Reborn From the Cosmos

I can’t stand to look at him for long. Earl collects the northman, dragging the sorry man through the halls to his room, now a true prison. I collect my notes from the records given to me by the Summoning Hall and carry them to the dining table; it’s the only way I can be sure I won’t work through breakfast. Then I start the work of defining his future.

Before, this was a joyful thing, planned with the meticulous kindness of one arranging a gift. His little escapade has tainted it. Now, this is a quest of grim duty and bitter resignation. Something that could have been wonderful and beautiful is now something as mundane as shackles. The glory that is summoning reduced to a punishment for a child throwing a tantrum.

I know I’m supposedly easy to read, but no one needs any powers of observation to understand I’m in a foul mood. One by one, the other women in the estate enter the dining room, and without fail, whatever their previous mood, their expressions fall as they take in my hunched shoulders and rapidly moving hand scratching away notes.

For a woman who has spent most of her life without sight, Talia is extraordinary at reading people. Maybe she cheats with the mental affinity. Or perhaps, her inability to see people’s masks has made her sensitive to their truest selves. Either way, it’s effective.

Yesterday, she saw my bad mood and stepped in to soothe me without hesitation, saying the right things in just the right way. She would do the same today if it were just reflex. Instead, she takes one look at me and quietly takes her usual seat. Understanding in a moment that my mood is beyond soothing. It’s impressive.

Alana doesn’t share her immaculate judgment. She frowns when she takes in the sight of me and, as any good knight would, she tries to attack the problem.

“What happened?”

“Your brother,” I respond without looking up.

“What did he do?”

“He tried to run.”

The stream of curses she mutters resonates with my foul mood, but I still don’t glance up. Her fingers stroking my cheek makes me pause.

“I’ll take care of it.”

I finally peek at her from the corner of my eye. “We’re not killing him.”

“If he’s going to—”

My temper flares and my palm strikes the table, the sound cutting her off. I turn to her, meeting her gaze. “We’re not killing your brother for something so stupid.”

My sweet girl is not one to retreat from a challenge. She meets my glare with a scowl. “That’s a drastic change of heart.”

“We were never going to kill him. If we were willing to watch him die to save ourselves some pain, we wouldn’t have gotten involved in the first place. And now I really want to strangle him, but I’m fighting that with everything I have. Don’t make it harder by saying you’re going to kill him.”

She doesn’t respond for a while, staring at me with deep concern before she eventually takes her seat.

If Little Water notices anything, she keeps it to herself, offering a brief greeting before taking a seat at the opposite end of the table.

Then Kierra enters. Like my other lovers, she notices something is wrong immediately. She doesn’t take the road of avoidance like the flower, following Alana’s stead in meeting me head-on.

“What is the matter, dedia?” she purrs as she walks behind my chair, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. “Who has upset you? I will drag them before you and break their legs.”

How sweet. “I’m already handling it,” mumble back.

“Another member for the clan? What role would they play?”

“Not for us. This is for Khan.”

“Ah. So dedicated to your tradition. Though he should be here if you’re picking his life partner.”

My lips twitch as I hold back a curse. “He’s lost that right.”

“Mm. And what has he done to deserve a lifelong punishment.”

“Hardly.” This summoning will be the best thing that’s ever happened to him. The pain will be in him realizing as much and coming to terms with it. “The crime is being an ungrateful idiot. He deserves to suffer for it, but this is a good thing.”

“Mm. He must know, if he agreed to sacrifice his mana. A shame; I would happily take summoning to my home, but few warriors would be willing to cripple themselves in such a way.”

“He didn’t.”

“Hm?”

“Agree. To the summoning. He hasn’t agreed to it yet, but he will.” I angrily set aside a paper and grab another. “Or he’ll die.”

I can feel her hesitation in the way her arms tense. “Thought you’d be proud.”

“I am,” she says after several charged beats of silence. “Are you?”

“It makes me sick to my stomach, but he hasn’t given me much choice.”

“This is not your burden. These are the traditions of his homeland. Let him return to the north so his father can render judgement.”

“No.”

“Why? You are—”

“I am here. And so is he. We gave our word.”

Kierra finally understands my rebuffs and steps away, the whisper of her arms sliding over my shirt sounding of regret. I can’t let her comfort me; this isn’t supposed to feel good. There are a dozen ways to abuse summoning. One of them is someone in power forcing others to form contracts that benefit them rather than the poor bastard giving up their mana. It’s something I am vehemently against, and yet I’m orchestrating it.

What would Father think?

That thought keeps the frown on my face throughout an unusually subdued breakfast. I leave them in silence, but I pause to kiss Kierra’s head. The damn woman slaps my ass as I walk away; my lips turn up in a smirk for a fraction of a second.

Geneva is at my side without me having to call for her. I hand her my notes. “How soon can you prepare the room?”

The pages flutter as she rapidly examines them. “If I enlist the rest of your clan, we can have something suitable in three hours. But the circle is simple.”

“The materials are the difficult bit.”

“The Guiness Company isn’t likely to source it.”

“I’d be disturbed if they could. I’ll get the main ingredient myself.”

“Painful.”

“Not with you assisting me. At most, it might get a little messy.”

I wouldn’t count on anyone’s ability to collect the blood of a hundred people without a few drops going astray. “That’s the not the annoying part.”

“You mean convincing Khan.”

“Why do I have the feeling that he’s going to be difficult?”

“What will you do about it?”

Is there any choice? “We have to break him. For real this time.”

“He won’t recover.”

Do you know what else can’t be recovered from? Death. “Didn’t you hear me? I said we’re going to break him. Just, maybe try and let the pieces fall…artistically.”

Her beautiful laughter is sinister to my ears.