Chapter 30: Noble Games
The invitation arrived at dawn, slipped under my door with the silent precision of someone who wanted to make a point.
It was written on expensive parchment, the golden wax seal bearing the sigil of House Everthorne—a coiling wyrm wrapped around a tower. The implication was clear: this wasn't just a dinner. It was a test, a battlefield of words and veiled threats where a single misstep could be more dangerous than a sword to the throat.
I had expected this.
Ever since our return from the outer villages, rumors of our involvement in the ley line restoration had spread through the academy's upper circles. The Arcane Council might have brushed aside our concerns publicly, but the noble houses had their own ways of gathering information. Someone wanted to gauge how much I knew—and more importantly, how much of a threat I posed.
I turned the parchment over in my hands, my mind already mapping out the possible dangers. A formal invitation meant that they couldn't openly act against me, not yet. But in noble society, words cut deeper than blades, and I had walked into enough traps to recognize the scent of one.
A quiet knock at my door drew my attention. Rhea stood there, arms crossed, eyes sharp with unspoken warnings.
"You got one too," she said, holding up an identical invitation.
I exhaled through my nose. "Of course."
---
That evening, we arrived at the Everthorne estate, a sprawling mansion of dark stone and stained-glass windows that shimmered with embedded runes. The dining hall was grand but intimate, lit by floating chandeliers that cast long shadows across a polished obsidian table. Seated around it were some of the academy's most influential noble heirs, each wearing the kind of practiced smiles that concealed daggers beneath.
Alaric Dawnbringer was among them, his golden hair gleaming under the light, his expression unreadable. Across from him sat Evelyn Nightshade, her dark violet dress blending into the candlelit gloom, fingers idly tracing the rim of her wine goblet. To my left, a boy I recognized as Cassius Vortem, heir to the wealthiest trading house, drummed his fingers on the table in lazy disinterest.
At the head of the table sat our host—Lord Cedric Everthorne. He was a man of quiet power, his graying hair neatly combed back, his emerald eyes sharp with amusement as he studied us.
The first course was served: roasted pheasant glazed in honeyed spice, accompanied by a side of wine-steamed greens. The moment the first glasses were raised, the games began.
"So," Cedric mused, swirling his wine. "I hear you've been quite busy, Aidan Morvell."
A few heads turned my way.
I set my goblet down, meeting his gaze evenly. "The academy sends us on missions. We complete them. That's hardly unusual."
Cassius smirked. "True, but most students don't end up entangled in ley line affairs and village uprisings. Either you're very lucky, or very… ambitious."
"Luck," I said simply. "I assure you, I have no grand ambitions beyond surviving my time at this academy."
A polite chuckle rippled around the table, but Rhea shot me a sharp look. She knew better. So did Evelyn, if the slight quirk of her lips was anything to go by.
Cedric leaned forward slightly. "Survival is a fine goal, but hardly one fit for an S-Class student. Tell me, Aidan, what do you think of the way this academy is run? Of the Council's handling of the ley line crisis?"
The weight of the question settled heavily between us. A test. A trap.
I picked up my goblet, giving myself a moment to think. The wrong answer could mark me as an enemy. The right one could make me a pawn.
"I think," I said slowly, "that the academy exists to train the best and brightest. But power, when centralized, is always at risk of stagnation."
A few murmurs. Cedric raised a brow. "A careful answer."
"A truthful one." I met his gaze without flinching. "Power must be guided by responsibility, but responsibility is meaningless if those in power refuse to adapt. The ley line crisis was proof of that. The people suffered because of inaction, and only direct intervention prevented greater catastrophe."
Alaric studied me now, his fingers steepled together. "And who do you think should have the right to 'directly intervene'?"
Another test.
"The ones who understand the cost of power," I answered. "Not those who sit in ivory towers debating policy while the world burns."
Evelyn chuckled softly. "Spoken like someone who's seen the flames up close."
Cedric exhaled through his nose, as if amused. "You speak boldly, Morvell. That will serve you well… or get you killed."
"A common risk in our line of work."
More laughter. But beneath the surface, I could feel the shift in the room. I had walked the line carefully, neither fully aligning with the nobles nor outright challenging them. It wasn't trust I had won—only intrigue. But in this world, intrigue was a powerful currency.
The second course arrived, a dish of seared venison infused with arcane spices. As I took my first bite, I felt Evelyn's gaze linger on me.
"Tell me, Aidan," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "You've studied illusions, haven't you?"
I swallowed, keeping my expression neutral. "A bit."
Her lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then you must know how easy it is to craft a lie. To weave a falsehood so seamlessly that it becomes indistinguishable from the truth."
The conversation had shifted. The real game was beginning.
I set my fork down. "A useful skill."
"Dangerous, too," she mused. "Especially when one starts believing their own deceptions."
A pointed remark. Was she referring to herself? Or me?
Cassius leaned back in his chair, watching with interest. Alaric remained impassive.
"I prefer to deal in truths," I said carefully.
Evelyn chuckled. "Oh? And what truth do you believe in, Aidan?"
I met her gaze and, for the first time, gave an answer that wasn't careful.
"The truth that power must be earned."
Silence.
Then, a slow clap from Cedric.
"Well said," he murmured. "You remind me of someone I once knew."
I didn't ask who.
By the time dessert arrived—delicate fruit tarts laced with cooling enchantments—I knew this was more than a simple noble gathering. This was a declaration, a dance of shifting alliances and concealed threats.
When the night ended and we stepped into the cool evening air, Rhea fell into step beside me.
"You played that well," she admitted.
"I had to."
She exhaled. "Evelyn's watching you more closely now. So is Alaric."
"I know."
We reached the dormitories, the glow of Skyhaven's floating lanterns casting eerie shadows against the walls.
Before we parted, Rhea hesitated.
"Be careful, Aidan." Her voice was quieter now. "This isn't just politics anymore. Whatever game they're playing… it's bigger than us."
I already knew that. The only question was whether I'd make it through the next round.
And if I'd still recognize myself when I did.