Orien's home is a large, well-appointed house tucked into the corner of a plaza on one of the larger trees on Ilphin Spire. Its size reflects her uncle's standing, and it is suitably appointed internally, with intricate carvings and beautiful paintwork pointing to the wealth of its owner. The study is the most elegant room; appropriate, given that's where its owner spends most of his time. As far as Orien remembers, though, it has been the place where she has failed to meet her guardian's expectations, and today is no different. "You came fifteenth." "Yes, uncle." "Out of thirty-five." "Yes. In the top half." And now her achievement feels tawdry and worthless. "In history." "Yes." "And how many go on to study history at the Lyceum?" "Three." "And how many study natural philosophy?" "Twelve." "So where did you come in that class?" "Nineteenth." Orien looks down, and her uncle turns back to his work, picking up a rag to clean his nib." "And what about engineering?" "I came twenty-fifth."