"Isolde Valoria."
Isolde stepped into the aisle.
The room had already turned toward her.
She felt the attention before she reached the central diagram. Noble students straightened with the subtle care of people who wanted their interest to resemble composure, while several common-born candidates openly followed her approach. Even those who had spent the last hour pretending indifference seemed willing to make an exception.
Isolde understood the habit.
People preferred certainty after witnessing something difficult to classify.
Lucavion had given them reversed circulation, forgotten terminology, battlefield metaphors, and an official failure that somehow left Magister Selenne more interested in him than before.
Isolde offered them something cleaner.
She reached the dais and inclined her head.
"Magister."
"Sit."
Isolde lowered herself into the examination chair and arranged her skirt before folding her hands across her lap.
The position gave her a direct view of Selenne.
