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She’d heard the whispers as she followed in after her former mentor, filing in and finding a place close. The treasonous flock had much to worry of, and she spared them reprisal for it. Heftiness in name bade allowance, temperance. Sober looks exchanged as they gathered in the Old Halls, the empty corridors that never ceased to cause Calpurnia strain and apprehension. A place filled with the ghosts of old days, of past crimes and the smiting of ruinous hearts.

As children, they would dare one another to go as deep as they could, to listen for the screams of long-since deceased convicts. Haunted, the children had crowed. And now, it was the seat of their subversions, the pot for which revolution would grow.

“You pay her too much generosity,” –the Lauriots here cannot be trusted.

“Vinciane has gone too far.” –they all knew it.

“Blessed are the eyes, the child needs to live.” Bloodletting, slaying was never an option.

“Who will go?” Fervent looks. Tense expressions. Calpurnia curdled beneath the thumbing of her elders. But it’d never been a secret how fond she’d been of her cousin and how grim she’d been towards her grandmother’s beliefs. Thinly, the chaos summoned a choir of dissension, and insistence each had the right, and that neither Lauriot would be given such freedoms. Her teacher was firm, the decision unshakable, and the volume of their gathering edged dangerously brasher. Shrill whispers, and firm decantation of muddled voices: it was the chittering of mice, the quickened spit of vermin amassing upon each other.

“It’s decided then.” who would go: the knave, the gloryhound, the twins. the wardrum and his decided skyseer (despite of all the detractors). volunteers selected for skill, for aptitude, for their willingness.

Dawn trickled in at their backs, setting aglow the faces circled about. Nods, affirmations and doting quiet farewells were exchanged as those who’d remain with Vinciane’s council of crows and vermin thinned out the meeting, leaving only those chosen few.

And while the erudite voice of her mentor began to detail what was to emerge in the hours to come, Calpurnia could not help but feel the straining burden of mourning. Nor, could she shake the portentous feeling that there would be no going back.