks in the bathroom, and emerged shirtless and in his boxers. One hand combed through his hair while the other hung up the call, and he tossed his phone onto his bed before flashing a grin at the mage. He had actually been looking forward to this—Max couldn’t care enough to give him a genuine answer and apparently his first choice was too ‘busy’, so getting to spend a little time with the kid would be fun. “I have about forty five minutes before my next call and a dozen suits to try, so this will be quick,” He spoke as he peeled off his mask, lightly massaging his face as he walked into the closet. It was obvious he was more concerned about his own time than taking up Aaron’s.

Still, as he pulled out the rack of nearly identical suits, he looked between them with a critical eye. Clucking his tongue, he pulled one off its hanger, dressing with an impressive speed as he realized he hadn’t decided on a tie, but for now he would opt to model without one. “This one is a midnight silken mixture, but I feel like it’s a little too serious?” He decided to jump into it, more focused on his image in the full length mirror than Aaron. “It’s a small get together, there’s no real need to be flashy, but I still need to remind these nobles that being born into their world doesn’t mean there aren’t people better than them with looks alone. Mainly me, of course, but you know what I mean.”

Keeping his face carefully pleasant despite the sight before him, Aaron offered a silent nod and a smile as greeting and dutifully followed Eris into the dorm, leaving his coat and boots at the door. He’d come prepared, dressed more or less to Eris’ taste in a pair of black jeans and a deep green shirt and tweed vest. Everything was cut a little more… trim than he was generally used to, but it was a personal mission of his to overcome his discomfort with his wardrobe’s more adventurous pieces and this was a chance to kill two birds with one stone.

He followed Eris into his bedroom, standing stiffly near the door as the actor disappeared into his bathroom. Even at Eris’ behest, it still felt utterly wrong to be in a vampire’s bedroom, like he was committing some egregious breach of privacy. But he persevered, keeping quiet as Eris laid out his plans and dressed.

When he was addressed, he crossed his arms, looking the suit up-and-down thoughtfully for a moment. Not that it made much difference; Varis admonished his fashion sense every other night, and Aaron wasn’t even sure he was wrong to do it. He had a decent enough idea of how to dress himself, but he had no idea what vampires wore!

“It’s… certainly understated, Sir,” he finally forced out, tilting his head another way as if that would help. “It is a small event, but… consider that the other guests will all be nobles. They’ll probably be doing their best to outshine each other to start with, so maybe you should… aim high?” That sounded right—vampires weren’t known for subtlety when it came to competitions of renown—but he had no idea if it would actually hold true in this case. He half-expected the Astorio Count to show up in a bear pelt and Salem to come in a cape, for crying out loud.

Eris couldn’t help but roll his eyes, turning slowly to face Aaron as he took off the suit jacket with a flourish. “I think you’re misunderstanding what I’m going for,” He said as he hung the jacket respectfully, though this time he would waltz into his closet, coming back with a decidedly smaller number of ties: one was a striking red, one was a calming blue, and the last a cool silver. He plucked the next jacket off the rack, sliding into it before he would admire himself in the mirror.

“I want my look to seem effortless,” He explained as he slicked his hair off his face, flicking his wrists as he held up the red tie. “I want it to look like this is what I look like every single night, that I’m here and with little effort, I still look better than everyone else.”

Aaron opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again, shifting his weight and putting a hand to his chin in what he hoped looked like a pensive posture. What? He wanted to look like he didn’t put any work into his appearance? Is that what he meant? That didn’t make any sense to him; at home with the Noilas, and even here with Varis, the expectation was that you did look like you’d put thought and effort into your looks, with nary a wrinkle or curl out of place and everything proper and accounted for—even if the final product was supposed to look ‘messy’. Why on earth would anyone want to look like they didn’t care enough to fix themselves up?

“I…” he tried, though his ears burned as he couldn’t quite find the right words. Oh, very good Aaron, hmm and haw like a simpleton in front of Eris. But what was he supposed to say to that? Eris wasn’t even wearing the same jacket as before, and he was considering ties, and he hadn’t even asked a proper question. Maybe his words were supposed to be rhetorical, but Aaron blew his shot at silence with that idiotic hum already, so now he had to find something to say.

“Maybe the silver, then?” he answered weakly, inwardly slapping himself but committed to his course nonetheless. “It’s neutral enough to be an everyday choice but more upscale than blue.”

Eris stopped looking at himself, chartreuse eyes darting to Aaron in the mirror. He slowly straightened up, smoothing out the collar before picking up the silver tie. He looked at it for a moment before wrapping it around both hands, turning back to the blond mage. There was a brilliant smile on his face, completely contrasting his hands grasping the tie. In a few seconds, the fibers stretched and tore until the tie was completely torn, the two halves being carelessly tossed aside.

“Great stars above, do I have my work cut out for me or what?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m going to be doing your master a favor and educate you a little, I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.”

He took off the jacket and picked up another one, though he held them both out to Aaron. “When it comes to appearance, the right color is everything. It sends a subtle message depending on which shade you go with. Now, Cetacean, or Oxford?” He asked, referring to each jacket as he eyed the kid warily. “Which color should I go with?”

Aaron took a half-step back despite himself when Eris turned, the way he grasped the tie in his hands reminding him so starkly of how Count Julian used to hold a belt that for a moment Aaron thought he was going to strike him. Luckily, that wasn’t the case, though the sight of the tie ripping in half wasn’t much better. Dammit, if it got back to Varis that Eris lost a tie because of him he’d have hell to pay.

He had to pull his mind back to the task at hand, looking helplessly between the two jackets. Was this a trick question? The two were identical in colour, both a deep blue-black. Vampires had better vision than mages; maybe Eris saw a difference that Aaron just couldn’t discern? Goodness, it was like being back at square one with Varis all over again, but at least Varis was predictable!

He’d learned from his experiences with Varis, at least, and he wasn’t about to go back on those lessons now. And lesson number one was clear: no guessing. “I’m sorry Sir, but I can’t tell the difference,” he admitted, a little crestfallen under his usual air of modesty.

At least the kid was honest. Eris returned both jackets to the rack, thumbing through the rest. “The correct answer was oxford, by the way,” He mentioned it casually, pulling on the sleeve of one of the other suits. “Honestly, discerning shades is better left for vampire eyes. But I admire your honesty.”

Maxie sat on Aaron’s foot, wanting to make her presence known. Her tail wagged as she looked up at him, only looking at Eris as he whipped out another suit. He hummed a simple melody to himself, although his eyes slowly turned to Aaron. “Have a seat, your stiff posture is giving me anxiety,” He joked, motioning to the bench in front of his bed.

Half-nodding and half-hanging his head, Aaron accepted his defeat graciously, though he did toss a questioning look at Maxie for good measure. What did she want, attention? Surely she was spoiled enough as it was. His head snapped back up when Eris spoke, and Aaron’s ears were hot again. Yeah, he probably looked like a wooden statue all sequestered away by the doorway, but that didn't make it any less weird to push farther into the room.

But he would comply, of course. “Oh, sorry,” he apologized as he moved to the bench, sitting where instructed. Maxie hopped up to sit next to him, looking at him expectantly once more with those needy little eyes, and put a paw on his thigh, fidgeting impatiently. Aaron wasn't really sure what to make of that, so he delicately removed her foot from his leg before returning his attention to Eris, hoping the dog—if you could call it that—would calm down or otherwise lose interest.

Having decided on a suit, Eris slipped it on, this time taking the red tie. He didn’t look pleased with his decision, but he didn’t rip it up, instead grabbing the blue tie. After a few seconds, he turned back towards Aaron, leaving the jacket open as he placed his hands in his pockets.

“You know, you remind me a little of Eloise,” He commented. “But there’s something you have that makes you stand out from her. Do you know what that is?”

Aaron raised his eyebrows. He reminded Eris of Eloise? Ha, if only he did the same for Varis; they were both technically show mages, but Aaron could be generously called a “project” whereas Eloise sounded like the gold standard as far as Varis and Malek were concerned.

“Do tell,” he humoured Eris. Sure, he was curious, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the answer was something along the lines of “you're apparently colourblind” or perhaps “adorably modest”.

The blond was amused at Aaron’s expression, tilting his head slightly as he eyed him. He had something resembling a knowing smile, though he let out a genuine chuckle shortly afterwards. “You’re able to adapt and learn better in my opinion,” He stated, raising a shoulder in a half-shrug motion. “If your master wasn’t able to mold you, he wouldn’t have bothered. Believe me, I’ve seen it first hand. I won’t say it’s easy being a Sinnenodel mage, but I have to say, you’ve taken on the challenge better than most others would. She has the advantage of being born into it—you’re the newcomer of the two. And I say this as someone that adores her, mind you.”

Aaron’s brows lifted again as the cheeky insult he'd been expecting never came. Eris thought he was more adaptive than Eloise? That was new, he was used to being called stiff, clueless, moronic—anything other than ‘adaptive’. He took a breath, a bit of bitterness sneaking into his expression. If only Malek shared that view. Maybe Varis did think he was worth his while—despite his frequent insistence to the contrary—but while the Count was certainly the most important person he had to impress, he was far and away not the only one. He'd never met the mythical Eloise, but he did look forward to the night that he would; she was the stick against which he was measured, and at the very least, maybe she could divulge a few tips on keeping her uncle happy.

The bitterness left his face as quickly as it came, replaced by a practiced smile. “Thank you Sir, that's nice to hear,” he answered honestly, politely dipping his head. He wasn't sure how true it was, especially considering that Eris tended to treat him a little gentler than most other mages for whatever reason, but he'd tuck that little tidbit away for further consideration nonetheless.

Eris beamed at Aaron, turning back to inspect himself in the mirror. Surprisingly his gaze didn't linger on himself for too long as he removed his jacket, though this time he started to unbutton his shirt. He was quiet, concentrating more on the task at hand, but when he got to the last button, he cast an inquisitive gaze on Aaron. His expression was blank and without a hint of his usual playfulness, although his eyes sharpened into a more mischievous look.

"You don't believe me," He guessed out loud, continuing to undress. "Or maybe you don't believe in yourself. Not that I blame you, breaking a mage's confidence is the Sinnenodel M.O. so I guess it's more a question of endurance than anything. But maybe I'm biased...I admit, I see a lot of my younger self in you. I wanted to please my betters once upon a time, too."

He seemed fond of a memory as he put on another dress shirt, fiddling with the blue tie for a moment. "My father thought my desire to act was ludicrous. He was certain I'd end up as some no-named beggar on the streets and urged me to stick to the entrepreneurial side of the family business. Not that I blamed him; aside from my socialite mother the rest of my family is a hot mess. There is constant bickering over properties, money, and of course the shared lover even to this day. About half a century ago the Samael name had mostly faded out of view except for something to chuckle at when it came up. After all, my grandmother had committed the cardinal sin of doing what she pleased instead of listening to her blue blooded parents and fled her territory to fulfill her dreams as an actress with an esteemed director. And you know how the nobility is when it comes to that sort of thing."

He tossed aside the tie, rummaging through his drawers and pulling out a small box filled with cufflinks. "So when I decided I wanted to take the path of the arts, my father refused to support me. He went so far as to forbid me from using my name and everything. In hindsight I think he wanted to see just how serious I would take it—if I had been allowed to use my name, I'm sure I would've had offers coming from every direction. I think he underestimated my desire to be a performer, though, especially since I 'lowered' myself to taking any role I could get. But honestly, I enjoyed every minute of it, learning from a variety of people with different walks in life."

His smile faded as he stared at himself in the mirror, rolling his eyes. "That said, making my passion profitable was another story. Going from stage to film was more difficult than anticipated, especially since nepotism won roles over talent and I still wasn't allowed to use my own ties to get into anything relevant. I knew I just needed to get my foot in the door somehow, I just needed one big hit and the floodgates would open for me. I admit the very last thing I expected was for a dramatized and vastly inaccurate telling of the formation of the Treaty to be what I needed. I fought with the director on the inconsistencies so many times that I'm shocked he didn't kick me out considering I was still a nobody at the time, but the man had a vision and that was what he wanted. Still, even at the time I was predicted to be a one hit wonder. No one believed I could do any better, no one thought I'd be worth anything past that one film."

A wicked smile crossed his face, and he let out a bitter laugh. "At that point, I was granted what had been mine from birth, and I dominated everything I set my mind to. Artistically I made a name for myself, business wise I dominated my rivals, and personally I was all too happy to show the world who I was," He dropped his hands as he looked at Aaron in the mirror. "When the entire world tells you that you are nothing, that’s when you have to be the most determined to show them exactly what you're capable of. You do whatever it takes to validate yourself, because only then will you get what you want."

Aaron’s practiced veneer of polite interest turned genuine as Eris told his tale, the mage not expecting to learn so much about the actor with so little prodding. After all, Eris was certainly wont to go on tangents, but those were usually about frivolous things like celebrity gossip or petty judgement, not a full chronicle of his behind-the-scenes rise to fame. Aaron was sure a tabloid writer would pay handsomely for a story like this, but he couldn’t quite claim it was entirely worthless to him either; it demonstrated that Eris afforded him some level of trust, he supposed, and if nothing else, it got him thinking.

He couldn’t help but inwardly scoff at the claim that he reminded Eris of himself. He ‘wanted to please his betters’ too, did he? Well, Aaron wasn’t sure if that was so close a comparison. Sure, in a world where your seniors never die and your social rank is everything, it was important to make a good name for yourself in their eyes, but between mages and vampires, there really was no comparison. For vampires, impressing one’s betters was socially wise. For mages, it was a way of life—their only way of life. For some, it was literally a matter of life and death, and while Aaron could gratefully admit he’d never been made to feel that way by the Noilas, the weight of his grandfather’s legacy on his shoulders did more than its part to pick up the slack.

But apparently Eris had his own legacy to uphold, if a less vaunted and more scandalized one. Aaron wasn’t privy to celebrity politics, but it did surprise him that Eris started his career utterly nameless—at the very least, he deserved a bit of respect for building the very foundation of his reputation all on his own. Aaron had to wonder how he might fare in the same position, forced to start over and take up his mantle as attendant without the legacy of his ancestors to bolster him. Before the Academy, he’d considered himself a fine mage, needing little more than some more magical education and a quick polish to shine; Varis was quick to show him how utterly wrong he was about that. Would he have developed better without his family’s reputation to support him, if he were forced to succeed or fail on his own merits alone? Would that have better prepared him for the realities of service? Or would he have been thrown into the fighting rings long before he put anyone through the trouble of dealing with him?

That last thought was a bit bitter, but Aaron didn’t have it in himself to be angry at himself again. Fair enough; he’d only be repeating himself anyway, and wasting his energy in the process. Besides, the purpose of Eris’ tale wasn’t to show him yet again the length and breadth of his inadequacy. In fact, if Aaron didn’t know any better, he’d think Eris was trying to encourage him. And, honestly, the tiny bit that remained of an optimistic side of Aaron thought he might even have a point. Maybe being reduced from Starag, to show mage, to nothing at all was the reset he needed to realize his true potential.

Time would tell if there was anything there to realize in the first place.

“That’s… very inspiring, Sir. Thank you,” he finally replied, dipping his head humbly in real gratitude. “I’ll make sure I don’t forget it.”

“I hope not. I’d be disappointed if you did,” Eris chuckled as he continued to button up his new dress shirt. He took a moment to slide into yet another barely-different suit jacket, clucking his tongue as he inspected himself in the mirror. After a melodramatic sigh, he shook his head. “I look too good in everything, I’m not getting what I want at all,” He whined quietly as he trudged back to the rack.

Once a few minutes of shuffling around from closet to drawers took place, Eris laid out a variety of ties that actually did look different from one another, ranging from bright reds to blues to even violet. He had decidedly omitted any silver ones from his choices, but he didn’t seem too preoccupied with them as he looked at Aaron again. Maxie decided to put her paw on Aaron’s lap again, looking up at him expectedly.

“Now, now, Maxie, don’t be such a bother,” He scolded her before letting out a short whistle. The Pomeranian looked over at him before looking back up at Aaron, content to sit next to him as she rubbed her head against his hip. “What a needy girl! Ah, well, they always have a keen interest in people that ignore them. Ask Wells, she’s always all over him even when he yells at her to leave him alone.”

Looking up at Eris at the mention of her name, she gave Aaron her attention with a tiny whine. Eris shook his head but ignored her. “All the training books recommend being strict at first to establish the relationship, but I can’t say I agree with that,” He admitted. “If you start off with a short leash, how much shorter can you get it? If you’re constantly yelling and seething at it, it’s not going to fear you since it’ll get used to you punishing it all the time. And of course, there’s a reason the phrase is ‘the dog bites back’—once it decides it’s had enough, it’s going to snap.”

Aaron’s confidence waned as he watched Eris try on jackets he couldn’t differentiate and lay out ties, any of which he thought could work perfectly well. Part of him wondered if Varis hadn’t just sent him here to save time; he could certainly believe the Count was pleased at the additional, convenient chance to make him squirm, especially after the volleys he’d been catching for Malek’s cruel little alarm clock ‘training regimen’. Yes, maybe this was a veiled punishment for the days he’d failed to find the clock in time and woken Varis up. Not that spending time with Eris was necessarily a punishment in and of itself, but given this particular task was just one embarrassing display of ineptitude after another, it certainly did the job.

The dog prodded for attention again, and Aaron gave her a puzzled look, not exactly sure what she was expecting. He eventually decided to try and appease her with a gentle pat on the head; she looked unsatisfied with that, but he wasn’t really sure what else to do. What did dogs like, anyway? A gentle rub of the snout and the occasional carrot usually sufficed for horses, but he was pretty sure those methods wouldn’t transfer well to fluffy rats.

Eris’ commentary did interest him, though. Of course, he couldn’t help but apply the same reasoning to the training of mages. That alone certainly highlighted the differences in methodology between Eris and Varis; the way Malek explained it, punishment was the default in Varis’ household, and receiving fewer of them was the only ‘reward’ one could expect for their progress. Eris, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care much for punishing or rewarding either way, taking a strangely diplomatic approach to Max instead. He supposed this explained that mystery; Eris seemed to view mages like pets, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that he trained them like pets as well.

“You’re right,” Aaron replied, a little unsure what Varis would think of the idea. “Though… is that much of a concern, Sir?” he asked, looking to Maxie. “I mean, even if she did snap, look at the size of her. It’s not like she could do much damage, and especially not to a vampire like yourself.”

Maxie barked in indignation, not understanding how she could have gained Aaron’s attention and not receive the pets she desired. Eris couldn’t help but laugh at the display, discarding the crimson tie lazily as he knelt down in front of her. She let out a whimper, satisfied only when Eris scratched behind her ears. “Mmm, that’s not really the point though, is it?” He mused out loud. “Pets snapping back in any capacity is what they’re afraid of. Sure, Maxie’s tiny little bite wouldn’t do much rationally, but in the heat of the moment, you don’t know what she’s capable of.”

He picked Maxie up and placed her in Aaron’s lap, her tail wagging excitedly. “If little Maxie decides to snap while she’s on your lap, she could end up biting you somewhere where it’ll hurt for a long, long time—that little jaw is like a tiny pincer with sharp teeth,” He moved his index finger and thumb to show the size, pinching them together tightly. “That possibility is what pet owners are scared of. Granted, I think I was more afraid of my Sasha snapping than Maxie, but it’s hard to compare a three hundred pound tiger to this beautiful little six pound precious pup.” He kissed the top of Maxie’s head as he stood up.

Aaron had to work very, very hard not to visibly wince at the idea, suddenly a fair bit more afraid of irritating Maxie with her anywhere near his lap. The mention of a tiger was… interesting, to be sure, but he’d have to admit he was still a little too preoccupied by the previous notion to be all that concerned.

“That’s… fair enough,” he replied sheepishly, giving Maxie a bit of a pleading look before trying to replicate what Eris had done by scratching her behind her ear. He didn’t do it completely right, a little nervous to hurt her, but she seemed at least a bit more satisfied with the attention this time. “I suppose it’s unwise to underestimate little things.”

Eris threw a wink at the mage. “Precisely,” He agreed, returning to the mirror. “It’s why I’m especially careful with my pets. Same can’t be said for others, but you know...when their pets bite them back, it’ll be a long time coming.” He seemed to narrow his decision on his tie down to two, presenting them to Aaron: one baby blue, one bright red.

“Now then...blue, or red?” He asked, looking at Aaron expectantly.

Nodding along with Eris’ statement, Aaron looked up, considering the two. “I think… blue.”

The blond stood there for a second, expression unreadable as he looked at Aaron’s choice. He clucked his tongue, letting out a tiny sigh before dropping his arms. “Alright, let’s try the blue,” He said, tossing aside the red tie as he quickly wrapped it around his neck. Once he finished, he posed in front of the mirror, eyes lighting up in approval. “You’re right, the blue is more understated.” He cheerfully agreed.

Maxie made an attempt to request more attention from Aaron, although Eris let out a sharp whistle. She immediately backed away from him, hopping off the bench and walked out of the room without looking back. Eris stopped staring at himself long enough to watch her go before his eyes flickered back onto Aaron.

“I never did thank you for speaking to Maxwell,” He noted. “I can’t go about spoiling mages that aren’t mine, but it doesn’t quite sit right to not try to give you something. But what to give, what to give…”

He took a second to look around the room, thinking to himself, though after a few seconds he lit up. “Oh, I know,” He rushed to his closet, digging through a chest for a moment before he came out with a DVD and silver marker in hand. On the cover was an all too familiar face—his—and the title in elegant letters. “I’m sure you’ve seen this a million times ‘cause it’s your favorite movie, but I’ll sign this one special, just for you.”

Uncapping the marker, Eris opened up the DVD case and wrote a short message before signing it with his name. He snapped the case shut, offering it to Aaron with what could definitely be construed as a genuine smile.

There was no chance for Aaron to get out his “Oh no, there’s no need for that” before Eris was off to his closet, and he’d resigned himself to the well-meaning gesture by the time the vampire returned with his thank-you gift in tow. Still, it was a monumental task not to break out laughing when he was presented with a signed copy of The Blood War, complete with Eris in his full Landar Starag costuming staring off pensively into the middle distance as fire raged behind him on the cover. He could only imagine the cackling he’d hear when he eventually went home and showed that to his relatives.

“I…” he murmured, looking again at the DVD. He had to shake his head, offering Eris a grateful—if not slightly amused—smile and a bow of the head, tapping on the cover. “Thank you, Sir.”

“No need to thank me, it’s the least I can do—and of course, it’ll be something you can actually keep!” Eris replied, pausing for a moment before he frowned. “If your master decides to get rid of it, do let me know so I can get you another. Not that he would. He better not, anyway…” He muttered, rolling his eyes before perking up again. “Honestly, I should probably send you my entire collection, I know for a fact Varis adored the soundtrack from my last few films. Maybe he’ll ask you to play a few sometime!”

He left Aaron and went back to admiring himself in the mirror. After a solid minute of inspecting himself, he realized the blond was still there. “Oh, we’re done by the way,” He informed him, waving him away in dismissal. “Run along now, little one, you’re free to go.”

Tempted though he was to chuckle, Aaron simply smiled and dipped his head again, setting his gift aside and quietly awaiting his next order. Eris would be Eris, it seemed, even after all the strangeness that followed the Practical. His dismissal was welcome, though he’d have to admit that, aside from his embarrassing missteps, the task really hadn’t been that bad. He bowed politely to leave, making sure to make a show of taking the DVD with him when he did, and showed himself out with a “Good evening, Sir,” and a little wave to Maxie in the living room for good measure.

Sunday nights were ideal for training. With the Saturday rush over with and most students sequestered in their dorms or the library cramming assignments for Monday evening, but with his own homework already out of the way, Aaron could always book a time in a training room without the pressure of another time after him and could do his prop drills to his heart’s content in blissful privacy. It was an excellent arrangement, and one he planned his week’s assignments around to make sure he’d never miss it.

Which of course begged the question, why under the stars was this Sunday so busy?!

For some reason indecipherable to Aaron, the entire student body had apparently chosen this particular Sunday to emerge from between their couch cushions and exercise, somehow booking the private training rooms solid even before he managed to get in his usual early registration. Even the weight room beneath the sands was full, not that Aaron really knew how to work any of that fancy new equipment anyway. Maybe it was the freezing rain streaming down the sides of the arena dome that drove everyone into the training rooms, or maybe there was some school event coming up that made people want to get into shape—moon only knew Aaron wasn't involved enough in extracurriculars to know anything about that—but whatever the reason, the only suitable space he'd been able to find for his workout had been a modest corner of the arena sands themselves, alongside a rack of wooden swords and some training dummies.

It was… far from ideal. The sand on the ground made for a different sort of footing than he was used to, which in turn made every step of his drills feel wrong, but that at least he could get over with a reminder that he should be able to perform his drills on any surface, under any plausible combat condition. No, what bothered him was the eyes; whenever the sands were open to students, the arena invariably attracted spectators, handfuls of vampires and a few mages scattered around the arena bleachers in clumps and paying varying levels of attention to the people training below.

Even knowing it was his own stupid mental block and that after all his time with Varis and all the looks he got from his peers on a nightly basis he shouldn't even notice anymore, Aaron still didn't like being watched. Where he'd normally make small mistakes, correct them, and move on, the audience made him feel like every mistake was a critical failure, leading to a lot of stopping and starting and setting himself up for even more mistakes for his trouble. Compounded with the added pressure put on him and a new training regimen to account for his “unsatisfactory” performance in the practical, the whole ordeal added a lot of unneeded stress to what should have been a routine set of drills. Not to mention, of course, he didn't need a bunch of strangers seeing him in sweatpants and a t-shirt a few pounds skinnier than he was when he arrived at the Academy in the first place.

Aaron was not the only one with a disappointment at the lack of private rooms. Ben was kicking himself for not arriving at the arena any sooner than he did. His aim was better than most but the openness of the public arena gave too many outlying factors in unnecessary danger at potentially hitting an unintended target. There was also the minor stipulation that he had hauled in his collection of throwing knives for nothing. He supposed he could freshen up on his swordsmanship.

With falchion in hand Ben walked on the outskirts of the arena, occasionally greeting an acquaintance or two here and there. He ignored the prick of jealousy at the groups gathered; if Lilie knew he wanted company, he would never hear the end of it. The small one insisted on getting training from a vampire but he felt she didn’t know what she was asking for. He grimaced at the thought of her pleading; those eyes on the verge of tears were more dangerous than any assassin.

Dismissing the thought, Ben continued to the farthest corner of the arena. He was disappointed to find it occupied until he saw who it was that held the area: Aaron Starag! It wouldn’t be too odd for the pair to interact in an open area so Ben didn’t feel nearly as guilty cautiously approaching the young man. His form was sharp as to be expected of a Noila trained mage. There was a strange tension in his face, however. Perhaps there was something that was bothering him.

“Good evening Mr. Starag,” Ben said. “Forgive the intrusion, it looks like the entire academy decided to train tonight.”

A familiar voice outside Aaron’s field of vision broke what remained of his focus, straightening him up out of his ready stance as he turned to greet none other than Count Benjamin. Half-mortified that a Count saw him stumbling through his paces and half-thankful for the excuse to stop making a fool of himself for a moment, he offered the Count a short bow, sword hanging loosely at his side. “Good evening, Count Benjamin. And yes, it’s certainly packed, isn’t it?” he chuckled, though his displeasure was clear. He glanced down at his clothes, damp with sweat and dusty from the sand he’d been kicking up, and he cleared his throat, a bit stiffer than before. “Were you looking for a space to train? I’m just about done, you can feel free to take my spot.”

The mage’s consideration was admirable even if it was done out of politeness. Ben couldn’t help his smile as the thought crossed his mind. He did note the ‘about’ part and it piqued his curiosity. Now was as good a time as ever to delve into a common topic, even if it wasn’t one of his expertise. He preferred long range crossbows and throwing weapons instead of dealing with anything close range. Of course now was as good a time as ever to ask.

“I appreciate it. Don’t feel the need to cut your time short, however; I have time to spare tonight,” Ben said. “I admit I’m also intrigued to see what the Knight of the Evening has taught you.”

Aaron’s brow raised, not sure whether to be pleasantly surprised by the comment or unnerved by it. But he had to stop assuming everyone’s intent lined up with Varis’; Lucan was a renowned soldier in his own right, it made perfect sense for anyone who knew anything about combat to be interested in his pupil. Or his former pupil, Aaron noted bitterly in the back of his mind.

“Ah,” he commented absently, considering the training dummy to his side for a moment. “Well, if you’re inclined to watch…”

Ugh, great, more eyes. But how could he refuse without looking like even more of a shrinking violet? A little reluctantly, he slid into a ready stance, sword low in front of him in a rather simple starting position. He cycled through the drills he’d been taught before he settled on one of middling complexity—not complicated enough to invite error, but enough to invoke a bit of interest from anyone who knew what they were looking at. With a long, steadying breath, he set his sights on the dummy, eyes hard and cold as he went through the motions of feinting and striking from multiple angles as quickly as he could manage while maintaining control. The drill finished with a savage hit to the dummy’s side, easily a felling blow if the opponent had managed to survive the prior strikes, and held position for a moment before moving smoothly back into a ready stance.

It wasn’t his cleanest execution—though to his credit, the mistakes he’d made were nigh imperceptible from the outside—but Aaron figured it was probably good enough to satisfy the Count. Still, he couldn’t quite help but qualify the run, turning back to Count Benjamin with a shrug and a bashful grin. “You’ll have to forgive my sloppiness, Count. It’s been… challenging to eke out enough time in the week to keep up with my old regimen.”

“Even so it’s clear the training is still there. Muscle memory is quite convenient, isn’t it?” Ben asked. Aaron’s form even when riddled with issues was still leagues above the typical physical prowess most mages showed. What differed from Noilan mage to the rest was probably the difference in efficiency. But that was neither here nor there, what mattered was the young man in front of him.

“The Sinnenodels aren’t known to appreciate the thrill of battle so I can understand the lack of focus on your training. They have always preferred books and brushes to swords and fists,” Ben said. “I’d offer a hand but I’m afraid I have yet to master my own sword.” Ben reached into the small holster on his belt and showed the dagger to Aaron. It was small, silver, and sharp but otherwise unordinary. “On the other hand, I can safely say I’ve mastered these by now.”

Aaron nodded, appreciative of the feedback. Not sugar coated, but not harsh, either. A welcome change of pace, even if he reminded himself not to get too comfortable with it. At the very least, his mistakes could all be chalked up to rustiness, and now that Varis was budgeting more time than ever for his training, he’d hammer those problems out in no time.

He peered at the dagger when the Count produced it, not hugely educated on weapons other than longswords but knowledgeable enough to tell it was well-crafted. “Ah, I should have guessed,” he commented good-naturedly. He didn’t know a whole lot about the Count, but it was easy to tell from his mild demeanour that he probably wasn’t the type to be hacking his opponents in two. Then again, Aaron supposed he himself probably didn’t come across as that type either, so maybe it would be wise not to assume.

Either way, it was interesting to learn. “I myself was never great with those,” he admitted, slowly miming a downward slash with his wooden practice sword. “I always resonated better with anything that put a bit more weight behind my swing. Though, I admit it might also have had something to do with being averse to drawing within grappling range of a vampire if I wanted to land a hit,” he chuckled.

Though, something occurred to him. “If you’re a fan of weapons of agility, you must have been satisfied by Lilie’s skill in fencing,” he suggested. While the rapier was about the same weight as a longsword, its finer point control required much more finesse and delicacy to wield effectively, not to mention—well, having had a fencer for a teacher he could probably go on forever about the pros and cons of each style, but it was probably best not to get too far off into the weeds with a Count talking to him.

Ben let the blade spin between his fingers as he listened to Aaron intently. He had a good head on his shoulders and his reasoning was solid, all good aspects. The Noilas trained him well. The subtle shift in topic surprised Ben for a moment and his frown furthered a touch. He wasn't sure if it was safe to admit he had hardly given any attention to her fencing. Lilie had so much to learn for basic etiquette and preparing for the get-together that it was obvious he neglected overseeing both her magic and combat training. At least he could use the excuse that her grades spoke for themselves when it came to magic; more often than not she was in the kitchen openly practicing or studying in her bedroom.

He stopped the dagger's spin and brought his arm up to eye level as he stared at the dummy. "You may be right, personally I prefer technique to brute strength," Ben said. "You speak very fondly of my mage. I think she's lucky to have someone watching out for her without any ill intention." With a rapid movement, he sent the dagger flying at the dummy, striking its head effortlessly. "I daresay you know her better than I do."

Aaron sidestepped the dagger in surprise, following it as it whizzed past and into the dummy’s head. Was that… was Count Benjamin trying to tell him something?

“I’m… glad you think so, Count,” he replied warily, eyeing the Count with caution. His thoughts, of course, immediately snapped to that night in the library, where among other things he’d been brave enough—or perhaps stupid enough—to openly flirt with Lilie. Had she told him about that?! Who was he kidding, why should he expect she didn’t? Count Benjamin didn’t seem the strict type, but it was untoward to keep things from one’s master and surely he’d made that known to Lilie when they got acquainted. Oh lord, that was it, the Count had heard about what happened and wasn’t fond of another noble’s mage encroaching on his! Varis was going to kill him with his own two hands!

“I’m… Lilie’s been a good friend to me since my arrival here, as you know. She and I both had—and still have, at least on my end—a lot of adjusting left to do, so I suppose we found something in common. I like to think I know her fairly well, although it seems she’s made a lot more progress than I have,” he tried to justify, outwardly keeping his cool (for the most part) even as his mind raced. Good lord, Count Benjamin was going to tell Varis he was putting the moves on his mage and dammit, Varis thought he was enough of a mindless brute as it was! “Are you worried someone might have ill intent for her?” he tried, hoping to direct the conversation away from himself, “I haven’t heard of any such thing, but I’m sure her association with you will do wonders to keep any malcontents at bay.”

Ben closed his eyes as he pulled out another dagger and repeated the same spinning motion. His concern must have been transparent if Aaron could pick up on it. Once the dagger was between his fingers, he lowered his arm to his side and opened his eyes, giving Aaron a sad smile. It was foolish to be so open with a mage but he felt like no one else quite understood his plight.

"You've read my mind," Ben said. He raised his arm again as he decided on the next spot to aim. "Truthfully I'm grateful you’ve gone out of your way to befriend her. But even now I'm sure you have realized how different she is. How human she is."

How strangely relieving it felt to openly voice something he had held in for so long. It could be seen as poor etiquette but he truly had no one else to talk to about this. Shamefully he would go so far as admit it was a situation he had long dreaded to face until now. He looked at the training dummy and lazily threw the dagger and its hilt drove the first deeper in.

"I fear placing her with me only invites more unneeded attention for both house and mage. The world of nobles is a complicated and consistent array of problems that arise one after the other, and it is easy to get lost in its cogs," Ben said. "What worries me most of all is her troubles adjusting. We haven’t gone a week without discovering yet another topic where she hasn't a clue. There are only so many hours in the night...and it gets worse when she actively resists. I have yet to even address the physical deformity from the sheer amount of behavioral issues."

Ben did worry he was speaking too openly, but it was the truth. Maybe hearing it from a friend would ring in the message clearer. "A naive, ignorant mage is dangerous to have. Add in a sweet, overly trusting personality and you have painted a target on their back," Ben said.

Aaron visibly relaxed; thank the sun and stars, this wasn’t about his exchange with Lilie at the library. As for what it was actually about, well, while the openness might have been expected given his last private chat with the Count, Aaron was still surprised to hear a Count speak so honestly to a mage that wasn’t his own. He wasn’t sure why Count Benjamin thought he was the best sounding board for his problem—his closeness with Lilie maybe, but he was no mage trainer—but he was strangely humbled all the same. Even though his wording may have come across as harsh to the uninitiated, the Count’s concern was plain, and Aaron was once again glad that Lilie fell into the hands of someone who cared so genuinely about her safety and success.

“She is indeed very human,” he commented absently, wracking his brain for the right way to voice his evaluation. “And far be it from me to deny that she has some… attributes that will make life among aristocracy hard for her. But I don’t think there’s much cause to worry yet, Count,” he offered, doing his best to sound optimistic. He took a covert look around to make sure no one was standing too close before he continued, voice a little lower than before. “I mean, look at me. Raised by the Noilas themselves and I’ve been nothing but a chain of disappointments to my Master since the night I arrived here. Lilie’s upbringing certainly didn’t prepare her for a noble mage’s life, but as you can see, those challenges can befall any mage, no matter their pedigree.”

Self-deprecating? Maybe, but it was true, and his point was solid. And, at this point, it pretty much just felt like stating the obvious. “But fortunately, Her Highness has taken great pains to insulate this Academy from the outside world,” he continued, gesturing around at the arena dome. A fitting analogy, if he did say so himself. “If I may speak freely, I don’t think you need to worry quite so soon. You’ll have four years here, with a convenient slow drip of Noble exposure, to teach Lilie to survive in the real world before she’s properly thrown into it. It’s not a perfect situation, but if my Master thinks he can polish me up in time to face the music, then you have nothing to worry about with Lilie.”

Aaron's points were valid and honestly reassuring. Ben found himself smiling once again as he withdrew another knife from his holster. If only he had gotten the luck of the devil and deemed worthy of having a Starag mage instead. Alas, that was not what the princess ordered and he shouldn't question her decision. He needed to get a grip and discard his bitterness; those feelings only served to cloud the mind. More importantly he greatly appreciated that Aaron was so receptive of his unorthodox and boring complaining. Could this be a sign that the mage was seeing him less than he was? Under normal circumstances he should be horrified but at the moment he was delighted.

"Your reassurance is most appreciated. Feel free to speak freely to me, it is...refreshing to hear an opinion from someone that isn't looking to say what I want to hear," Ben said. He would have moved on with the conversation had it not been for another comment that Aaron mentioned. "If a mage is deemed a failure, then that failure is suited squarely on the vampire in charge of them. A string of disappointments simply means the master isn't utilizing his tool sufficiently." His statement was followed by a hasty flick of his wrist as his dagger plunged into the heart of the dummy.

"I happily accept the princess' challenge as a result. And I hope to have your assistance in pursuing an amiable relationship with both you and your count," Ben said. "If it were up to me, I'd much rather keep it to you, but keeping the peace with your house is optimal."

Following the dagger’s path into the dummy, Aaron shook his head, a somber smile on his face. That was probably easy to say when one’s tool wasn’t defective. No, he wasn’t about to blame Varis for his own failings. He could blame the Noilas for ill preparing him if he wanted to be spiteful, but the honest part of him knew that his shortcomings were ultimately his own responsibility. It was like Malek said: “You are not a mindless slave. You are a mage, one who commands a power others dream of and it is not our nature to bow our heads and wait.” It was that passivity that doomed him, and that passivity that had to be dealt with. Varis’ only fault was mistakenly thinking he had the insight to figure that out on his own.

He had to chuckle at the Count’s last comment, looking back up at him. “I endeavour to use my skills to my Master’s advantage,” he replied rotely, parroting the line carved on the inside of his skull as he offered Count Benjamin a bow. When he straightened, he let his posture relax, shaking his head at the overly-formal display. Truth be told, he was happy to hear that Count Benjamin held no ill will—at least on the face of it, for whatever that was worth—toward him or his master just yet. By the sound of the upcoming blood tasting, Varis seemed interested in pursuing a beneficial relationship with Count Benjamin too; or, at the very least, help him enough to get him in his pocket. Sinnenodels weren’t known for having ‘friends,’ so Aaron had no doubt there’d be friction between the two in the future, but it was his job to keep things running smoothly and do what he was told, not insight conflict. Besides, an ‘amiable’ relationship between the Sinnenodel and Eve dorms meant his and Lilie’s friendship could probably continue unobstructed, and if he was being honest, he was starting to enjoy these occasional chats with Count Benjamin too.

Thus, before the Count was too put off by his stiff little display, he offered him a smile and added more sincerely, “For what it’s worth, Count, I would like that too.”

An endeavor to use his skills to his master's advantage was also admirable. However, Ben could not help but feel that he was unintentionally proven right without the mage uttering a single word against his count; after all, if a tool was so disappointing and the user had yet to make steps to correct it, one could hardly blame the tool. He would not voice this and only thanked his lucky stars that he was not born a Sinnenodel. He had enough problems being born in a traditional branch as it was.

With Aaron’s last comment however he could not avoid his smile at the young man. They were on the same page, then. If only nobles were as humble and straightforward as mages were. Alas that was not to be and he would be lying if he didn’t like some challenge as it made the reward all the more worth it.

"I am glad to hear you say that, although I must also ask for some forgiveness," Ben said. "Truthfully I don't have a lot of people to talk to here, my late entrance and placement as yet another Eve representative have left less than flattering opinions before I stepped foot on the grounds. I'm sure approaching you has made you uncomfortable but I assure you that is not my intention."

Aaron’s brow raised once more. Here Count Benjamin was, apologizing yet again. In all his years around aristocracy and royalty, Aaron wasn’t sure he’d ever heard any vampire find as much fault in themselves as Count Benjamin did. It was common knowledge that the Count was passionate about mage advocacy; maybe felt some sort of guilt or responsibility that made him find fault where there was none, or maybe it was a product of how he was raised. Either way, it was a wholly uncommon quality among aristocracy to apologize, and even though Aaron could think of nothing the Count should be sorry for, it was… well, what could he say? It was nice not to be the one apologizing all the time.

Still, he shook his head. “You’ve done nothing worth forgiving, Count,” he reassured him, “If I couldn’t handle approaches by nobles, I couldn’t very well call myself an attendant.”

But there he was getting all formal again; if the Count’s casual approach—and the throwing of daggers—meant anything, it was that he wasn’t looking for formality. ‘Acting casual’ in the presence of nobles went against just about everything Aaron had ever been taught, but it wouldn’t do to respond to an olive branch by freezing the Count out, would it? Besides, Aaron had to admit, he could probably stand to loosen up a little now and then, if the lasting stiffness in his shoulders was any indication.

“Besides, I’m not exactly hounded for conversation either,” he continued—Ander and his friends on the night of the Practical notwithstanding. “It would be beneath your notice, but… ah, well,” he chuckled awkwardly, not entirely sure how to explain it. What, was he supposed to just come out and say “everyone seems to think I’m some kind of weaponized whore, and they’re so scared of my master that most of them wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole”? Yeah, because Lilie’s master looking into those rumours was precisely what he wanted.

“I suppose they… make a wide berth,” was the best explanation he could come up with, offered with a helpless shrug. “Aside from Lilie and a handful of others, that is. Not that it’s too much of a loss; my schedule allows little time for idle chatter anyway.” He cut himself off there, denying himself the chance to make himself look even more pathetic.

"We have that in common," Ben said. "Circumstances differ on how we arrived at that, of course, but I doubt you took the same steps I did."

He was relieved to see Aaron held no ill will at the very least. Having few close was probably for the best regardless of reasoning. Quality over quantity was very much the way of nobility and he wasn’t surprised to hear Aaron’s admittance to it. More importantly Ben was elated to think that their conversation had taken strides in a positive direction.

"If I may be so bold, I'd very much like to make our conversations recurring," Ben continued. "At the very least if we run into one another there isn't any reason we couldn’t be amicable, no?"

Ah, now things were starting to make sense. Count Benjamin was starting to sound like he had that night Aaron had gone to his dorm to return a dish, and with the added explanation, he now understood why. As strange as it was—and it was strange—the Count was lonely. Why a noble would go to a mage for companionship rather than, well, anyone else was a bit of a mystery, but Aaron supposed it wasn’t the hardest one to solve. While the Count and Lilie had apparently been getting along better since the practical, he clearly saw himself more as teacher and master than friend to her, and the other nobles were either Traditionalists or Countess Amaris (who despite her status as a Marivaldi seemed, judging by the feeling he’d gotten from Maddie, a little out of touch with mages). Needless to say, none of those sounded like ideal smoking buddies for a mage rights advocate.

But surely the Count understood the difficulties of his request. A noble’s mage hobnobbing with other nobles wasn’t exactly great form, let alone a Sinnenodel’s mage. The Count would have to know that nothing he said to Aaron would be safe from Varis, and that there were equal chances of any sort of ‘friendship’ between them either being used to spy on Eve matters or being cut off entirely. Then again, assuming he accepted those risks, he’d probably be smart enough to avoid any topic that might come back to harm him; indeed, he seemed to stick to mundane topics like issues with Lilie or Noilan training methods. He couldn’t exactly parade around like some foreign noble’s pal, but... well, Aaron would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the occasional chance to have a mundane conversation.

“... You’ll have to forgive me, but my schedule keeps me busy,” he decided, delivering in Sinnenodel fashion the most covertly middle-of-the-road answer he could think of. He made sure to meet the Count’s eye, only just for a moment, before shrugging. “That said, I do train here every Sunday. I’m sure it’s possible our paths will cross again.”

Ben watched Aaron as he spoke and closed his eyes in mock disappointment. A mage through and through although he wouldn't want it any other way. He bowed his head respectfully before removing another dagger from his holster, although this time he brought out two.

"I understand," Ben said. "I'll have to leave it to chance, then."

He squinted at the dummy as he placed both daggers in one hand and concentrated. Once he was sure he knew where to aim he threw them both and the daggers stabbed the neck of the dummy. Letting out a noise of disappointment he shook his head.

"I daresay I'll need to work on that, I was hoping to slice through them," Ben said. "I should bring in my falchion, it hasn't seen the light of day in about a decade."

It seemed his message got through, and Aaron watched the next daggers fly feeling strangely accomplished. Sure, the whole situation was strange and unheard of, but then again, what about his experience thus far at the Academy hadn't been?

Looking to Count Benjamin, he flashed a ghost of a grin, twirling his practice sword’s grip in hand before taking on another ready stance, eyes trained on the dummy. “I should bring Dawn back here, too,” he suggested in kind, priming to start his drill. “It’s been too long since she's been put through her paces.”