Dinner at Valdenmere was served at six.
Corbyn and Dex got there early enough to have options. Not the noble section options. The commoner line options. But still options, which was more than Corbyn had most evenings growing up in Ashfen where dinner was whatever his mother had managed between jobs.
They sat at the same table as that morning.
The two other commoner students were already there. They looked up. Then at each other. Then moved to the far end with the practiced efficiency of people who had made this calculation twice today and arrived at the same answer both times.
Dex watched them go.
"Three weeks," Dex said.
Corbyn looked at him.
"That’s how long it took at my old school," Dex said. "Before people stopped moving away." He picked up his fork. "Though that was just money. You summoned a war goddess on day one so it might be faster."
Corbyn ate without responding to that.
They sat in comfortable quiet for a minute.
Then Dex set his fork down and folded his hands on the table with the energy of someone who had been waiting to get to a particular point.
"Okay," Dex said. "I’ve been here one day."
"Yes," Corbyn said.
"And I found out several things," Dex said.
Corbyn looked at him.
"What kind of things," Corbyn said.
"Useful things," Dex said. "About how this place actually works versus how it says it works." He leaned forward slightly. "You want to hear them?"
"Yes," Corbyn said.
Dex picked his fork back up and started eating like he needed fuel for what he was about to say.
"Professor Calloway," Dex said. "Elemental Arts. Technically an excellent teacher. Also performing for the noble families whose children are in her class. If your name is on one of those banners in the main hall she gives you more time, more correction, more attention. If it isn’t she teaches you the same curriculum and calls it equal."
"How do you know that?" Corbyn said.
"I watched her class from the corridor window for ten minutes this afternoon," Dex said. "The pattern is obvious once you know to look for it."
Corbyn looked at him.
"You watched a class from the corridor window," Corbyn said.
"I was curious," Dex said, unbothered. "Marsh is different. Doesn’t care who your family is. Cares what you can do." He pointed his fork once for emphasis. "That man doesn’t write things he doesn’t mean. Worth remembering."
"What else," Corbyn said.
"East library," Dex said. "Technically open to all students. Practically the noble students have an arrangement with the librarian where certain sections are marked reserved. Commoner students who try to access those sections get told the materials are checked out."
"Are they?" Corbyn said.
"No," Dex said. "I checked. Asked the librarian directly while looking at the shelves over his shoulder where the books were very visibly present." He ate a bite. "He said they were checked out. I said they appeared to be on the shelf. He said they were reserved. I said that wasn’t the same as checked out. He asked me to leave." He shrugged. "West wing reading room is actually open. Nobody uses it because it doesn’t have the status of the east library. Better lighting anyway."
Corbyn watched him across the table.
"You got all of this in one day," Corbyn said.
"I spent two years invisible," Dex said. "When you’re invisible you watch. You learn how rooms actually work instead of how they present themselves." He looked at Corbyn. "You’ve been doing the same thing your whole life. You just haven’t had anyone to compare notes with."
Corbyn was quiet for a moment.
That was accurate.
"The noble students," Corbyn said. "Which ones are actually dangerous and which ones are performing it?"
Dex considered this with genuine seriousness.
"Stellan Draves is actually dangerous," Dex said. "Not because of his rank. Because he’s patient. Patient people are dangerous because they don’t make mistakes from emotion." He ate another bite. "The boy who sits beside him at the front, white hair, he’s performing danger. Follows Stellan’s lead entirely. On his own he’s significantly less threatening."
"Renata Ashcroft?" Corbyn said.
"Genuinely dangerous and not performing anything," Dex said. "Doesn’t care about the social politics. Only cares about ranking and gate performance. Won’t come after you socially but if you end up competing against her academically she won’t pull back."
"Lyra?" Corbyn said.
Dex looked at him.
"Lyra is the most dangerous person in this cohort," Dex said. "Not because of her family name. Because she’s the only student here playing a completely different game than everyone else and nobody has figured out what game it is yet." He paused. "Including her, I think."
Corbyn looked at his food.
"She sat at our table this morning," Corbyn said.
"I noticed," Dex said.
"She brought research," Corbyn said.
"I noticed that too," Dex said. "She didn’t have to do either of those things. She chose to." He looked at Corbyn with the straightforward expression of someone who had watched enough rooms to read them clearly. "People show you who they are in the choices that cost them something. Sitting at a commoner table when you’re the class representative from a legendary summoner family costs something here." A pause. "She sat down anyway."
Corbyn said nothing.
"I’m just noting it," Dex said. "For the record."
Corbyn looked at him.
"You’ve been here one day," Corbyn said.
"Extremely informative day," Dex said.
Corbyn almost smiled.
They ate in comfortable quiet for a few minutes. The dining hall was filling up around them. Conversations overlapping. Chairs scraping. The distant sound of the noble center table laughing at something.
It was the first time since arriving at Valdenmere that the distance of the room didn’t feel directed at Corbyn specifically.
It was just noise.
He was sitting with someone who had chosen to be here.
That was enough.
Dex was halfway through a second helping when he glanced across the table.