The first sign of trouble was that someone had moved Tomas's bag.
It sat on the floor beneath the classroom window, several desks away from where he usually left it. His notebook lay beside it, open, with one corner folded under the cover.
Tomas stopped in the doorway. Clara nearly walked into his back.
"What?"
He looked toward our usual seats.
A fair-haired boy occupied his chair, leaning back while two other students stood beside him. I recognized all three from lectures, though we had never exchanged more than the occasional greeting.
The boy in the chair wore his uniform with the careless precision of someone whose servants understood exactly how much carelessness was acceptable.
He looked up and smiled.
"You don't mind, do you?"
Something warm and deeply inappropriate stirred in my chest.
Oh.
Oh, this looked promising.
Tomas crossed to the window and picked up his notebook. "You could have asked."
"I couldn't find you."
"So you put my things on the floor?"
One of the standing boys glanced away. The other smiled.
I kept my own expression neutral through an act of considerable discipline.
For weeks, I had been attending a magical academy populated by nobles, talented commoners, and young people with more power than judgment. Yet the supply of sneering aristocrats had been disappointingly inconsistent.
Now one had apparently delivered himself to our classroom.
Clara moved past me.
"Lucan, get up."
He turned toward her, eyebrows lifting. "Good morning to you too, Ashcombe."
"You're in Tomas's seat."
"Are they assigned?"
"No," Tomas said before she could answer. He set his bag on the desk behind ours. "It's fine."
"It's a chair," Lucan agreed.
There it was: the small smile, the easy dismissal, the insistence that everyone else was making something out of nothing. Even his audience was arranged correctly.
I wanted to applaud the production.
Instead, I crouched to retrieve the pencil that had rolled beneath the windowsill.
"Think you missed something."
Tomas accepted it with a quiet thanks.
Lucan watched me straighten. His posture changed slightly, not enough to become formal, but enough to show he knew perfectly well who I was.
"Lewis."
"Morning."
"I didn't realize you were so particular about seating arrangements."
"I'm more interested in why bags belong on the floor."
"They usually do."
"Open?"
His smile thinned.
Excellent. Apparently, we had reached the first exchange of veiled hostility.
I reminded myself that Tomas's belongings were involved, and that enjoying the structure of the occasion did not excuse enjoying his discomfort. That distinction seemed important.
Lucan rose at last.
"If Reed needs the chair that badly, he can have it."
Tomas looked at him. "I said I'd sit here."
For a moment, nobody moved. Then the bell sounded, and the boys beside Lucan scattered toward their desks.
He took his time.
Mistress Soren arrived carrying a stack of assessment sheets and the expression of someone already disappointed in the morning.
"Books away. We're reviewing defensive applications."
Clara leaned toward Tomas as chairs scraped around us.
"Was he like that before?"
"A bit."
Her face changed. "You could have said."
"I didn't think it mattered."
I recognized that answer. It had several relatives, including I can manage and There's no point making trouble. None tended to improve with repetition.
Soren called for attention before Clara could reply.
The lesson began with projected diagrams and questions about mana distribution. Tomas answered one concerning reinforcement points. Soren asked him to explain further, and he did, a little cautiously at first.
Behind us, someone whispered, "Careful. He'll start charging for the lecture."
A quiet laugh followed.
Tomas stopped.
Soren looked up.
"Is there a contribution you would like to make, Vale?"
Lucan sat straighter. "No, Mistress."
"Then allow Reed to finish."
Tomas continued, but his explanation shortened considerably.
I stared at the diagram and felt my earlier delight lose some of its shine.
An antagonist was more enjoyable in theory than when he interrupted someone I actually liked.
Our afternoon practical took place in the smaller training hall.
Students worked in pairs, combining an offensive application with a defensive response. The exercise emphasized control rather than strength, which did not prevent several boys from behaving as though the academy had arranged a tournament in their honor.
Lucan was among them.
His system produced narrow blades of pale light. He summoned one above his palm, let it turn lazily, then dismissed it when an instructor glanced his way.
Visually impressive. Naturally.
I began to suspect the universe was showing off.
Clara stood beside me while Tomas checked the marked positions.
"That's Lucan Vale," she said quietly. "Baron Vale's son."
"I gathered he wasn't the gardener."
"He's been like this since we were children."
"You know him?"
"Our families visit some of the same people." She folded her arms. "He used to cry when he lost at cards."
"Useful background."
"He was eight."
"Less useful."
She gave me a look, then turned as Lucan approached with his two companions.
Up close, he was handsome in a very deliberate way, with neatly combed hair and the confidence of someone rarely interrupted at home.
His eyes moved over Tomas's practice equipment.
"Still using the academy issue?"
Tomas tightened a strap. "It works."
"For now."
Clara made an impatient noise. "Leave him alone."
Lucan ignored her.
"My father says sponsored students ought to have their equipment checked more often. Standards become difficult to maintain otherwise."
Tomas looked up. "Then he can tell the quartermaster."
One of Lucan's companions snorted before catching himself.
I almost smiled.
Lucan noticed.
"Something amusing, Lewis?"
There were several possible answers.
Unfortunately, most would reveal far too much.
The noble heir. The sneer. The conveniently offensive remark about commoners. We were one formal challenge away from a complete set.
I had to press my tongue against the inside of my cheek before speaking.
"Tomas gave you a reasonable suggestion."
"I was offering advice."
"He didn't ask for any."
Lucan's gaze flicked toward the weapons range, then back to me.
"I suppose you're the expert now."
"On equipment?"
"On dangerous encounters."
Ah.
The quarry.
Around us, a few students had begun paying attention.
Lucan lowered his voice just enough to encourage them to listen harder.
"People are still talking about your little expedition."
Clara stepped forward. "It wasn't little."
"No? I heard an instructor had to rescue you."
"Yes," Tomas said.
The direct answer seemed to irritate Lucan more than an argument would have.
He looked between us.
"I only meant that some people are receiving rather a lot of attention for needing help."
There it was.
The declaration.
My chest gave an absurd little jump.
A proper rival. At a magical academy. Questioning my achievements in front of witnesses.
Somewhere inside me, a much younger version of Darren Richards was standing on a chair.
Outside, I managed a frown.
"If you want the attention," I said, "you could try falling off something yourself."
Clara made a startled sound beside me.
Lucan's expression hardened.
"Very funny."
"It wasn't, especially."
Tomas's mouth twitched.
I should have stopped there. A responsible person would have stopped there.
Then Lucan looked at him.
"Enjoying yourself, Reed?"
Tomas's smile vanished.
My own did too.
Interesting how quickly the scene could change.
Lucan moved closer, lowering his voice.
"You're fortunate Lewis has taken an interest. Most people have to earn their place."
Clara shoved his shoulder.
Not hard enough to hurt him. Hard enough that several students went silent.
"Don't," she snapped.
Lucan caught her wrist before she could pull back.
I stepped between them.
"Let go."
For a moment, he stared at me.
I could feel how closely people were watching. The training hall seemed suddenly full of sounds from much farther away: a shield taking a practice strike, an instructor counting repetitions, someone dropping a wooden staff.
Lucan released her.
Clara pulled her hand back and stood beside Tomas, breathing faster.
I resisted the urge to inspect her wrist. She would not appreciate becoming the next person everyone treated as though they needed rescuing.
Behind Lucan, one of his friends muttered, "Just leave it."
Lucan ignored him.
"We could settle this properly."
Oh, there it was.
I nearly ruined everything.
I disguised the upward twitch of my mouth by rubbing my jaw.
"Settle what?"
"Whether your reputation is deserved."
"We were talking about Tomas's equipment."
"Are you refusing?"
The sheer efficiency of it was beautiful.
He had managed to turn moving a bag, insulting a classmate, and grabbing Clara into a question of my courage.
An instructor's voice cut across the space before I could answer.
"What, precisely, is happening here?"
Instructor Bell approached from the neighboring lane. Lucan stepped back at once.
"Nothing serious, sir. Lewis and I were discussing a practice bout."
Bell looked at me.
I had an opportunity to end the whole thing.
A sensible, adult opportunity.
Instead, I said, "Apparently."
Clara stared at me.
Bell's eyes narrowed.
"Then you may discuss it with your supervising instructors. There will be no unscheduled challenges in my hall."
"Yes, sir," Lucan said.
"And Vale?"
He paused.
"Hands to yourself."
Lucan's ears colored.
I treasured that privately.
We returned to our lane.
Clara waited until Bell was out of hearing before turning on me.
"What was that?"
"A conversation that went badly."
"You looked pleased."
Disaster.
"I was trying not to laugh."
"At what?"
I considered explaining that Lucan had fulfilled a cherished narrative expectation with almost embarrassing precision.
Tomas saved me.
"His face when Bell told him off."
Clara glanced toward Lucan, then back at us. Her anger cracked just enough for a reluctant smile.
"He did go red."
"Quite red," I agreed.
Tomas adjusted his wrist guard.
Then his expression grew serious.
"You don't have to fight him because of me."
That settled some of my excitement.
"I know."
"I mean it."
I looked at him properly.
"So do I."
He held my gaze for a moment, then nodded.
Clara stepped onto her marked position.
"If he touches me again, I'm hitting him."
"Tell Bell first," Tomas said.
"I can do both."
The intrigue arrived after supper.
An envelope waited beneath my door, sealed with dark green wax. My name had been written across the front in a careful hand.
Milo watched as I opened it.
Inside was a request for a supervised assessment bout. Lucan Vale had signed beneath a paragraph about clearing up misunderstandings and demonstrating proper conduct.
There was also a second sheet.
I read it twice.
Someone had copied a portion of the quarry inquiry schedule. Beside one instructor's name, a short note had been added.
Ask why the western patrol was reassigned.
My enthusiasm cooled.
"Milo," I said, handing him the formal request, "would you put this somewhere safe?"
He took it, then looked at the other page still in my hand.
"Is something wrong?"
"I'm not sure."
The challenge was exactly what I had wanted.
The second sheet was not.
For the first time since Lucan sat in Tomas's chair, I wondered whether I had mistaken the beginning of something ugly for a scene I knew how to enjoy.