Squeeze. "I think you'll be fine, sweetheart. There's plenty of things to like about you; the school just isn't a very good place for you to let those things show."

"I don't think... a marriage will be, either. But if I was... in Siesta's place... then I'd know he liked at least one thing about me."

"I suppose. He'll be missing out if that's the only thing he likes about you, though."

Scyelen just shakes her head and falls silent.

"Sweetheart - you'll find people who like you, okay? Just - closer to your own age, all right, for that sort of thing."

Scyelen pouts.

"You're being confusing again."

"...do you not... okay. I guess that... uh." He takes his arm from around her shoulders, suddenly seeming uncomfortable. "Where I'm from - someone - my age - it's not done, to be - interested in, uh, someone your age. It happens and Lastai's clerics will help with it but that is taboo."

Scyelen blinks at him, even more confused. "That's a really weird thing to scorn. It isn't even... perverse... like all the things you say are actually okay. But what are... are you assuming Count Mott is elderly and that's why it doesn't matter if he's nice to Siesta?"

"I mean, it doesn't help anything if he is."

Scyelen shrugs. "I don't know how old he is."

"I wasn't talking about that, anyway, the situation is horrible no matter what the details are."

The carriage hits a bump, cutting off Scyelen's reply. She doesn't bother to reformulate it.

"Have you thought any more about what you want to try, when we get there?"

Scyelen shakes her head. "I don't know. I'm not good at... scheming. Maybe Siesta will have an idea."

He nods. "If we can get to her. And if there are other people around we can talk to them - they'll probably know more than the headmaster. I'm not very sure what we should ask, though."

"I think... maybe we should say that we're just there to say goodbye. There's no legitimate reason to refuse us that."

He nods.

"What are we going to say I am?"

"If we're going to use my name to get an audience, I don't think we can lie about that?"

"All right."

The carriage trundles along for another half an hour, before pulling up to a stop. The driver knocks on the cabin and announces that they've arrived at the manor of Jules de Mott.

In response to Scyelen's request for an audience, they're let in to the opulent mansion and made to wait in a marble-floored grand hall, lit by chandeliers, and dominated by the bottom of a wide, sweeping staircase.

Raafi takes his gloves off before leaving the carriage, and follows Scyelen in, watching their surroundings alertly; he stays near her in the hall, but somewhat less attentive, instead taking in the architecture while they wait.

After a moderate but not impolite wait, they're taken up the stairs and into a large study, where the Count himself is seated in a chair, framed by a pair of red-curtained windows.

Jules de Mott is an imposing, finely dressed man in his late thirties, with flat oiled hair and a long, thin, curly mustache.

"Ah, the scion of Vallière! To what do I owe this surprise?"

"Count Mott," she greets. "I'm merely here on a personal matter. I understand you recently acquired a new maid from the Academy's staff? Siesta of Tarbes is a fond acquaintance of mine, and this change in her employment was quite sudden. It gave us no opportunity for parting words."

"I see. This is about that lovely little flower?" Count Mott says. "I apologize, but the girl is still settling in. Perhaps you could return tomorrow?"

Raafi stays quiet, standing behind and a pace to the left of Scyelen.