After the conversation at the gates, Elian understood for the first time how little his victory over the Council had gained him.
By evening the palace had fallen quiet, but it felt no calmer. Servants whispered in the corridors, scribes recopied the records, and guards changed shifts more often than usual. Miran's name had already vanished from the guard rolls. She walked beside Elian, while everyone they passed frowned and tried to remember who the woman was.
"They can see me," Miran said.
"For now."
"You are a great comfort, Your Highness."
"I am an impostor. Comforting people is hardly among my duties."
She gave a wry smile, but did not take her hand from the hilt.
Tavel did not lead them to Elian's chambers. After Nim Arg's appearance, Savern's men, a new order or a door the Corrector had turned into a wall would surely be waiting there already. The archivist took them instead to the western gallery, lined with portraits of the Vern family's cadet branches. The people in the paintings looked more modest than the direct heirs and held themselves with greater caution.
"If you want to survive the regent's next blow," Tavel said, "you need Vestra Lo."
"The princess who votes last?" Elian asked.
"The princess who almost never votes. She charges dearly for her support because her vote can tip the Council either way."
Miran snorted.
"She sounds like just the person to trust with the fate of the world."
"The kingdom has already been entrusted to Savern," Tavel said. "Vestra can hardly be worse."
Vestra Lo was waiting for them not in a reception room but in the orangery. At night it was warm and humid there. The dark sky showed through the glass roof, and drops of water gleamed on the leaves. The princess stood beside a lemon tree in a dress the colour of old gold. There were no rings on her fingers, and at a court where jewellery signified kinship and alliances, their absence was immediately conspicuous.
"You are late," Vestra said.
Elian stopped beside the path between the tubs.
"We did not arrange a meeting."
"That is precisely why you are late. Clever people come to me before they realise they can no longer manage without my help."
She looked at Miran.
"And this, I take it, is your vanishing guard."
Miran stepped forward, but Elian raised a hand.
"Don't."
Vestra smiled.
"Good. You have already learnt not to endanger your allies over the first cutting remark. So the rumours of four deaths are not entirely invented."
The orangery went very still.
Tavel went pale. Miran tightened her grip on the hilt. Elian did not move.
"Who told you?" he asked.
"No one. When everyone at court is speaking at once, what matters most is what they all agree not to mention. Today no one spoke of how many times you returned to the morning of the Council. That means you returned more than once."
Elian almost laughed from exhaustion. While Savern rewrote laws and Nim changed lines in books, Vestra had drawn her conclusion from the one thing the entire court was carefully avoiding.
"I need recognition," he said.
"Of course."
"Public recognition."
"Of course."
"And it must be genuine."
Vestra plucked a small leaf from the lemon tree, crushed it between her fingers and smelt it.
"Genuine costs more than public."
"Name your price."
Only then did she look him straight in the eye.
"The right to name the next heir."
Miran swore under her breath. Tavel coughed.
Elian said nothing.
Vestra's terms were insulting. By accepting them, Elian would turn the fight for his name into a bargain for the throne, even if he had no intention of ruling. Vestra would not gain power at once, but one day she herself would decide who received the power for which Elian had died again and again.
"You want the crown for your branch," he said.
"I want my branch to survive your war with the Throne and the regent."
"That sounds better."
"It is truer."
Vestra came closer. She smelt of lemon peel and cold metal.
"Savern will preserve one world. You will open the doors to everyone who has been erased. Either choice will destroy the cadet branches first. We are too weak to be useful and too noble to be spared. That is why I sell recognition dearly. No one respects recognition bought cheaply."
Elian remembered Shani at the door of the Council: her quiet voice, her trembling hands, her name suddenly sounding in his mind. Shani had recognised him without asking for anything in return. Now the Corrector could reach her past as well.
"If I agree," he said, "my name becomes your commodity."
"It is already a commodity. Savern sells fear of it. Servants sell rumours about it. The Council sells the right not to utter it. The difference is that I name my price aloud."
Miran leant towards Elian.
"Do not accept."
Tavel spoke almost at the same moment:
"Accept."
They looked at each other with open dislike. Elian imagined how soon his allies would begin arguing not about saving people, but about whose decision he should follow.
Vestra noticed it too.
"That is why you need my vote. Without cold calculation, your allies will turn on one another before you live to see another morning."
Elian went to the lemon tree and touched a leaf. Its bitter scent clung to his fingers.
"I will give you the right to name the next heir on one condition."
Vestra raised an eyebrow slightly.
"You are hardly in a position to set conditions."
"I have already died several times. It spoils one's manners."
Miran smiled almost imperceptibly.
Elian continued:
"You may name the heir only for as long as Shani Venn, Miran Kest and Tavel Rin retain the right to bear witness in this hall. If they are erased and their names vanish, you will lose your right as well."
Vestra studied him for a long time. For the first time, she did not answer at once.
"You are binding the crown to people who have no place in the bloodline."
"Yes."
"That is foolish."
"Perhaps."
"It is dangerous for me."
"For them as well."
Vestra gave a wry smile.
"Now the price is interesting."
She turned towards the orangery's glass door. Two scribes and three young princes were already standing beyond it. Elian had not heard them arrive. Vestra had brought witnesses in advance.
The princess raised her voice.
"I, Vestra Lo, recognise Elian Vern as a lawful claimant whose name must be tested by the Empty Throne. Not out of love, nor out of faith in miracles. My word is worth too much to waste on a dead impostor."
No one moved.
The system responded briefly:
"Witness of recognition obtained. Vestra Lo's name is preserved."
Vestra's name fixed itself in Elian's memory as clearly as Shani's and Miran's. He did not trust the princess herself, but her public recognition now protected his right to stand before the Throne.
That same night, Lissa woke screaming in a windowless room.
She had dreamt that Elian stood before the Empty Throne while she lay at his feet on the cold stone. In his hands he held a glowing thread bearing her name, like a blood oath.
Beside him, Vestra said calmly:
"Pay."
Lissa opened her eyes and could not remember at first which Draft she was alive in.
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