8

Clemence nods. "Well, perhaps that'll be the case going forward," they say. "I must say, I'm looking forward to seeing how it all shakes out!"

They perch on the edge of their own armchair, survey your little class, and launch into the lesson. The topic today is the vote.

Voting is always a hot issue, and even more so in the last few years. In Westerlin, adults may vote for Members of Parliament, so long as they have a title and own property of a certain value. That value keeps the vote firmly in the hands of the aristocracy, but many protesters have been petitioning this to change before the next Prime Ministerial election.

"Consider a hypothetical," Clemence says, steepling their fingers, and you focus.

Next

"In this hypothetical, the suffrage protests become more disruptive," Clemence says. "As leaders, how will you convince Parliament and the papers that the right course of action is to issue a curfew?"

Beaumont is busily making notes. Dominique says, "Shouldn't they be free to protest if what they want is a good thing?"

"Some Members of Parliament," Clemence says, "would agree with a curfew, but others would not. Prince Hugoz, your thoughts?"

"As long as a leader has a good reputation, they can get away with a great deal," you say. "Including blackmailing people when needed. It's the smart approach."

Clemence nods, taking in your words with evident consideration. "I'd love to hear more," they say. "Do you think it wise if…"

The discussion continues. Clemence is an intense teacher, and is clearly passionate about their subject; you cannot help but notice that they speak admiringly about the suffragists, and they seem to approve of the idea of allowing a wider variety of people to vote.

Eventually, the lunch bell rings. Clemence says, "Wonderful! Prince Hugoz, Pascal asked if he could have a word with you over lunch. I'll show you the way!"

Dominique waves to you as you follow Clemence out.

Next

Pascal's office is situated in the center of the main building, away from the classrooms. In a smaller office beside Pascal's, a couple of secretaries are busy working at typewriters, keys clacking as they do so. Clemence goes in to talk to one of them, leaving you to knock on Pascal's huge oak door.

"Come in!" Pascal calls.

Inside, the dark paneled walls are covered with art: a jungle landscape, a metallic dragon, an eerie photograph of the coast. Like the hall, the leaded windows are stained glass, but here they are intricate geometric patterns whose colors dazzle your eye.

Pascal is sitting behind a vast desk, but rises as soon as you enter, shakes your hand vigorously, and invites you to be seated beside an elaborate fireplace. You sit in opposite armchairs; a bearskin rug lies upon the floor between you. While you get settled, a servant brings in afternoon tea: fresh sandwiches, salad, and cake.

"Now," Pascal says, "I hope you're having a good first day. We want to do everything we can to make things more comfortable."

Pascal throws back his head and laughs. "If I could make it happen," he says, "I would."

Still chuckling, he eats a few bites of his sandwich and stretches out his legs comfortably.

"I invited you to speak with me because I had a favor to ask," he says. "I'm sure you'll be discreet. This is to be my last year teaching here, and I haven't decided on my successor."

He wipes his fingers on a napkin, and sighs.

"It's a tricky decision. Vere and Clemence are my top choices, but I haven't chosen which yet. I'd like you to be my eyes and ears over the year, and give me information about who ought to take over."

Pascal looks faintly alarmed, but then nods eagerly. "That's the spirit!" he says. "I need someone with your determination on the case."

You finish up your lunch over the hour, savoring the cake and tea, until another servant sidles in to murmur that the animals have arrived.

"Excellent!" Pascal says. "Well, I won't keep you. No doubt you'll be eager for fresh air!"

The animals: that must mean your pet's here. An animal could hardly be transported on the plane, so your pet was sent separately. You make your polite farewells to Pascal, and head downstairs.

Next

You find Beaumont, Dominique, and Asher dawdling on the gravel drive outside with a person in their mid-twenties, wearing rough, practical clothing. Their black hair is pulled into a ponytail. Asher looks happily windswept.

"This is Emile," they say. "I've been getting a tour from them. And the pets are here!"

Emile bows low. "Your Highness," they say quietly. "May I show you out to the field?"

As you follow Emile across the estate, it's strange how short a time you've been here, and yet how long it feels since you saw your…

The mews, where the falconry birds are kept, sit close to the stables on the Archambault grounds. As you approach, Dominique rushes to the first cage to pet a barn owl through the wire, but the owl nips impatiently at his fingers.

"Here," Emile says, pointing to the next cage. Your peregrine shrieks as she sees you; upon the cage sits a gleaming sign where her name proudly reads: . ruffles her light chains eagerly as you open the cage. You pull on a heavy leather glove before stroking her downy chest feathers.

"She missed you," Asher says affectionately.

In the opposite cage, you hear Beaumont murmuring gently to his hawk. When you look up, the hawk looks nervous, but after a few minutes, takes a treat from Beaumont's hand.

"Bring the birds out to the field," Emile calls. "We'll do some practice this afternoon."

You stride out.

Next

The fields stretch out as far as you can see until they become blankets of bright blue gentian flowers. You throw a strip of jerky for ., and she surges forth eagerly. Emile calls out for your group to line up and toss treats for each of your birds, timing their speeds. Beaumont's bird takes some coaxing to get going, but once she warms up, is eager to fly.

Out here, the air tastes clean. Compared to the lowlands, it's fresh and bright.

You grit your teeth as the wind whips around your face. . picks up the pace; her dives are faster than either of the others, and she nips back in the time it takes for Dominique's owl to catch anything. Beside you, Asher claps and cheers, and strokes .'s chest each time she returns.

Close by, Beaumont is calling crisp commands to his hawk; when he sees you looking, he raises a hand in a brief salute to you.

"Your bird's a lovely animal," he says. "Congratulations."

"She's a good one," you say, watching as . soars and dives.

Beaumont snorts with amusement. "I can understand that," he says.

He strokes his hawk's chest feathers. His expression is uncharacteristically warm.

"Patch can be like that, too," he says. "Though I'm not having the same trouble as the Honorable de Saint Martel over there."

On your other side, Dominique is indeed suffering. His barn owl—whose name, you can hear from Dominique's remonstrations with him, is Lightning—is not listening to him, and is more interested in sitting in a fir tree.

"Can I help you?" Emile calls.

"I'm…fine…" Dominique says but then Lightning soars down to try to steal .'s jerky. . shrieks in outrage.