"Your seal, young master."
I looked at the little brass stand the clerk had placed beside the papers.
A dark ring rested on it.
I had seen it in the dressing tray every morning. Until now, I thought it was another expensive thing Cedric wore because his fingers weren't receiving enough attention.
Apparently, it also approved payments.
"Leave it there," I said.
The clerk folded his hands.
He was an older man with ink along the side of one finger and a pair of thin spectacles. Unlike the attendant, he didn't keep adjusting his position whenever I moved. He stood beside the desk as if his feet had been assigned that spot years ago.
"Which page?" I asked.
He indicated the bottom of the stack.
"The confirmation is last."
Of course it was.
I moved the first sheet closer.
New travel clothes. Repairs to a case. Two replacement clasps. Soap. Writing paper. A fee for handling baggage on the route to the academy.
The amounts meant almost nothing to me.
I understood numbers. I didn't understand whether a pair of boots should cost more than a week's meals, or whether nobles simply paid extra for the pleasure of being robbed politely.
The clerk waited while I read.
My palm had stopped hurting unless I bent my fingers too far. I kept it flat against the desk. "These are estimates?"
"The upper column, young master. Actual expenses will be entered against them."
"And this?"
I pointed to a line beneath the travel case.
"Replacement of the inner fittings. Your previous instruction was to keep the original exterior."
An instruction I didn't remember giving. I nodded as if that cleared everything up and kept reading.
Yesterday, my problems had mostly involved breathing without injuring myself. This morning, I was responsible for the inside of a suitcase.
Neither task seemed interested in waiting for the other.
At the bottom of the second page, a short paragraph joined the travel expenses to the personal allowance assigned to the heir.
Below it was another paragraph about damages.
I read that one again.
"This covers the academy?"
"Personal purchases made through the household account, yes. Academy fees are administered separately."
"And claims against the account?"
The clerk leaned forward just enough to see the line.
"Your confirmation allows the household to settle ordinary claims without returning each one for your approval. Disputed sums would still be referred to the steward."
Ordinary claims.
I thought about a broken table, then a broken training room, then a noble deciding someone else should pay for both.
"Remove that permission."
The clerk paused.
"You wish to review each claim personally?"
No. I wanted to go back to worrying about the suitcase.
"Any new claim. Existing expenses stay as listed."
He took out his pen. "That will require a separate note."
"Then write one."
It came out more sharply than I intended.
He didn't react beyond moving the top sheet aside.
I watched him write, reading each line before he finished the next. The change was small. It also meant I would have more paperwork later.
Fine. Later was a time I hoped to reach.
"Leave me a copy of the approved list."
He reached for a blank sheet.
"Would a summary serve?"
"The same list. With the changes."
Copying it took longer than I expected. I watched the morning move across the desk while his pen worked, and felt foolish for imagining someone would press a button somewhere and hand me a second page.
He didn't complain. When he finished, he placed the two copies together and checked the amounts line by line. I checked with him.
The smallest recurring charge was for ordinary writing supplies. I used that as a rough point of comparison. The travel case cost enough paper to keep me busy for years.
"Will anything else need replacing before departure?" I asked.
"Not unless you change the packing instructions."
"Leave them as they are."
At least one thing could remain simple this morning.
Once he had finished, he warmed a stick of dark wax over the little lamp on his tray.
I picked up the ring. My fingers knew how to turn it.
That didn't make the sight any less strange.
One press left the mark of House Valdrake beneath a decision I had made five minutes ago. The clerk waited for it to cool, inspected the edge, and moved the approved sheet into another folder.
The name worked. I needed to learn what it worked on.
"There's a small practice room on this floor?"
"On the east side, young master."
"I want it empty after breakfast. Two hours. Every morning until departure."
He glanced at my hand. I curled it before remembering why that was a bad idea.
"The second hour is used for servicing the ward fixtures," he said. "The work could be moved to the afternoon."
"Will the room be safe?"
"Once the current inspection is complete."
"Then move the work."
He wrote another note.
No argument. No request for proof that I deserved the room. I gave an order, and the space became mine.
I tried not to look relieved.
"Is there an inventory?"
"Of the fixtures?"
"Of the equipment assigned to this floor. Include stored pieces. I don't intend to have someone interrupt a session to collect something."
That sounded reasonable to me.
The clerk accepted it without comment, which wasn't the same as agreeing.
He returned before lunch with a thin book and a folded schedule.
I took both to the east room.
The space was smaller than I had hoped and much larger than I needed. Pale squares marked the floor. Along one wall stood padded posts, a low table, and a wooden rack holding objects I couldn't identify at a glance.
Three circular fixtures were fixed into the opposite wall.
None were lit.
A woman in a plain work apron was removing a panel beneath one of them. Beside her sat a box of narrow tools, each wrapped separately.
She stood when I entered.
"Young master. I'll clear these."
"Finish what you're doing."
I meant the loose panel. She looked at the wall, then back at me.
"This fixture is the last. The afternoon light makes the lower marks difficult to read. I could finish the remaining checks tomorrow morning, before your interval."
"How early?"
"An hour before breakfast, if the lamps are made available."
That was earlier than I wanted anyone moving around outside my room.
I looked at the schedule in my hand.
Two hours. Private. No audience for whatever failure came next. I needed those hours.
"Use the afternoon," I said. "Have another lamp brought in."
"Yes, young master."
She knelt again, fitting the panel back into place. One corner wouldn't sit properly. She loosened a screw and tried a second time.
I stood there longer than necessary.
It wasn't a serious problem. Someone would carry a lamp. She would do the work later.
People changed schedules all the time.
I had changed mine for employers who wouldn't have remembered my name if it hadn't been printed above the time clock.
And I wasn't doing this because I wanted a better view of the garden. I needed somewhere to practice without advertising that Cedric Valdrake could barely move a thread of Aether.
"Leave written instructions for anything a user shouldn't touch," I said.
She nodded without looking up.
I took the inventory back to my room.
Most of it was dull enough to make me feel safer.
Wooden practice blades. Replaceable padding. Floor mats. Measuring cords. Ward stones sorted by the range they were intended to withstand.
Several entries carried dates, repairs, or a line through the original location.
I compared those marks with the fixtures I had just seen. The clerk's book wasn't a list of everything the family owned. It tracked the pieces assigned to these rooms, including equipment that had been removed.
Near the back, a faded entry caught my attention.
VOID-RELATED MATERIAL. SEALED STORAGE.
No description followed.
The quantity column held a single mark. Beneath it, in darker ink, someone had written a transfer destination.
Astral Zenith Academy.
I leaned closer.
There was a reference number, a stamp showing the transfer had been recorded, and an empty space where most entries listed a condition check.
I turned the page. Nothing. More padding. A repaired rack. Four floor mats replaced after water damage.
I returned to the entry. Void-related didn't necessarily mean useful. It might be a broken teaching tool or a box of research notes nobody wanted in the house.
Still, the game had given Cedric a bloodline, a rank, and a long list of unpleasant scenes. I couldn't remember anything about his family sending old material to the academy.
I reached for my notes, then stopped.
The clerk would expect this inventory back. Asking for the transfer papers might be ordinary curiosity. It might also make a very specific question travel straight to Cassian Valdrake.
I knew too little to judge which.
For now, I marked the page with a loose scrap and closed the book.
Across the desk, my seal sat beside the approved expenses.
It had taken less than a minute to change someone's working day.
Getting an answer about a single old entry felt considerably harder.