Isa looked over her shoulder to get a better view of the two men speaking behind her. The first speaker was a young man, likely close to herself in age. He was dressed completely in black. Although his clothing was finely tailored, it held no ornament befitting the occasion of a royal ball other than a small strip of yellow silk tied at his throat. It seemed incredibly rude to attend the event in such simple clothes when he could clearly afford something better. Hopefully, the royal family of Iseldis had not noticed the clothing choice of this particular guest.
The second speaker, slightly taller and considerably older, made no effort to hide his exasperation. “And what point would that be?”
“That destiny is dictated by calculated action, of course,” the younger one replied. “Beauty—or art, if you will—has nothing to do with it.”
Isa snapped her book closed, whipping fully around. “You clearly have not read Aphronsius’s other works then.”
The young man showed no surprise at her sudden intrusion into their conversation, though he did raise his eyebrows. “I have read all of his surviving work. Multiple times.”
“Then how could you come to such a conclusion? One of his central themes is that destiny is outside our control. His entire thesis on art was just a supporting argument for that. He said that to arrive at the order associated with beauty, one must travel through the chaos in art. And he used that as a proof of his views on destiny.”
“Haveyouread his later work?” The young man was beyond rude. He had completely ignored her point and merely responded with a question.
The older man was awkwardly holding his goblet in front of his face, though he was not drinking from it. Isa noticed him hiding a grin behind the large cup. He was clearly enjoying her spar with his friend.
She focused her attention back to the rude one. “Of course I have read his later work, and his early work. I have read all his work. He is a dear friend.” She snapped her mouth shut. Aphronsius had been dead for over two hundred years. No need to let these judgmental men know that she liked to imagine herself working alongside the old philosopher and discussing these very topics with him.
The man in black raised his eyebrows again. “He is a friend?” The corners of his lips twisted into a smirk. “Are you a Majis, then, who has discovered longevity of life?”
Isa’s lungs froze at the insult, her body instinctively snapping backward. She bumped against the railing behind her, which startled her even more.
The young man reached for her upper arm to steady her.
She quickly stabilized herself and brushed away his help. “How dare you?”
The Majis had been exiled from the five kingdoms one thousand seasons prior, around the time of Aphronsius in fact. Some current scholars did not believe they had truly wielded magic, but everyone agreed they had been exceptionally cruel and oppressive rulers.
“That was too far,” the older man admonished the younger one. Turning to Isa, he said, “My friend spoke in jest. Please accept his apology.”
Isa stared at the young man in question. She would not be mollified by a secondhand apology.
He bowed lightly to her. “I was amused by your admission of Aphronsius and was merely teasing you. Forgive my hasty words.”
She nodded in response, biting the inside of her cheek. His apology would have been better if he had not brought up her embarrassing statement.
“What are you currently reading?” He gestured toward the small book in her hand.
Thankful to change the topic, Isa held out her small book. “The Queen of Silverreign.”
He raised an eyebrow. Although he did not utter a word, his expression was clearly judgmental.
“What critique could you possibly have about the most revered story we have in our language?” Her irritation at his poor apology fueled the exasperation in her words.
He shrugged. “It’s boring.”
“Boring?” Too shocked to form a coherent sentence in response, Isa began to wonder if this man was even human. He had clearly never felt human emotion. No wonder he thought Aphronsius’s treatise on the importance of art was actually a veiled statement on the value of labor. She threw her arms up in mock defeat, not willing to discuss her favorite book with someone who already despised it.
“Which volume is this?” The young man reached out, taking the book from her uplifted hand.
“The first.” Isa reached out to retrieve her treasure from his scrutiny.
He flipped it over, tracing the spine with his finger. “This is expertly bound.” He opened the book, focusing on the cover rather than the contents.
She pulled her hand back to a neutral space between them, curious to see what else he might say.
“I’ve never seen such a small work with this new hard binding. It is quite intricate.” He kept his face down, which gave her the impression that he was talking only to himself. “Incredible craftsmanship.”
Isa felt a flutter of pride. She had bound this copy herself.
