The date was written beneath my name. Five days.
I read the rest of the notice before looking at it again. Ninth bell. His Grace's private study. A demonstration of circulation, followed by an examination of the core's response.
Attendance required.
Apparently, the household office thought I might confuse an appointment with my father for an invitation.
"Was there anything else?" I asked.
The attendant stood on the other side of the desk with the empty tray against his waist.
"The office requests your recent practice record."
My eyes went to the folder under my elbow. Notes about failed releases. A drawing of a ward's join. Several reminders that the body I occupied couldn't manage what everyone expected of it.
They were not getting those.
"The room schedule is with the clerk."
"Yes, young master. He will bring the record for confirmation."
That sounded slightly better. I kept the notice flat against the desk until the attendant left, then read every line for a third time.
No physician was named. No special procedure had been ordered. Yet.
I pushed my chair back and stood. The movement pulled at yesterday's bruise. A dull patch had formed inside my left forearm where the practice disc struck it. My right palm was red beneath the fingers.
Both arms hurt now, and I hadn't faced a single opponent.
I walked to the mirror. Cedric looked tired if I knew where to look. The eyes were a little shadowed. His mouth tightened when I moved the right hand. Everything else remained annoyingly suitable for a person who expected to be obeyed.
I turned sideways and straightened. Too straight.
My shoulders rose. I lowered them, then caught myself holding my breath. Standing at ease was harder when I was checking every part of it.
In the game, Cedric waited with one hand behind his back. His weight rested more on one leg than the other. He looked bored even when threatening someone.
I tried it. For three seconds, the resemblance was good.
Then my palm brushed the back of my coat, and I flinched.
I let the hand fall.
No. I needed a position I could hold while someone spoke to me. A convincing pose that lasted until my first breath wasn't much use.
I moved the chair back from the mirror and practiced walking toward it as if someone occupied the seat. Stop. Look up. Answer the question.
Don't start explaining before anyone asks.
That last one would be difficult. I already had four possible explanations for my hand and nobody had mentioned it.
I tried saying my rank aloud.
"D."
The face in the mirror looked no more convinced than I felt.
Cassian used Void Aether. He had years of experience I couldn't replace by remembering a few combat scenes. If he tested sustained output, he would notice the difference between the strength he expected and whatever little thread I managed to produce.
I wasn't going to solve that by standing nicely.
I took the notice back to the desk and placed it beside my last practice sheet.
A demonstration first. That part gave me something to work with.
The ward had gone out. Not because I was strong enough to overwhelm it, but because I touched the join and released at the right moment. Brief. Specific. No attempt to sustain the flow afterward.
If I could show controlled use, perhaps he would decide the damaged core was worth leaving alone a little longer.
I didn't need him to think I had recovered completely. I needed him to believe recovery was still possible without cutting into me.
That was a smaller lie. It was also the only one I had any chance of supporting.
I wrote a short sequence on clean paper. Stable circulation. One release. Stop before the pressure reached my wrist.
Then I crossed out stable.
I didn't get to decide whether it looked stable. He would.
The next hour went mostly into removing things from the demonstration. No second target. No attempt to keep Aether in my hand while talking. No clever variation I hadn't practiced.
Even the successful movement from yesterday needed testing again after the redness faded. I couldn't assume I had learned it because it worked once.
By the time the attendant returned with lunch, I had three lines left.
He put the tray near the window. His gaze moved briefly to the open wardrobe.
I had taken out a plain dark practice coat and a pair of gloves. The coat looked less formal than the one I wore for Valeria, and the gloves would cover the worst of my palm.
"Have those prepared for the examination," I said.
He set the empty cover on the tray and went to the wardrobe.
Then he stopped.
I looked up.
"The coat, young master?"
"And the gloves."
His fingers rested against the hanger. For a moment, he said nothing.
"Is there a problem?"
"His Grace requires bare hands for these examinations."
I kept my face still.
Of course he did. The man inspecting my use of magic might want to see the hands using it.
"I know."
The answer came too quickly. The attendant lowered his gaze, and I had a brief, unpleasant opportunity to make the conversation easier for myself. I could ask why he thought I needed reminding. Make him apologize. Leave him worried about his own mistake instead of mine.
Cedric would probably have done it.
And next time I missed something useful, the man would let me.
"Prepare the coat," I said. "Leave the gloves."
"Yes, young master."
He lifted the hanger.
"Anything else required for the room?" I asked.
"Only what His Grace's office provides. Personal equipment stays outside."
So I wasn't taking my familiar wooden disc in with me either.
I nodded toward the coat and let him go.
He returned a little later with it over his arm.
"The cuff needs letting out," he said. "It will catch on the dressing."
I looked at the narrow fastening. I hadn't noticed that either.
"Both sleeves," I said.
If one looked different, someone would ask why. The attendant nodded and turned the coat inside out to show me the seam.
"Here, young master. It won't alter the outside."
I knew enough about sewing to know I should let the person holding the coat finish explaining. He showed me where a little spare cloth had been folded in, then covered it again.
"Have it done."
He didn't leave immediately.
"Breakfast on the day of the examination?"
I almost told him the usual time.
Then I imagined trying to eat while waiting for someone to collect me, and standing in the study with an empty stomach because I had been too worried to finish.
"Earlier. Leave enough time before I go."
"You usually leave from these rooms at half past eight."
Half an hour for a journey through the same house.
Waiting outside, probably. I added that to the morning in my head. Not nine o'clock at the edge of a familiar practice square. A walk, a wait, and then a room I didn't control.
"The earlier meal," I repeated. "And no practice before it."
He accepted both instructions and took the coat away.
I returned to the demonstration sheet with one less reason to trust the version I had rehearsed.
Once the door closed, I looked at the gloves. Expensive leather. Soft lining. Completely useless for the thing I wanted them to do.
I put them back in the drawer.
Lunch had cooled while I stood at the wardrobe. I ate it anyway, thinking through what changed.
He would see the hand. He would choose the equipment. He would know I was weak.
Trying to hide all three would give him more reasons to investigate.
I needed an explanation that used what he would see rather than one that required him to miss it.
Controlled practice. A brief release. Recovery measured by better handling, not a sudden return to D-rank strength.
I said it once aloud and disliked how prepared it sounded.
People didn't usually answer simple questions with a speech.
I shortened it.
"The flow is cleaner. It doesn't last."
That was true enough to say without remembering which parts I had invented.
After lunch, I returned to the practice room without using the ward fixtures. I wanted to know how much of my composure depended on being alone in a bedroom.
Quite a lot, as it turned out. The corridor seemed longer when I stopped looking at the floor. A maid stepped aside before I reached her. I gave a small nod, then wondered whether Cedric nodded at maids and nearly walked into the doorframe.
Wonderful. Very natural.
Inside, I set a chair where an observer might stand and walked to the nearest floor mark.
Three paces. Stop. Hands where they were visible.
I breathed without drawing on my core. The movement hurt less if I didn't brace my ribs first.
I repeated the approach twice, then sat before I became tired enough to ruin the useful part.
For a while, I studied the practice rack from the bench.
A week ago, I hadn't known how to move Aether. Now I could remove one weak ward under favorable conditions.
Five more days wouldn't turn that into D-rank output.
They might be enough to keep me from making an obvious mistake in the first minute.
When I returned, the prepared coat hung outside the wardrobe. The gloves were still in their drawer.
Beside the coat lay a clean strip of cloth for my hand.
I used it after washing, leaving the wrap loose enough that I could open my fingers. It wouldn't be on during the examination. Until then, I needed the skin to heal.
The notice went beneath the lamp where I could see the date without touching it.
I had spent the morning wondering how to look stronger.
Before bed, I crossed out another line from the demonstration and left only what I had actually done.