If Dean Kedam was right about one thing, it was that the bureaucrats loved their stalling. Ingrid found herself standing stiffly in one of the many lecture halls. The many rows of desks formed layers of concentric circles, with the top desks just in front of the doors seeming to be a mile away. She was standing in the center with Leland, Dean Kedam, and two others: A pale skinned girl who couldn’t have been much older than Ingrid herself but stood with the same grace that Dean Kedam so often displayed and a stockier man with calloused hands and a gruff face but a perfectly clean shirt and pressed slacks that contrasted the dark stains on his hands. Around them were two dozen or so people, all wrinkled and frowning in the same long robes that most professors wore. Each one was sat at a desk in the front row with a thin binder with the school’s crest on the front, some perusing through it, other jotting notes, and most staring at the group in the middle with a withering scowl. Ingrid spied the stockier man pulling at his collar before returning to his hands to his front, clearly as uncomfortable as she was but with a stubborn resolve to seem as put together as possible.
Dean Kedam was in the middle of a speech proposing the expedition to the various heads peering down at them. She gestured towards the four in the center. Ingrid was trying her best to pay attention closely but was distracted by the constant glances in her direction followed by scribbles of pen on paper. She was only able to make out fragments: Pescatarian, Don, Idiya, Juno. Before she knew it, the many faces of the council before her began posing questions, inquiries, pokes, and prods at the operation. The words were not crass, but certainly had a degree of sharpness to them that felt like they were insulting her.
The Dean addressed each hand as they were raised, the names triggering pockets of memories that had been burned into Ingrid’s mind. Solan: A clan of archivists, Zarivich: A family of traders, Onouwa: A key manufacturing company, and many other notable groups in Kamaaldor, although a few escaped Ingrid’s memory, Juno being the only one she caught definitively. Where had she heard that name before? Juno was plastered on the very front of her mind like the header on the page of a textbook. Ingrid searched Dean Kedam’s expression for any clue as to who Juno was, but only found a diplomatic smile aimed in the direction of whoever was asking the question. Ingrid thought ‘I guess even the head of the Kedam family has to bow to bureaucracy from time to time.’
She continued to study the matriarch’s expression, the slight pursing of the lips whenever the interrogation would resume, the absent smile lines as she smiled without her eyes, and the expectant stare as she was waiting for a response. That look of thinly simmering patience was sure to force an answer from anyone. In fact, Ingrid felt that very compulsion, feeling as though the answer to a question she didn’t even know was being drawn from her throat like water from a well that was supposed to be dry. From behind her, a loud cough shot across the room. Ingrid turned around to say bless you to the person who coughed but her gaze was met by the young lady staring at her. This was a much easier expression to read compared to the Dean. Wide eyes, quick glances up, and a less than subtle nudge aimed towards someone in the rows of desks. Ingrid felt a chill shoot down her spine and land in her stomach as realization took over her anxious distraction captive. Her hearing seemed to come back to life as she realized that the looks she had been studying were both aimed at her and were expectant gazes waiting for an answer.
“Miss Sathauris? We are waiting.” One of the council members called out prompting a wave of nods from other awaiting members. Ingrid froze. What had they said? She couldn’t even piece together the fragmented names that she recalled. She continued to stare at the pale girl who noticed Ingrid’s sudden revival and sighed deeply. The girl straightened her back, dropped her shoulders, and lifted her chin high, assuming a regal pose. The look in her eyes seemed to melt slightly, changing into a more accommodating look of diplomacy from cold standoffishness.
“I believe my comrade is trying to consider all the factors of your inquiry. We wouldn’t want to be frivolous with our answers when so much is on the line, right Ingrid?” She said, turning the attention back over. Ingrid jolted slightly and attempted to imitate her savior’s posture, straightening her back with a creak and trying to force her shoulders down, much to her discomfort. She tried to stifle her groans as much as possible while groaning out a response.
“Yes, I am trying to accurately assess the question.” But what was the question… She could try and fish a response out of one of the council members. Though any way she could think of would be about as subtle as a giant shiphorn. But the stares were uncomfortable, like flies on her skin. Even an un-subtle response would at least detract from the odd looks. Ingrid nodded to herself and turned her uncomfortably lifted chin towards the council.“If you could, would you reiterate the question? I’m afraid I don’t fully understand all the facets I would need to address to ensure understanding.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a slight twitch coming from the girl as a painful smile was produced from the regal form. The council glanced at each other until their looks all settled on one. A person with voluminous golden hair and androgynous features rose from their seat, the afternoon sun casting through the strands of hair, the eyes reflecting a vibrant viridian hue. The entire room seemed to hang onto every ebb and flow of breath from the inquisitor, save Dean Kedam who stood there unflinching. There was a slight inkling that Ingrid caught onto: A playful smile on their face as they seemed to enjoy toying with the room’s attention.
“Miss Sathauris, why should this council let you go on this extremely important expedition?” The inquisitor asked bluntly. Their playful smile shifted into a skeptical smile, the same smile many past professors wore while listening to a student defend a defrauded test or paper. They continued, the smile fading with each word. “Surely you recognize your own skill. You can’t believe you are the best botanist in the department, can you? There are better mages all over this school, so why should we send a middling botany student who can’t even keep their samples alive long enough for a proper dataset?” They spat out the last few words with such vitriol Ingrid could practically see venom dripping from their lips and the verdant shade of their eyes almost looked toxic. Particular emphasis was put on ‘alive’, enough so that a few members of the council almost flinched, but Ingrid held fast. She had not stopped asking herself this question since the meeting with the Dean. She had her answer locked and loaded. Without missing a beat, Ingrid responded,
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“The council should not let me go. I am not the best botanist, even in my year, but I’m going. I can’t sit on the sides while my fate is decided for me if I had the chance to decide it for myself. It wouldn’t be fair to all the people who don’t get that choice. If I go, then I can at least point to that being the reason why I can't do what I love. I have a chance to go, so I’m going. If you remove me from the expedition, I’ll go anyway.” The council’s faces stayed frustratingly still. Ingrid searched the questioner for any sign or expression, but their face showed only deep contemplation. The rest of the council mirrored the expression, taking an eternity to consider her answer. The rest of the meeting was nothing but ringing in her ear but this moment was strikingly lucid. Impatience started to take hold of Ingrid, her posture beginning to go from uncomfortable to painful. She looked around her, but the council was all around the bottom row of the classroom and everywhere she turned was another thinking face. She turned to the rest of her supposed team and saw more frozen faces like the school’s statue garden sans movement, Leland’s frozen in pride while the other two were frozen in a mix of awe and fear. Dean Kedam’s face looked almost like stone, a mask with an amicable, diplomatic expression that looked so natural, but Ingrid knew that it must have been practiced. Practiced for hours in front of a mirror, corrected, tweaked, redone, analyzed, everything so that every single person, no matter their thought or stance, would be disarmed, softened, so that they may be shaped by her words coated in honey. It was ironed into her very skull, so much so that in moments of peace and relaxation, it stayed on her face, even during what little sleep she got, it persisted.
Back in Ingrid’s childhood home was a portrait of her great grandfather. He had been some kind of general in a war that she couldn’t even remember. He was an old school warcaster, a soldier before a scholar. He had his left hand on a pouch emblazoned with the crest of Rothenanburg and his right hand on a saber. He was sat upon a stool with a velvet cushion leaning forward, his weight on his left foot as though ready to spring into a draw. That portrait scared Ingrid as a child. The tension in his stance drove some primal fear that said to stay away from wolves in the forest or snakes coiling up. The stern expression felt like a constant gaze of disapproval that would stick to her skin. She now knew, standing in the middle of this room that that look wasn’t of disapproval, it was of fear threatening to burst out of his skin, barely contained in the twisted expression that sat above the fireplace. Ingrid’s eyes flitted from face to face of every council member, each holding a variant of that contorted face. Ingrid as a child would have been terrified. Ingrid as an adult was terrified, though she refused to show it.
Dean Kedam finally stepped forward after what felt like an hour of silence. She turned to face the blond inquisitor with an air of familiarity. “Councilman Juno, I’m sure you don’t mean to be so virulent, yes? Please keep in mind that no matter how pressing the matter, I am their teacher and I will not stand for such insults, intentional or not.” There was a shocking degree of candor in her voice, familiarity that was not afforded to any of the other council members. Councilman Juno softened their expression and put on a gentle smile.
“Apologies Lidia, I seem to have lost myself.” Juno seemed genuinely sorry for a moment. A calculated approach surely. There was no chance that someone who commanded such attention and knew it would lose control like that. But it was always possible. There were plenty of cases where nobles had lost multitudes off of one sour interaction. Yes. It was always possible.
The council seemed to have come off a boil, no longer as tense. The next question came, aimed at Leland, but Ingrid’s attention was elsewhere. Her eyes were transfixed on councilman Juno’s face with special care given to his eyes. They looked like green magma, colors changing and melding as heat radiated from them. She didn’t even mean to stare, meeting the gaze of the councilman a few times, each time being met with a quick smile. He was aware of the attention, but didn’t mind. If anything, each passing glance back to her was met with a rising amalgam of pride and dread.
The rest of the tribunal must have taken 2 hours, though the only thing that Ingrid could mind to remember was the 2 or 3 questions that were actually aimed at her. All the rest were asked to Dean Kedam with a spare few being given to her three comrades. The numerous bureaucrats filed out of the room, each collecting their belongings before slowly retreating from the chamber. Soon it was only the five interogees, the stray robed noble, and councilman Juno. He seemed to glide, his body almost entirely obscured by the flowing white robe save for the arms, visible through the lack of sleeves. They were thin, pale, lacking any marks or blemishes, artificial. The robes lacked the heraldry of any house, the same type clearly displayed on nearly all the other robes. He glided up to Dean Kedam, who greeted him like an old friend. They exchanged a few words quietly. Though Ingrid’s eyes were sharply observing, the ringing in her ears still prevented any attempt at eavesdropping. The councilman patted the Dean’s shoulder and turned toward Ingrid. He held her gaze, now moving towards her. It didn’t feel real. It couldn’t be. She saw each step yet the head stayed still. Each errant twitch on her face felt scrutinized. The eye contact felt poisonous. She had to escape. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t break away. Councilman Juno noticed this and stopped a ways away. He gave another disarming smile soaked with pride and dread. How could such a frightening smile be so charming Ingrid didn’t know. Maybe a bureaucrats trick: To appease, threaten, and leverage in a single action.
“Miss Sathauris, I do hope that my words didn’t sting too much.” He started. Ingrid stood still, dumbfounded. Of all the things she anticipated, an apology wasn’t one of them. “I tend to be a bit passionate at times. I’m sure you understand, what with the import of this particular time, yes? We surely live in unprecedented times.” The Councilman explained, grasping her hand in a shake. How had he approached? When he stopped he was a full boat’s length away. Ingrid tried to pull her hand away momentarily, but the grip was strong. “I apologize for the harshness of my interrogation. I simply wanted to ensure that this decision was the best, both for all of us and yourself. We wouldn’t want to send someone who wasn’t truly willing to go after all, right?” Ingrid just nodded and stopped pulling away, now returning the handshake. His hands were smooth, as though work was an entirely foreign concept to them. The councilman let go of her hand, stowing both of his behind his back. “Good afternoon then, I must go. We are all anticipating great things now. I know your departure is tomorrow, but in advance, I wish you a bountiful journey.”
