Vestra came to Savern before sunset.
She could have gone to Elian with comfort, calculation, poison or a plan. But Vestra Lo rarely went where she was expected. First she wanted to hear what price Savern would offer for her support.
The regent received her in the northern map room.
After the trial, the map of the old collapse once again hung on the central wall. Five Drafts overlapped in thin black lines. The scorched space where Mayra's branch had been seemed wider to Vestra than before.
Savern stood with his back to the door.
"You have come to sell your recognition," he said.
"You are predictable today."
"And you are practical."
"That is worse."
He turned.
"No. Practicality is the only reason you are still alive at court. Everyone here calls calculation base until they need money or allies themselves."
Vestra removed her gloves.
"What are you offering?"
Savern was prepared. Of course.
A short agreement lay on the table. Vestra Lo would recognise Savern as guardian of the Stable Draft. In return, her cadet branch would gain the right to marry into the next line of succession. She was not promised the crown, but one day the children of her line might become the only lawful claimants.
For her family, it was more than a victory: the name of the Lo branch would remain in the bloodline books for ever.
"You want to buy me with the thing I have wanted all my life," Vestra said.
"I do not insult allies with cheap gifts."
"We are not allies."
"Not yet."
Vestra looked at the agreement and considered the consequences. If she signed, Savern would gain not only her vote but proof that the most calculating person at court had chosen his order. Elian would be left with maids, an archivist, a guard erased from the rolls and a sister under threat. To most courtiers, Vestra's decision would mean that Elian's cause was lost.
"Will you save Lissa?" she asked.
Savern paused.
"I will preserve her body."
Vestra smiled.
"You always put honesty where it is worse than a lie."
"Lissa's memory has become a threat to her."
"And the servants' memories became a threat to the state. Mayra's memory became a threat to the king. Elian's memory became a threat to you. An astonishingly convenient disease."
Savern stepped closer.
"Princess Lo, you are cleverer than this morality."
"Yes."
She picked up the pen.
"That is precisely why it irritates me."
Savern watched calmly. He was certain he had won, because he knew Vestra well: until now, she had always chosen the survival of her branch. It was the source of her honesty, her cruelty and her dignity alike.
Vestra lowered the pen to the agreement.
And wrote no signature.
She wrote a single name:
Shani Venn.
The ink turned black.
Savern slowly raised his eyes.
Vestra added a second:
Miran Kest.
Then a third:
Tavel Rin.
Then a fourth, and her hand trembled for a moment:
Orm Hal.
"What are you doing?"
"Ruining the bargain."
"You are destroying your branch."
Vestra looked at him with undisguised anger.
"No. For the first time, I am not selling my branch into a world that values my recognition above everyone else's lives."
A brilliant light flared from the agreement. Every written name summoned a memory: the kitchen, the empty shelves, the northern checkpoint, the old executioner with his crumbling sword. Savern took half a step back.
Vestra said:
"You are right about one thing. Elian is dangerous. He may open a door no one can close. But you are a door too, Savern. Only what enters through you is not the dead, but the habit of treating the living as expendable."
The regent struck the table with his palm.
"You are choosing chaos."
"I am choosing an unprofitable truth. Do not confuse the two. Chaos is usually more profitable."
At that moment, the wall bearing the map of the old collapse turned black.
Nim Arg stepped out of the blackened wall. His smooth face trembled, and his skin moved in waves, as though his features could not settle into a single form.
For the first time in their conversation, Vestra was afraid.
Savern drew a dagger.
A dagger could not stop the Corrector, but the regent prepared to defend himself all the same.
Nim did not look at him. He looked at Vestra.
"Vestra Lo has deviated from the calculated decision."
"Get used to it," she said, though her voice had grown drier.
Nim raised a hand to his face.
The smooth mask vanished, and for the first time the Corrector's features could be remembered. Beneath it was Elian's face.
Vestra went still.
He looked older and colder. His face bore no trace of debt: this version of Elian had never paid with himself when he could sacrifice someone else. There was no madness in his eyes, only the certainty of a man who had always chosen the most advantageous outcome.
Savern whispered:
"No."
Vestra said nothing.
Nim smiled with Elian's face.
"The only correct outcome requires the throne," he said. "All of you are preventing it from making the right choice."
Somewhere in the garden, Lissa screamed.
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