Your eyes narrow before they return to your assembled class. “But that is a discussion for tomorrow’s lesson. I have already kept you here long enough, and the night is getting late. I have little doubt that your other teachers will be unamused to have you groggy for their lessons. You are dismissed.”
As one, they clasp their hands in their fists and bow towards you from the waist. “Thank you for the lesson, magister,” They chant in a sonorous rumble.
You return the gesture, inclining your head. “Go get yourselves some dinner. And be careful on the way to the hall. It is still cold in spite of the snow and frostbite is still a very dangerous foe.”
One by one, they collect their things and shuffle out of the classroom, excitedly discussing the lesson and words you imparted to them. Eventually, their voices fade away as they round the end of the hall and disappear out of sight. Only when the last echo fades do you turn to address your guest.
“I was in the middle of a lesson,” You mutter dryly, “Could you not have waited for me to finish?”
“Sorry, magister,” Jory Armand, master of the crown’s spies, says with a non-apologetic tone. His teeth glisten in the dim light of the room, and his eyes show a capricious sort of demeanor not uncommon among hunters. “But it couldn’t be helped. I had to get to you as soon as I could.”
“That seems to be a trend of late.” You pause as you take a moment to empty the tubs into a drain by the windowsill. “Please tell me that you didn’t frighten some poor student into thinking that phantoms lurk in the citadel.”
“It was only once, and you got a kick out of debunking ghosts. And I would love to keep talking, but Palme and the prince wish to see you.”
A dark look comes across your eyes. “Another autopsy?”
“That’s right. They need you to cut open the bastard that offed himself in the dungeons. Figure out what he took."