The council chamber had a fire, a broad table, and six chairs of equal height.
I admired the efficiency of the insult.
The King indicated the chair nearest the window. I accepted it before my legs could develop further opinions.
A servant set a cup of water beside my hand.
I intended to drink with restraint.
The cup was half empty when I lowered it.
Nobody commented. This was either courtesy or evidence that I looked worse than I thought.
Corvane remained standing behind the King’s shoulder. Master Ilyen sat near the fire, rubbing one knee through her robe. A scribe arranged paper at the far end of the table.
The girl stayed by the door.
I could see her without turning my head.
Unfortunately, she could see me just as well.
Beyond the window lay the inner yard. A wagon stood beside an open archway. Two men were lifting something from its bed onto a stretcher.
I looked away before I could see what.
“Before the war,” I said. “One question.”
The King folded his hands.
“Can you send me home?”
Master Ilyen answered.
“We have no working method to reverse the summoning.”
A precise sentence.
I disliked every part of it.
“No working method.”
“No.”
“An untested one?”
“Several proposals. None has produced a passage.”
“Does someone elsewhere know how?”
“I cannot tell you that.”
“Because you are forbidden, or because you do not know?”
“Because I do not know.”
Corvane leaned forward.
“Research continues. With sufficient resources, and with the kingdom relieved of the present military burden, we may be able to devote--”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Minister.”
Ilyen’s voice was quiet.
He looked at her.
“We have made no demonstrable advance in nineteen years.”
The girl’s sleeve scraped against the door.
I heard it because I was listening to everything except the number.
Nineteen years.
My mother kept the programs from my performances in a drawer beneath the television. She had kept the one from primary school where I had played a tree. I had argued, unsuccessfully, that a tree did not require an individual credit.
Today’s program would be folded in her handbag.
I set the cup down.
“How many have returned?”
Ilyen’s mouth tightened.
“None that we have verified.”
“How many have you sent back?”
“None.”
There was the number.
Small enough to pronounce without effort. Apparently large enough to remove an entire life.
I looked at the King.
“You knew this before authorizing the ritual.”
“Yes.”
“And authorized it anyway.”
“Yes.”
I had expected an excuse. A flinch. Something I could use.
He gave me the answer as though acknowledging his signature at the foot of an order.
That made it harder to keep my voice steady.
“Then let us spare one another any future suggestion that I have been invited.”
“You have not heard it from me.”
“Your minister appeared to be approaching the sentiment.”
“My minister will manage without it.”
Corvane inclined his head.
A courteous man. One could imagine him arranging a funeral with precisely that expression.
The King drew a ledger toward him.
“The summoning brings people capable of developing abilities our own people rarely possess. Their growth under training is also considerably faster.”
“And if they do not wish to train?”
“We provide instruction before requesting an oath.”
“That is an answer about sequence.”
“Yes,” he said. “It is.”
I leaned back.
At the door, the girl had folded her arms tightly. One hand was buried beneath her opposite elbow.
“You have other summoned people here.”
“We do.”
“Serving voluntarily?”
The King opened the ledger.
I did not let him have the escape.
“Are they permitted to leave?”
“Some have.”
“Under what circumstances?”
Corvane answered this time.
“Service is not confined to the battlefield. There are administrative positions, medical assignments, escort duties--”
The girl made a sound.
Barely more than a breath.
Corvane turned.
“Something to add, Aoi?”
Aoi.
She lowered her eyes.
“No, my lord.”
I recognized the posture.
Not from royal footage.
From school. A student who had learned that the teacher’s question was not actually a request for information.
The King watched her for a moment longer than Corvane did.
Then he pushed the ledger toward me.
“Read it,” he said.
I looked down.
Columns of dates. Places. Figures. The script should have been incomprehensible. Instead it arranged itself into meaning the moment I attended to it, as though I had merely forgotten that I knew how.
A separate terror. I deferred it.
Above the columns, the heading named the Crown of Caldrien. At least I now knew what country I was being asked to admire.
The King placed a finger beside one entry.
“South crossing. Eleven days ago. A summoned defender held the western breach for seven hours while the remaining civilians crossed.”
Aoi looked at the floor.
“Seven hours,” I repeated.
“Yes.”
I glanced toward her.
There was a dark bandage beneath her cuff.
The King withdrew his hand.
“Those are the people whose lives the ritual has saved.”
“And where is the column for what it has cost the people brought through it?”
The scribe’s pen stopped.
The King did not answer immediately.
Then he closed the ledger.
“There should be one.”
It was a good answer.
I did not want it to be.
Outside, someone shouted for a healer. A stretcher knocked against the stone archway with a hard wooden clatter.
The King’s gaze went to the window.
Only briefly.
“You may refuse to help us,” he said. “But I ask that you understand what help is needed before deciding.”
I could still feel the girl looking at me.
I had asked for the truth and obtained enough of it to make the room considerably less comfortable.
“Very well,” I said.
The King stood.
“The map is next door.”