Chapter 15 – Academy (6)
"Hey, Tamara, I know this is sudden but do you mind if we talk instead in the cafeteria? I—"
Before I could finish, my twelve-year-old body betrayed me.
Grrrr—
A very clear, very rude sound came from my stomach.
I froze.
Tamara blinked once, then twice. Her lips pressed together like she was fighting hard not to laugh.
"…I see," she said, looking slightly away. "I… don't mind joining."
Her voice tried to sound proud and composed, but the tips of her ears were red.
"Good," I said simply. "Let's go then, before my body stages a rebellion."
She let out a small sound that might have been a laugh and fell into step beside me.
***
We crossed the plaza toward Solar Hall.
Now that I wasn't walking alone, I noticed something else.
Earlier, when the nobles arrived at the academy, they all had shadows behind them—maids, manservants, attendants carrying luggage, straightening collars, whispering reminders.
Now…
The plaza, the paths, even the entrance to the cafeteria were full of just students.
No maids. No butlers. No guards.
Not a single servant's uniform.
Tamara walked half a step ahead, her back very straight, but her eyes kept flicking around like she was looking for someone.
"Strange," I said aloud.
She turned her head slightly. "What is?"
"The maids," I said. "And the attendants. When we first arrived, I saw a lot of them. Now I don't see any."
She scanned the crowd again, slower this time.
"…You're right," she muttered. "Marion was behind me during the entrance ceremony. She was supposed to bring my spare coat to the dorm but…"
Her brows drew together.
"She vanished after they separated us," Tamara said. "They said 'support staff will be guided separately' but no one told me where."
I remembered seeing Residential Aides talking to servants near the dorms, pointing somewhere deeper inside the grounds.
"They're probably still on academy grounds," I said. "The academy doesn't feel messy enough to lose that many maids at once."
"That's not the point," she muttered, looking away. "Marion has been with me since I was five. I've never spent this long… without her nearby."
Her hand clenched around the edge of her red coat for a second, then let go.
So this was Tamara without a maid at her shoulder.
A lot sharper. A lot more unsure.
We reached Solar Hall's entrance.
Inside, the cafeteria was larger than I expected. Long rows of wooden tables filled the center. Some were already crowded with students eating, talking, or just staring at their trays like the food might vanish if they blinked.
Along the left wall ran a long counter. Kitchen staff moved back and forth behind it, lifting lids, refilling trays, handing out plates. Warm air rolled out toward us with the smells of bread, meat, herbs, and something faintly sweet.
My stomach made another hopeful sound.
Tamara heard it.
"…We should get in line," she said quickly. "Before you faint dramatically in front of everyone."
"That would be memorable," I said. "Not in the way I want."
We joined the queue.
It moved at a steady pace. Each time the line stepped forward, Tamara inched a little closer to me—not enough to be obvious, just enough that her sleeve brushed mine now and then.
The closer we got to the counter, the clearer the food became.
Trays of sliced roasted meat—chicken and something like beef—sat under gentle warming spells, the surfaces shining slightly with juice. Huge pots of thick vegetable stew sent up clouds of steam, full of potatoes, carrots, and something green chopped into tiny pieces. Baskets of bread—round loaves, sliced loaves, small rolls—were stacked high, their crusts golden.
Further down, there were bowls of rice, a platter of grilled fish with herbs scattered across the top, and a section with cut fruit—apple slices, pale pear wedges, and bright orange segments that smelled fresh and sharp.
"For an academy, this is…" I searched for the word. "…acceptable."
Tamara gave me a sideways look.
"You mean 'amazing'," she said. "Most country nobles don't get this much variety every day."
"Maybe I'm just trying to sound composed," I said.
"That failed the moment your stomach declared war," she replied.
Fair.
When it was our turn, the staff handed us each a tray.
A slice of roasted meat, a scoop of stew, a piece of bread, a spoonful of rice, and a few pieces of fruit went onto mine. Tamara's tray ended up almost the same, though she hesitated at the fish before accepting a smaller piece.
We carried our trays away from the counter, weaving between tables until we found a spot near the wall with two empty seats.
"Over there," I said, nodding.
We sat opposite each other.
For a moment, we both just looked at the food.
The roasted meat glistened. The stew smelled rich and warm. When I broke the bread, the inside was still soft, a little bit of steam escaping.
I took a bite of the meat.
Salt, fat, and heat hit all at once.
"…Better than I expected," I said after swallowing.
Tamara cut off a tiny piece of her own and tasted it.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Oh."
"That good?" I asked.
"It tastes like the palace banquet," she murmured. "But less… arranged."
"Arranged?"
"At home, they care about how it looks first," she said. "By the time it reaches us, it's sometimes cold."
"That sounds inefficient," I said.
"That's nobility," she replied softly. "Most of the time."
We ate in silence for a while.
The stew was thick, the vegetables soft but not mushy. The bread soaked up the broth nicely. The fruit at the end cut through the heaviness with a sharp sweetness.
"This academy," I said in between bites, "feeds us like they actually plan on keeping us alive. That's reassuring."
Tamara let out a small snort. "That's a very low bar, Erynd."
"Reality has low bars."
She lifted her cup and took a sip of water, eyes quietly watching me over the rim.
After a moment, she set the cup down and asked, more quietly than before:
"How are you so strong?"
I paused, spoon halfway to my mouth.
"What?"
"In the duel," she said, fingers tightening around her fork. "And earlier, with those idiots. You're twelve. Same age as me. But the way you moved…" Her jaw tightened slightly. "It didn't look like a child."
I set my spoon down.
"My father trained me," I said. "Every morning before sunrise. Stances, footwork, drills. Again and again. No excuses. Even when I wanted to throw the sword at his head."
The corner of her mouth twitched for a second.
"I saw how he fought," I continued. "How he held himself. How he guarded our land. If I was going to carry the Milton name, I didn't want to embarrass it."
Tamara looked down at her plate.
"…Must be nice," she said.
The way she said it didn't sound jealous.
It sounded tired.
***
Eight-year-old Tamara stood outside the training yard gate, fingers wrapped around a wooden practice sword that was slightly too big for her.
On the other side of the fence, two boys swung their blades under the morning sun. Their movements were clumsy but full of energy. A tall man in armour corrected their stances with firm, precise touches.
"Again," he said. "Your guard is open. Tamien, raise your elbow. Coren, stop dropping your shoulder."
"Yes, Father!" both boys shouted together.
Tamara gripped the gate a little tighter.
When the lesson paused, she pushed the gate open, heart pounding, and stepped onto the packed dirt.
"Father," she said, holding the wooden sword close. "Can I train too?"
The Duke of Orvel glanced at her once.
His eyes slid over the wooden sword, over her small hands, over the dress that wasn't meant for sweat and dust.
Without a word, he turned back to her brothers.
"Again," he repeated. "Start from the first form."
The boys moved.
No one answered her.
Later, Marion found her alone in one of the unused corridors, swinging the same wooden sword at a chalk mark on the wall until her arms shook.
"…Lady Tamara," the maid said softly, stepping forward with a worried look. "You'll bruise your hands."
Tamara's breath was rough. "Then I'll be… stronger… when they heal."
On her ninth birthday, the family gathered in the grand hall.
Her parents sat at the head table, her brothers in polished practice armour at their sides. There were gifts and dishes and polite words.
Her father raised his cup once to Tamien and Coren, praising their progress.
He never said her name.
That night, Tamara lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Marion," she whispered into the dark. "If I became strong enough to beat all the other nobles' children… do you think Father would look at me properly then?"
Marion, sitting beside the bed with mending work in her hands, hesitated.
"…I think," she said carefully, "that Lady Tamara is already worth looking at properly."
"That's not the same thing," Tamara muttered.
Her small fingers curled in the blanket.
"Next time," she said, "I'll make him notice."
***
A hand tightened around my sleeve.
Present.
I looked down.
At some point while I was talking about my father, Tamara had reached across the table. She wasn't holding my hand, not exactly—her fingers were clenched into the fabric of my uniform sleeve, gripping it like a rope.
Her head was lowered, fringe hiding her eyes.
"My father never did that," she said quietly. "Any of that."
Her voice was flat, but her grip on my sleeve got a little stronger.
"He woke my brothers up," she went on. "Dragged them to the yard himself. Corrected their stances. Shouted at them to do better. Praised them when they did. Everyone calls him the 'Iron Wall' of the west."
She gave a small, crooked smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"But for me… he only ever said, 'Behave. You'll be someone's wife someday. Don't shame our name.'"
My sleeve crumpled in her fist.
"At dinners, they talk about fortresses, borders, campaigns," she said. "They talk about my brothers. How many duels they've won. How quickly they learn. Sometimes I sit there for an hour and no one says my name once."
She let out a small breath, and I realised she'd been holding it.
"I tried to join the sword lessons once," she said. "Mother smiled and said I'd hurt myself. Father didn't say anything at all."
Her fingers moved from my sleeve to my wrist, as if to make sure I didn't pull away.
"So I trained where no one could see," she muttered. "Stole practice swords. Swung them until I couldn't feel my arms. For years, the only person who ever told me I'd improved was my maid."
Her shoulders trembled slightly.
"And when I finally started winning against other nobles' children," she said, "they called me 'loud', 'rough', 'problem child'. Not 'strong'."
She laughed once, but it sounded wrong.
"I thought if I shouted, they would hear me," she said. "If I picked fights, they would have to look at me. But all it did was make them tell the servants, 'Watch Tamara. Don't let her cause trouble.' Not, 'Help Tamara. She's hurting.'"
The cafeteria noise blurred for a moment.
Tamara swallowed.
"So when you stand there," she said, "with a father who trained you, with a sword that moves like that… a part of me just…"
She stopped, words stuck in her throat.
Her grip on my wrist didn't loosen.
"…I don't want to disappear," she finished, very quietly. "If I stop shouting, if I stop pushing, I'm scared I'll just… fade out of the room and no one will notice."
I looked at her hand on my sleeve.
Without thinking too hard about it, I turned my hand and let her grip properly, fingers closing around hers.
"You are very bad at disappearing," I said.
Her head jerked up, eyes wet and angry at the same time.
"That's your answer?" she snapped.
"You are loud," I continued calmly. "Annoying. Rude. If you vanished, half the room would wonder why it suddenly got so quiet."
A tiny sound escaped her, stuck between a laugh and a sob.
"That's… the worst comfort I've ever heard," she muttered.
"I'm twelve," I said. "You'll have to accept a discount version of comfort."
She lowered her head again, but this time her forehead almost touched the table. Her other hand came up and clutched my sleeve too, both hands now holding on like if she let go, she'd fall.
We stayed like that for a while.
Me eating slowly with my free hand, her staring at her plate until she finally picked up her fork and took a bite, then another.
Around us, the cafeteria went on—voices, clatter, laughter—but at our table, it felt like everything had gone a little softer. Like the noise had moved one step away.
[ System ]
[ Sub-Quest: "Tame the villainous" – Progress Updated ]
[ Route Character – Tamara Orvel: Affection ↑ | Vulnerability ↑ ]
[ New Flag: "Tamara: Clinging to You (Literal)" ]
…You're kidding me.