The Society of the Eleventh Hour

Deserters of Custom

The set-up for the derby always happens overnight. I guess it's something we do for spectacle's sake, since most nobles can see the location of the derby from their bedroom windows.

    A great deal of the surrounding territory is visible from our bedroom windows, to be honest. There's the relatively small and thin mountain ridge where the grand estates reside, and the city inside the mountain valley, but otherwise? We're completely surrounded by flat, empty grassland as far as the eye can see. Most of it isn't even tilled, because the land near Libitina isn't very good land, and the nearest farmers have naturally chosen to move out further from us as time goes on.

    Last night, had I been at home, I could've looked out at that vast expanse of grass and weeds and seen nothing at all as the sun set. But if I were to also wake up at dawn today, to try and catch them at work?

    Everything would already be done. A large circle for the racing track carved out in the middle of nowhere, towering seats for spectators somehow folded up and brought out every year. Of course, there are always massive makeshift stables to keep the horses in, too, and other offshooting buildings for any business owners who might be hoping to make extra money at the event. It drives me crazy to not know how the Lyon family does it, but I'm fairly certain they'll take it to their graves.

    Morgan's looking out at it all right now, genuinely amazed, leaning on one of the outer-fence posts of the track. I smile, realizing that she's probably never seen the change before. She rarely leaves Society grounds, as far as I've gathered.

    "This wasn't here during the garden party, right? Even with all of those trees and topiaries cluttering up your estate, I still would've noticed something this big off in the distance. Right?" She asks, again.

    I nod, firmly.

    "It's one of the most impressive parts of the Season. I wouldn't know how to explain to you how we do it— it's not my secret to tell. Now that I know that magic exists, I somewhat suspect that the Lyon might have some of their own."

Morgan frowns, puzzled.

"I guess it's not out of the question that someone else could do magic, separate from the Society. I never really considered it before." She looks genuinely distressed at the prospect, which makes me laugh.

"Please— I was certain, from the moment you revealed the fact to me, that there must be another dozen or so magical universities on the continent, all thinking themselves perfectly unique and special. You didn't even think another person could figure it out?"

Morgan shrugs, face reddening.

"... well, I don't know, I guess... that makes sense. You're probably right, but still!" She protests half-heartedly, still staring out at the transformed field. "This really is impressive, when you look closely enough. The carpentry alone is enough to warrant keeping the stands up year round. Absolutely gorgeous."

I don't look away from her.

"Yeah," I say. "It is."

Javier pops up behind us abruptly, and I nearly jump out of my skin with fear. It's almost funny, because his presence shouldn't have startled me at all. He'd been the one to drive us here, for the Four's sake!

"AGH!" Morgan shrieks (because she's somehow even less subtle than I) and attempts to punch Javier in the face.

He steps out of her way with ease, face carefully impassive and pleasant. It's an impressive feat of nobility, I must admit.

"Sorry, Dr. Ivers. Forgot how jumpy you teachers can be." He smirks, as he says it, somehow perfectly aware (and uncaring) that her backstory is a farce... even though I never directly admitted the truth to him.