I had intended to make him imagine his kingdom collapsing.
An empty throne. Ministers arguing. Borders tested before the news could be confirmed. I could see the speech clearly: where to pause, which image to leave unfinished, how to make the final question sound less like an accusation than a verdict.
Then I asked what would happen if he vanished.
“My daughter would assume the regency under the council seal,” he said.
The speech suffered an immediate structural difficulty.
“Without proof of your death?”
“Especially without proof of my death.”
“And your ministers would accept her authority?”
“They would dispute the extent of it. They already do.”
“A stable arrangement.”
“An arrangement prepared in advance.”
He looked at me.
“As yours presumably is.”
I rested my fingertips on the table.
I had walked directly into that.
“A planned succession is not the same as a public disappearance.”
“No.”
“You do not know what obligations you interrupted.”
“No.”
“What negotiations required my presence. What assurances depended upon my remaining where I was.”
The King said nothing.
I continued.
“You have explained what you hoped my arrival would save. Have you considered what my absence might cost?”
There was no Aurelheim.
No council. No heir.
My mother’s handbag beneath her chair.
The thought came so sharply that I had to stop for a breath.
The pause improved the performance.
I resented that.
“What about my people?” I asked.
Corvane began to move.
The King raised a hand without looking at him.
“You reached into another world because you needed someone,” I said. “You did not ask whether anyone there needed him too.”
Master Ilyen looked down.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Across the room, Aoi’s hand tightened around her sleeve.
I did not know what she was thinking. I could have invented an interpretation flattering to myself. There had been no shortage of those available that afternoon.
For once, I left her expression alone.
“What restitution do you ask?” the King said.
“A way home.”
“I cannot provide one.”
“Then the freedom to seek it elsewhere. No oath. No military commission. No service treated as repayment for a journey I did not request.”
“The ritual,” Corvane said, “represents a considerable expenditure.”
I turned toward him.
“How unfortunate for you that I did not place the order.”
A flush rose briefly above his collar.
There. A small pleasure, but honestly earned.
“Your claimed station,” he said, “has not been established.”
“Would you consider the abduction less objectionable if I held a lesser one?”
“I would consider the diplomatic implications rather different.”
A good answer.
I had preferred him flustered.
The King moved the repaired document back into its case.
“Your freedom does not depend upon our recognizing your title,” he said. “You will not be compelled to swear an oath.”
Corvane looked at him.
The King continued.
“You will have quarters tonight. Food, clothing, and access to the information Master Ilyen can safely provide. If you wish to leave after that, you may.”
“Your Majesty, unsupervised--”
“He may leave.”
The words were not loud.
Corvane bowed his head.
I nearly relaxed.
Then the King looked at me again.
“Hospitality is not recognition of a foreign claim. You will obey the law. You will not recruit my soldiers, collect revenue from my subjects, or make commitments in the name of my crown.”
“I have asked for none of those things.”
“Then the conditions should not trouble you.”
“And an examination?” Corvane asked.
Master Ilyen drew a breath.
“A full assay would identify his gift and establish whether the transit caused injury.”
“Would it establish a way home?”
“No.”
“Then I will request it when I require its other benefits.”
Corvane’s attention settled on me with unpleasant stillness.
The King considered.
I could hear someone moving in the corridor. A cup being set on a tray. Ordinary sounds, proceeding with no regard for how carefully I was keeping my hands from shaking.
“No invasive assay without his consent,” he said.
I inclined my head.
Not gratitude. Acknowledgment.
That was what I intended, at least.
Inside, something small and frantic had sat down hard.
The King gave his instructions to the clerk. Copies of the relevant laws. A summary of the summoning. Provisioning to be arranged once I declared my plans.
Plans.
I possessed a remarkable number of opinions for a man whose future ended at the next meal.
“I shall consider where I wish to travel.”
“I recommend considering it after sleep.”
It might have been courtesy.
It might have been the most accurate insult anyone had offered me all day.
I chose not to ask.
As we approached the door, the King stopped beside the map.
“One last matter.”
I turned.
“If you find a way home, I ask that you share it.”
“With your ritual masters?”
“With the others.”
His eyes moved to Aoi.
She was looking at him now.
For a moment, the room contained something I had no wish to interrupt.
“I would not keep such a thing from them,” I said.
The King nodded.
Then the door opened, and his quartermaster entered carrying enough paper to suggest that the war had not been waiting politely for us to finish.
The audience was over.
Because he had ended it.
The servant led me through a narrow gallery and up a flight of stairs.
Then another.
Then a third.
By the fourth, I had formed serious reservations about the architectural preferences of the ruling class.
The castle was warmer away from its ceremonial rooms. Kitchen steam rose through a stairwell. Somewhere, a maid was arguing with a boy over a dropped basket. A dog slept beneath a bench and did not bother lifting its head when I passed.
I had secured freedom from an oath.
Permission to leave.
A room.
Those were real gains.
I had also made myself interesting to a man who appeared to regard unsupervised human beings as an administrative defect.
That, too, was real.
The servant opened a door.
“Your chamber, my lord.”
A broad bed. A cold fireplace. A narrow window showing rooftops far below.
Two guards took their places outside.
“For your security,” the servant explained.
“Naturally.”
He asked whether I required help undressing.
I said no.
He bowed and withdrew.
The latch clicked shut.
I stood in the middle of the room for several seconds, listening.
Nobody spoke.
Nobody asked me anything.
My hands began to shake.
I hid them in the robe.
There was no one left to hide them from.