Chapter 196: Everyone Is Getting Too Busy to Need Lucian

By the following year, a free week had become possible.

Lucian, thirteen, sat across the breakfast table from Regulus. Oatmeal, eggs, fried fish, and chamomile tea occupied rather more seats than the family did.

He looked at the empty chairs. “Where is everyone?”

Regulus counted on his fingers while chewing.

“Your mother’s having tea with Carmilla. Left for the Demon Realm two days ago.”

“Eleanor?”

“Eastern boundary conference.” “Sylvia?”

“That language institute of hers.” “Evelyn?”

“Blew up a test furnace. Cleaning up.” Lucian stopped stirring his oatmeal. “Astra?”

“Saw her leave with a sword. Said something about border work and buying ice cream.”

He had offered her ice cream for life. Apparently she liked having money he couldn’t ask about.

“Great,” Lucian said. He ate a piece of egg. “Really great.”

Seven uninterrupted days. He could sleep until noon, read the textile mills’ accounts, lie on the sofa, and ignore infrastructure.

Nobody was available to do any of it with him. He opened the group chat.

Dinner?

Replies began appearing.

Astra: Dwarven kingdom.

Sylvia: Intercollegiate linguistics conference. Evelyn: Workshop exploded. I’m intact.

Eleanor: Back in three days. Love you. Valeria: Eat more vegetables.

Lucian stared at the last message. “Why is Mom in this group?”

Regulus sighed. “I don’t know who added her.” Lucian put the tablet away.

He finished breakfast, took his dishes to the sink, and went for a walk.

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The System consulted the calendars his friends had chosen to share.

[SHARED SCHEDULE CHECK]

Next currently listed date all five are free: Forty-three days from now. Subject to changes by the people who own those calendars.

[CURRENT OPPONENT]

Scheduling.

Applicable combat statistic: None.

“I can read.”

He followed the ginkgo-lined street toward the university district.

Beside the park stood a new three-story building in white stone. Gold letters had been set into the plaque by its entrance.

SILVERMOON INSTITUTE FOR LANGUAGE AND ARCHIVES

Founded by Sylvia Lunaire

There was no Vance Trading Alliance Subsidiary beneath it.

He had paid a hundred thousand gold for the land. His name wasn’t on the sign.

Sylvia came out carrying a stack of papers. Her silver ears shifted as she saw where he was looking.

“Disappointed?” “No.”

He examined the plaque.

“Too small. Make it twice the size next time.”

She laughed and offered him the spare coffee she was carrying. “A generous donor.”

“Just a donor?” “Our largest donor.”

He accepted the cup. “Better.”

They walked past the institute’s teaching workshops. Inside one room, two young apprentices were arguing over a model circuit.

“The original Vance specification is too rigid here. Whoever designed it never had to deal with thermal resonance in an actual workshop.”

“Exactly. I used the dwarven joint and it runs much better.” Lucian stopped outside the window.

He opened his mouth. He remembered why he had drawn it that way. There had been constraints. There had been perfectly good reasons.

Inside, the apprentices adjusted the model and ran it again. He closed his mouth and listened.

* * *

Three days later, at eleven at night, Eleanor came home.

Lucian lay on the drawing-room sofa with a quarterly railway report over his face. The magical fire had burned low.

He woke when she lifted the pages away.

She had hung up her traveling cloak. A little unmelted snow clung to its shoulders by the door.

“Back?” he asked. “Mm.”

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Eaten?”

“No.”

He found his slippers.

“Sit there. I’ll warm the beef soup.”

Eleanor settled into the corner of the sofa. When he glanced back from the kitchen door, her eyes were closed.

The System’s annual request summary was waiting when he returned with two bowls.

[REQUESTS FOR HOST’S DIRECT INTERVENTION]

Year one: 184.

Year two: 61.

Year three: 12.

He paused beside the table.

“Twelve.”

Eleanor opened one eye.

“Low,” he said, almost to himself.

Then he put her soup down where she could reach it.