Chapter 210: Chapter 210—Seeking Help

Meanwhile, in another part of the academy, a different conversation was taking place.

Bessia had returned to her dormitory after evening classes, her mind churning with frustration about Duncan’s situation. The frameup was so obvious. So blatantly unjust. And yet the tribunal was proceeding as if noble testimony carried inherent credibility while outpost recruit denials were automatically suspect.

Her roommate, Celestine Aurin, was already there—seated at her desk with composed posture, carefully reading through what appeared to be family correspondence.

Celestine was everything the old noble houses were famous for producing. Beautiful. Impeccably educated. Politically connected. She carried herself with the effortless grace of someone raised within generations of aristocratic expectation.

And yet, improbably, she was also one of the kindest people Bessia had met since arriving at Sparkshire.

“You look upset,” Celestine observed, her eyes still on the parchment as her quill traced the final line.

“Duncan’s being framed for theft by House Selaris,” Bessia said, frustration bleeding into her voice. “The evidence is fabricated. The witnesses are lying. And the tribunal is treating it like a legitimate accusation.”

Celestine’s quill stopped.

The scratch of ink against parchment ceased mid-stroke.

Slowly, she set the quill aside and turned toward Bessia, the casual calm in her expression fading into something sharper.

“Tell me everything.”

Bessia did—explaining the accusation, the conveniently discovered evidence, the anonymous witnesses whose testimonies aligned a little too perfectly. She included Peyoro’s intelligence as well, outlining Theodore Selaris’s likely involvement in orchestrating the entire situation.

Celestine listened in silence.

At first her expression remained composed, the careful neutrality of someone trained from childhood to process political information without reaction.

But as the details accumulated, that discipline began to crack.

Her brows furrowed.

Disbelief crept into her eyes.

By the time Bessia finished, Celestine was quiet for a moment. Then she said something that surprised Bessia completely.

“This is appalling.”

“I… yes. Obviously.”

“No, you don’t understand.” Celestine rose from her chair and began pacing the small dormitory room, agitation bleeding through the composure she normally wore like armor. “This isn’t just morally wrong. It’s stupid. Strategically idiotic.”

“How so?”

“Because…” Celestine paused, clearly trying to translate something that seemed self-evident to her into words Bessia could follow. “If you genuinely believe you’re better than someone—truly superior through capability, breeding, talent, whatever metric you’re using—you don’t need to prove it through conspiracies and fabricated evidence.”

She stopped pacing and turned toward Bessia.

“You would simply win.”

Bessia frowned slightly, listening.

Celestine gestured sharply, irritation flashing in her eyes. “Superiority, if it’s real, becomes obvious through comparison. In training. In combat. In achievements. If you’re better, people see it as there is no manipulation required.”

She folded her arms.

“The fact that Theodore and his allies feel the need to systematically undermine outpost recruits tells me something very important.”

“What?” Bessia asked quietly.

“It tells me they know,” Celestine said flatly. “Somewhere deep down, they know their superiority isn’t guaranteed. That if the competition were fair—truly fair—they might lose.”

The words hung in the air.

“So instead,” Celestine continued, her voice sharpening with growing anger, “they rig the system. They engineer outcomes. They manufacture victories that their actual capability can’t secure.”

Bessia blinked. She had expected outrage, maybe sympathy.

She hadn’t expected a noble to dismantle another noble’s behavior with such ruthless logic.

“It’s cowardice disguised as dominance,” Celestine said finally. “And the worst part is that people like Theodore don’t realize the damage they cause.”

“To Duncan?” Bessia asked.

“To everyone,” Celestine corrected.

Her gaze hardened.

“They make all noble houses look like parasites who can’t compete without cheating. They reinforce every stereotype commoners already believe about aristocracy.”

She gestured toward the academy grounds outside their window.

“Sparkshire exists to prove that noble power is justified—that it comes from superior training, discipline, and ability cultivated across generations.”

Her voice lowered slightly.

“But if nobles start winning through conspiracies instead of capability…”

Celestine shook her head slowly.

“Then the entire justification for noble authority begins to rot.”

“Can you help?” Bessia asked carefully. “With Duncan’s situation?”

Celestine didn’t answer immediately.

She sat back down at her desk, fingers resting lightly on the parchment while her expression turned thoughtful—calculating in a way Bessia had rarely seen from her before. Nobles lived inside webs of obligation and consequence. Acting wasn’t just about deciding what was right. It was about measuring the cost of doing so.

“House Aurin doesn’t have direct leverage over House Selaris,” she said at last. “Politically we’re… comparable. Equal standing means open confrontation would just become a stalemate.”

Bessia felt a flicker of disappointment but waited.

“But,” Celestine continued, already pulling fresh parchment toward her, “that doesn’t mean I’m powerless.”

Her quill began moving across the page in quick, elegant strokes.

“I can do two things. First, I’ll provide a sworn testimony about your squad’s character. Duncan’s specifically. A noble statement carries weight during tribunal review—even if it doesn’t override the fabricated evidence.”

Bessia leaned forward slightly. “It helps establish doubt?”

“Exactly,” Celestine said. “It introduces a counter-narrative from someone the tribunal can’t easily dismiss.”

“And the second thing?”

Celestine paused briefly before answering.

“Second… I can make inquiries.”

She spoke the words calmly, but Bessia sensed the quiet gravity behind them.

“My family maintains extensive correspondence networks. Information flows through noble houses constantly—trade arrangements, political negotiations, favors owed, secrets traded.” She looked up. “House Selaris has enemies. Every major house does.”

Bessia’s eyes sharpened.

“If Theodore orchestrated this frameup,” Celestine continued, “there’s a strong possibility he wasn’t careful enough. People rarely are. Messages between accomplices. Payments to cooperative witnesses. Quiet arrangements with academy officials.”

Her quill scratched again across the parchment.

“All we need is one thread,” she said. “Something small enough that Selaris overlooked it but damaging enough that their rivals would enjoy exposing it.”

Bessia studied her. “Why would you do this?”

Celestine looked genuinely puzzled.

“You could stay neutral,” Bessia explained. “Avoid the political complications.”

For a moment Celestine simply stared at her.

Then she smiled faintly.

“My house motto is Grace Through Merit,” she said. “It’s not just decorative language engraved on a banner. House Aurin built its reputation on the claim that nobility must be justified through conduct, not merely inherited through birth.”

Her expression hardened slightly.

“What Theodore is doing violates everything my house claims to stand for.”

She folded the letter neatly and pressed her family seal into warm wax.

“And if nobles start ignoring those principles,” Celestine added quietly, “then eventually the world stops believing we deserve the authority we hold.”

She handed the sealed letter to Bessia.

“Also,” she said, a small smile returning, “you’re my friend.”

Bessia blinked.

“And I don’t abandon friends to institutional injustice just because it’s politically convenient.”

“Thank you,” Bessia said quietly.

Celestine paused near the doorway, already gathering her things.

“Don’t thank me yet,” she replied. “This might not be enough.” She straightened, the calm composure she usually carried settling back over her expression. “But at the very least, Duncan won’t face the tribunal alone. Noble testimony changes the atmosphere in those proceedings. It forces people to be more… careful.”

Bessia nodded.

That alone meant something.

Celestine moved toward the door, letter in hand. “I’ll send this through my house’s secure channels. If my family can dig up anything useful about Selaris’ activities, we’ll know soon enough.”

She stopped briefly before leaving, glancing back.

“Try not to assume the worst outcome before it happens,” she said.

Then she was gone.

The dormitory fell quiet.

Bessia remained seated on her bed, staring at the closed door as the weight of the conversation slowly settled over her thoughts.

A noble heiress had just committed herself to defending an outpost recruit against the schemes of another noble house.

Not for leverage.

Not for advantage.

Simply because she believed it was the right thing to do.

Bessia exhaled slowly.

Maybe the system isn’t completely rotten, she thought.

Maybe there were still people inside it who remembered what it was supposed to mean.

Still, ideals alone rarely won political battles.

She leaned back against the wall, mind drifting toward the larger problem.

Adam was still digging for evidence.

Celestine had now added noble testimony and family inquiries into the equation.

Several small pieces moving across the board.

But will it be enough?

Because if Duncan’s defense ultimately rested on Celestine’s goodwill and a few character statements, then they were about to test something dangerous—

Whether individual integrity could stand against institutional manipulation.

Bessia wished she felt confident about the answer.

But hope was all they had right now.

And sometimes… hope was the only weapon available.

More than we had yesterday, she thought.

And for the moment, that would have to be enough.

—–

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