The counsel room was narrow and windowless, lit by two crooked strips of overhead light that cast strange shadows on the objects below. A long, smooth table filled the space, its top nearly overflowing with stack after stack of neatly ordered, handwritten documents.

  The old man was kneeling on a pillow and facing the far wall when Alarion entered. He didn’t flinch at the slam of the door or the expletives hurled his way. Indeed, Centre didn’t seem to recognize Alarion’s presence in the slightest, something that made the young man all the more furious. If circumstances were different, Alarion would have hit him again.

  Perhaps he still would.

  The silence stretched one minute, then two. It took three before Alarion spent the worst of his wrath and resorted to angrily pacing on the far side of the room. It was only then that he recognized the odd patterns in Centre’s respiration.

  He was breathing from his diaphragm with a strong emphasis on sharp exhales. It was a pattern Alarion knew all too well, given that it formed the core of one of his most important skills.

  “Is that Kel-Taran Meditation?”

   Centre said

   Alarion said, joining Centre in the familiar tongue despite his anger.

   Centre drew one last breath, then turned on the spot to regard Alarion.

  Troubling. The bastard had, unintentionally or not, led him to believe his life was over. Yes. He was troubled.

   Alarion responded, ignoring the faux contrition.

   Centre agreed.

   Alarion snarled, his anger boiling once again.

  The concept was part of old Celesian common law, one that carried over to almost all their successor states. An offer of protection, freely given from one party to another, it had evolved into the patronage system in Vitria but remained binding in its original form in Ashad. By his own words, Alarion was obligated to protect Centre from unreasonable attacks on his person, to provide him care if harmed, and to defend his interests in legal matters so long as he remained in jeopardy.

  There were plenty of circumstances under which Alarion could withdraw his Aegis, but he didn’t know any. ZEKE would, after he had finished scouring his [Infinite Library], but until they found a crack, the obligation remained.

  

  Centre’s laugh cut him short.

   Centre told him, joints cracking as he slowly got to his feet. He stretched briefly, wincing at the little aches and pains of old age before moving toward the table.

  Alarion perked up at that.

   Centre told him as he set his pillow down and sank onto the wooden chair.

  

  

   Alarion corrected as he approached the table and pulled out two chairs.

   Centre replied. He smiled warmly as Alarion sat, then turned his head toward the empty chair.

  

   Centre said, inclining his head in lieu of a proper bow.

   said Nessa.

  Alarion laughed in spite of his still simmering fury.

   Centre smiled, somewhat ruefully.

  

  Centre laughed bitterly.

  Alarion crossed his arms and said nothing.

   Centre said after a short pause.

  

   Centre asked.

  Alarion met Nessa’s eyes and saw the same depth of confusion he felt. As a coincidence, the identical turn of phrase was odd. But what other explanation could there be? He’d come straight from the speech, and Centre was buried deep.

   Alarion asked.

   Centre replied, waving his hands as if to indicate something more grand.

  

   Centre sighed.

   argued Alarion.

  

  Alarion snorted.

  

  

   Alarion’s expression tightened, and Centre was quick to add,

  Alarion rolled the question around in his mind until a memory of Syrus Feln talking about the exact topic finally clicked.

   Centre nodded.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Alarion’s pulse pounded in his ears as grey eyes burrowed into his own. The logic, at least, was understandable. It was cruel, evil calculus, but Centre was not insane. Alarion couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse.

   Nessa suggested.

   Centre answered candidly, after Alarion had repeated the question.

   Alarion reminded him.

   Centre chuckled, then reached into the stacks of paper. He plucked one out and scrawled his name at the bottom before tossing it to Alarion, the pages scattering into his lap. Centre reached out again and tapped his fingers against one pile of documents after another.

  Alarion looked over the table, his eyes wide. He’d thought perhaps that the prison had been using the room for storage, that they were copies or something the Watch had brought in to intimidate Centre. But the handwriting was the same on all of them. There were hundreds of pages.

  

   Centre grinned.

   Nessa said, perhaps a little more giddy than was proper.

   Alarion said with utter certainty. Centre was right that Vitrian society could be trusted, but a society was made of individuals. If an imperator was willing to snuff out an entire household, there would be Vitrians willing and able to assassinate the man who had embarrassed them, or killed their kin.

  Centre nodded and drew Alarion’s attention to one of the piles with another tap of his finger.

   Alarion read the title aloud, then began skimming through the document.

  

   Alarion asked.

   Centre conceded.

  

  The old man frowned, as if he had considered that possibility. But he still pressed the issue.

  

   Centre snapped.

  His anger was like a lightning strike; an instant of rage that left him drained—almost morose. When he spoke again, his voice felt hollow.

   Centre’s voice shook with each word until he paused, running both hands through his hair to soothe himself against the struggle of his conscience.

   Alarion said. The rejection was firm, but the measure of pity in his voice made it wholly unconvincing, even to him. He knew what pain sounded like, and it sounded like Centre.

   Centre laughed a little at the memory. Centre’s pronunciation changed as he spoke in stilted Imurian,

   Alarion asked in Ashadi.

   Centre toyed with the pen in his hand, his eyes anywhere but on Alarion’s.

   Alarion said.

   Centre told him, his sing-song cadence quiet and brimming with rage.

  Alarion stared into the man’s eyes for several seconds, and he saw Atra’s face when he blinked. He felt bile in his throat and remembered how desperately he’d wanted to murder Syrus Feln when he’d threatened to ‘find’ Atra. Alarion still had people—good people—in his life, but he knew how easy it was to become someone like Centre.

  They just had to take everything.

  

   he replied, dabbing a knuckle at the corner of one glassy eye.

  

  Centre shook his head.

   Alarion said, pushing back from the table.

   Centre’s smile didn’t quite reach his grief-stricken eyes as Alarion turned to leave.

   Alarion said flatly. He understood Centre, but that did not mean he was willing to forgive or forget what the man had done.

   Centre urged.

   Alarion began, only to frown at his own stupidity.

  The answer was obvious. Materialization was the intermediate stage between a manifested being like Nessa and an actualized Thoughtborn of flesh and blood. And as the name implied, a Thoughtborn that reached materialization could materialize and interact with the world around them.

  The path through materialization was slow and varied. Some Thoughtborn could be seen but not heard; others could be felt but not seen. Yet every materialized Thoughtborn left an imprint on reality. Nessa did not.

   Centre reassured.

  Alarion’s defensive glare was the only answer Centre received.

   Centre stepped around the table and pointed to a spot on the ground two feet in front of him.

   Alarion reminded him.

  

  Nessa gave Centre a curious look, then turned her eyes on Alarion.

  

   the old man promised. He smiled a bit as he watched Alarion’s eyes follow Nessa into place, then asked.

  Again, the pair exchanged looks, and with a nod from Nessa, Alarion lifted his finger and placed it as instructed.

   Centre said as he stared intently at Alarion’s finger. In doing so, he effectively made eye contact with Nessa, becoming the first person other than Alarion to do so.

  The effect flustered the girl. She blushed and looked away, but looked back just as quickly, entranced by the idea this man could see her—even if it was nothing more than a trick.

   Centre said, maintaining that intense eye contact as he lifted his right hand and held his upright palm toward her.

  This time, Nessa did not even bother to look to Alarion for either permission or approval. She lifted one slim hand and touched it against Centre’s, then she pushed. Like all things, the resistance pushing back against her was all in her head; Nessa could walk through Centre if she chose, but his body was real to her as long as she believed it to be. And she believed that Centre was pushing back.

   Centre explained, his arm still held casually in front of him, showing no sign of strain even as Nessa’s struggled against it.

  Nessa escalated as he spoke, adding a second hand atop the first as she leaned her body weight against the immovable object. The muscles in her arms strained, and a bead of perspiration trickled down from her brow as she pushed and pushed, boots scraping across the stone floor.

  And Centre’s hand finally moved.

  It wasn’t much—barely even an inch—but his sudden smile was all the encouragement Nessa needed to throw her whole body into the effort.

   Centre said as he tilted his hand, interlaced his fingers, and gave Nessa a gentle pull that sent her sprawling through his body and down to the ground.

   Alarion cried.

  His concern was met with giddy, tearful laughter. Nessa was up in a heartbeat, staring at her hand with childlike wonder and excitement.

  Whatever else she intended to say was smothered by the sound of a familiar, screaming voice as the door swung open, “-has the Watch lost all sense of decorum? Or did you think I did not deserve to be informed?!”

  “G-Governor Williams, the law requires-“ one of the guards stammered.

  “I handle execution of that law! Not you! You were told that he would be made available tomorrow. You were told-“

  Centre couldn’t quite cover his amusement as he said,