Black Heart Chapter Nine

Dinner went normally, with everyone at a polite distance from one another and the meals being gracefully served by maids that would transfer the meal from a large trolley to the requisite dishes and elegantly exchange them for used ones. Far from dinner at an orphanage or for commoners in general, whether it was a new course or a second serving of something, new food did not set on an old plate.

The way that a group of commoner children would hold death-grips on wooden dishes and utensils as they all but fought over the last chunk of meat in a stew-pot or the tastiest looking skewer at the dinner table while exhausted minders just stood back and didn't bother getting involved as long as nobody was bleeding? That was classless, compared to showing off that you could afford to have someone wash several different sets of expensive and fragile dishware and cutlery forged out of rare metals for every meal, Malicia supposed.

A noble did not reuse their dishes. Once they had had food on them once, they had served their purpose for the duration of the meal, and could be respectfully sent off with crumbs or whatever the noble chose not to eat still on them. Neither did a noble reach for the food with their own hands, they were in all cases served by attendants who would beautifully arrange the meal for them just the same as they would pour their drinks. Compared to the commoners and especially commoner children who simply did not care what it looked like slopped all over their plate as it briefly paused their on the way to their stomachs? It held a very different visual effect.

Malicia imagined that the food etiquette was something that would trigger a clash of sorts in the academy, where commoners that had just encountered such a passive food culture for the first time acted in ways that would immediately label them as uncouth and uncivil.

Well, that wasn't her problem, though. Either someone else would sort it out or it would sort itself out on its own. For now...

With no way to be sure what her discussion with the butler would entail, Malicia didn't eat too heavily or too lightly. It afforded her a little time to pay attention to the mood at the table, though this wasn't particularly a place for much conversation to be held unless there was a social lesson in progress.

Once more, nobles were not given to idle conversations over full meals. Heavy meals meant that conversations of importance were to be held, if there was no other opportunity to schedule such a conversation, and casual chatter was looked down upon as distractions from people that didn't understand how to be polite at a dinner table. Casual conversation or gossip? That took place over light tea or coffee engagements, where there was a small assortment of treats at hand for social lubrication. Or, for the older gentlemen and ladies, quiet drinks in private parlors.

Adrian, naturally, was in good humor in the wake of his training. The satisfaction of having emerged victorious in battle was... well, Malicia could hardly grudge him that. Even if he was struggling not to gloat about how well he had done this time, as he often did after training engagements that he particularly enjoyed.

Edward's mood was rather more subdued. He clearly also saw Adrian's mood and understood that it meant that, as he had not been present to watch the training himself, Adrian was going to be talking his ear off about it before bed, while the engagement was still fresh in Adrian's mind. Already weary from his own studies, Edward clearly seemed less than interested in hearing about the slaughter of monsters, but would suffer through the relation with good grace. The perils inherent to being an older sibling, Malicia supposed.

The elder Ravensworths dined side by side at the head of the table, and would usually radiate a sort of calmly impassive aura that played no small part of its own in keeping the dinner proceedings subdued and elegant.

Tonight, though... or rather, of late, there had been an additional undertone to things. A quiet warmth and closeness that could easily be missed in most cases, without careful observation. As to just what that meant... Malicia could only speculate there, but it could only be good things. For them, at least.

All too soon, dinner ended and they all went their separate ways. Malicia's calm and unhurried pace brought her to a rear courtyard.

The butler was waiting there, idly cleaning beneath his nails with a short and narrow stilleto blade. He inspected them for a moment before, with a wiggle of his fingers, the blade was spun around them and thence disappeared.

"Ah." he sighed. "Miss Malicia. Dear me. Dear dear me. Whatever are we to do with you? You simply do not learn. How many times must it be explained that it is your healing that is to be developed, and that other combat skills are immaterial?"

"At least once more, it would seem." Malicia responded, dryly.

"Miss Malicia, really. Back-chat hardly reflects well upon you, you know?" came the butler's quick rejoinder. "You have a simple and clear duty to uphold, in exchange for being brought into the Ravensworth family, you understand? Simply represent the family tradition of a healer in every generation. The roles of offense and defense are not required of you. And yet... you continue to fight on your own behalf, in critical moments, rather than rely on others to perform in accordance with their own roles. One could almost conclude that you do not trust the young master to come to your rescue..."

"Let us not mince words. Had I flailed ineffectually and taken needless wounds while calling for assistance, you would now be chiding and censuring me for wasting Adrian's time and distracting him from his own opponents." Malicia shot back.

"Ah, miss Malicia, you wound me." the butler responded with a shrug.

Tellingly, he made no effort whatsoever to actually deny the accusation, or make any claim that he would do otherwise. It only increased Malicia's irritation with the man, to the point that she spoke up again.

"And you have made your distaste for me entirely clear." she said, snippily. "What was the point in selecting an orphan that you expressly disliked?"

"Ah, but miss Malicia. My immediate dislike of you was entirely the point." the butler said, snapping his fingers once. "Do you imagine that you were the one and only orphan considered, fortunate enough to meet the qualifications of being able to heal in some meager capacity? No no. There were a few others that were possibilities. But the moment that I first saw you, a dirty ragamuffin with a sour grimace on your face and eyes squinting naturally into a position just shy of a glare? Oh, I disliked you right away. That was when I knew that it had to be you."

Surprised, not by what he was saying but by the fact that he was saying it outright and directly to her face, a little bitter laughter forced its way out of Malicia's throat. And it kept building up into more, as the butler spread his arms out.

"Do you think that I should wish to put a child I was even passingly fond of through this training?" he asked, dryly. "It's utterly miserable. Bad enough for the young masters, that Adrian must learn to kill at such an age. That Edward's training doesn't involve combat at all, but he will be expected to delve into dungeons and place his life at risk, even if a group of fellow students is found willing to defend and carry him through the endeavor. It is an absurdity. Not fair at all. But the world has never guaranteed fairness, has it? At the least, I had the opportunity to choose someone I immediately disliked."

It was hilarious on some level. Because if that was true, then what did that say about how Sophie's betrayal would have gone for her? It was... with a struggle, she composed herself.

"Don't bother claiming that would make you the better man." Malicia said, with a click of her tongue.

"Not at all. I simply chose the opportunity to enjoy the circumstances that life has forced us into." the butler replied.

Malicia's hand formed a fist. One of the knuckles popped, and the butler smirked in response.

"Do tell me, miss Malicia, just what part of your Class do you believe it is that holds value?" he asked, pointedly. "The ability to put force behind the swinging of your fists? To strike a heavy blow against the enemy? Do you not understand that there are so very many Classes that perform that simple function, but better? Swordsman, spearman, axe-bearer, militia, soldier, squire, knight, barbarian, shieldmaiden, ronin, valkyrie, huntsman, soul blade, the list simply goes on and on. Your class, miss Malicia? But for one thing, it would be the humble brawler, a Class suited for little more than bar-room disputes, back-alley fisticuffs, and the thuggery of knee-breaking for coin. But for the fact that your Class can heal. And that... that, miss Malicia, has some modicum of value. That, miss Malicia, is a limited resource in a sea of similar alternatives that can all claim to be better suited to striking the enemy dead. However inept it might be, and however inefficient, however unsuited the stats, the difference between having any ability to heal at all and none whatsoever is a stark and severe one."

The butler shrugged.

"Admittedly, the training required to bring it to an adequate level... Could, yes, be considered extremely unpleasant. Traumatic even. I certainly wouldn't put a child that I liked through this." he said, clicking his tongue. "But we aren't all fortunate enough to have a Class which in and of itself provides value for having it, like any form of mage or healer can brag about. How many spearmen in the past, I wonder, have lamented over the fact that their Class can best be described as 'better than others at using a pointed stick'. But, ah, don't mind me. Do feel free to complain, miss Malicia. I will naturally hear out your reasonable and entirely justified grumbling."

Another knuckle popped as Malicia took a deep breath and exhaled.

"The look on your face... you want to lash out. To hurt someone in order to make yourself feel better. Isn't that right, miss Malicia?" the butler goaded.

"You should know all about that, shouldn't you?" Malicia snapped back.

The butler chuckled.

"Perhaps so. Perhaps so, miss Malicia. All the same... it may be for the best if I took a more direct hand in this matter. If you cannot remember your role in training, then perhaps it would be best to exhaust you of any interest in direct engagement outside of those training periods." the butler declared, cracking his knuckles.

Malicia felt a sudden rising sensation of being in extreme danger, the hairs on the back of her neck rising as her heartbeat increased in frequency and tempo within her chest.

The moon had risen early, and its silvery light gleamed off of the edges of the blades that were suddenly in the butler's hands.

"You know, miss Malicia, it strikes me that we have never been properly acquainted. Though, I admit, I can hardly fault you for not being interested in my name. All the same, allow me to introduce myself." the butler said, serene smile fixed on his face as he twirled the heavy daggers around in his hands. "My name is Jack. I serve as the head butler for the distinguished Ravensworth family. As for my Class? I have the misfortune to have been born to the Class of Executioner. Charmed. I would say that it was a pleasure, but..."

The butler, Jack, paused and the corner of his smile quirked up into a more vicious grin.

"... No, I suppose it wouldn't be inaccurate at all to suggest that I might enjoy this engagement. No matter." he said. "Miss Malicia, if you insist on exploring your melee capabilities, then at least this once, I shall oblige you. Do make sure to continue to heal yourself as required, of course!"

Malicia swallowed thickly and then, without any warning that her conscious mind could point to, threw herself out of the way of a silvery arc where the butler's lazy swing of a blade shone in the air.

The corners of her mouth were twitching, no matter how she struggled to control them.