Isolde allowed Lucavion's question to remain unanswered.
He had turned toward her after the examination with that mild smile of his, as though the past hour had consisted of nothing more serious than an inconvenient lecture. His hand rested openly upon the desk now. The thumb had separated from the forefinger, and the ghost of the quill had disappeared with it.
Still, she remembered.
Perhaps more clearly than she wished.
Isolde adjusted the edge of one glove.
"Your performance was almost nostalgic," she murmured.
Lucavion's gaze remained upon the dais.
She continued before the next candidate reached the examination chair.
"All that concentration, only to arrive somewhere short of the answer."
His shoulders remained loose against the back of his chair.
No defence.
No irritation.
He did not even grant her the courtesy of a glance.
Isolde watched his profile.
