Arc 9-48
Summoning is an art of intention.
The efficacy of a spell is dependent on numbers and knowledge. Summoning? Oh, it requires expertise, but at the end of the day, success depends on perception. How the summoner presents themselves. How they sale their contract. When I say summoning is an art of intention, I mean that it’s a performance, one where the audience gives you power rather than flowers if they appreciate your style. One where you have moments to form a lifelong partnership.
Knowledge is important, but only that’s important to know your crush’s preferences to set the right mood. That’s what I dedicate myself while the house sleeps.
The first step is picking a spare room in the servant wing and emptying it, taking the little furniture next door. The circle comes next. After Geneva cleans the floor until the wood practically gleams, I take to it with the smudgesticks. I admit, it’s not as complex as the circles designed for my contracts. How could it be? Those were deeply personal; I know myself and my goals far better than I know Khan’s.
They were meant to be beautiful and descriptive, to put me in the best light. This is not about the creation of a lifelong partnership. This is the forging of a chain. What Khan makes of his situation is up to him, but I won’t lie about or sugarcoat my intentions. I don’t have to; a good summoner knows how to pick the right elemental and the one I’m thinking of understands being bound by constraints beyond one’s power quite well.
Once the circle is drawn, it’s time to carve it. Before, I used tools, wanting clean lines and uniform depth to display competence and security. This time, I transform a finger into a claw and peel away the wood. The lines are jagged and raw; perhaps some of my anger bleeds through my movements. This isn’t the work of an academic. It’s an invitation from a tyrant.
With the circle constructed, I have to garnish it. Unfortunately, the circle only needs two things. The first is black feathers, of which Bell and Anna are out gathering; the little beast almost burst right out of her skin with excitement when I told her she could help me.
The second is blood.
“You sure I have to change back?” I ask as I settle in a chair at the edge of the circle. Between my legs is a large bucket.
“While I find every part of you delicious—” As she should. “—to anyone with the right senses, you smell of danger and power. So much so that it could scare off such a cautious creature. There is also the point that it would be much easier to collect the blood from a weaker vessel.”
“…fine.”
With a breath and a thought, I’m human again. It feels terrible. The vulnerability makes me uncomfortable, and I shuffle in my seat trying to shrug off the feeling. It doesn’t help.
“Don’t worry, Lou.” Geneva takes my wrist with her hand, dainty fingers pressing against my pulse. Her mana intrusion is masterful, only the faintest squirming under my skin alerting me to the presence of her power. The next breath, the surrounding area becomes numb. “It will be over before you know it.”
She’s true to her word. Her claw opens my arm cleanly and the blood flows quickly. I tilt my head back, letting my thoughts wander as the strength seeps out of me.
Predictably, they go to the man buried in the garden. It’s the core of my moral dilemmas. Burying someone alive is unquestionably an evil act and I didn’t flinch doing it. Yet, my motivations are good; I have to break him to save his life. His companion will be a chain but also a protector and, if his heart and mind are open, a friend.
But there has to be a better way. To change his direction without pain and overbearing dominance. A way I don’t know and can’t even conceptualize. The powerful control the weak. I’m coming around to the idea that being in control doesn’t necessitate I be an irredeemable asshole, like all the powerful people I’ve known in my life, but those experiences have tainted me. I’m a villain, or at the very least, I have the mind of a villain. I default to their methods.
Worse, I don’t want to change. They’re effective. And they suit me; I didn’t blink putting Khan in the ground.
I’m not worried about me. It’s everyone else; the people who will have to bear the consequences of my emerging moral code. Perhaps it’s the fate of the powerful to stand above others. The thought still makes my guts squirm in discomfort, but I’m coming around to the idea that’s not a bad thing, at least for the people around me. There is too much competence in my clan for us not to lead the people of Harvest to a better place.
But it’ll hurt getting there.
“Time to transform,” Geneva says as the blood loss starts to make me dizzy.
Two breaths. Two changes, and she is again bleeding out a body full of blood. I feel her gentle hands caress my wrist for a scant second before I feel nothing. Then the bloodletting continues.
Over and over, I’m drained, buoying between feeling terrible and feeling worse. At least Geneva is efficient. A process that should take weeks, with all the complications that come with preserving blood, is handled in hours, the blood used to fill the grooves of the circle and the excess placed inside.
By the time we finish, the sun is shining brightly, night having turned into day. This summoning has to happen under the cover of darkness; I’ve got hours to kill. Time I don’t want to spend doing anything.
I’m thinking of where I want to take a long nap when the door is thrown open. Alana stands in the doorway, her form darkened by the light at her back. Her blue eyes seem lighter than usual as they flick about the room, her nose scrunching up in distaste.
“Why does it smell like blood?”
“Summoning stuff.” A breath, a change, and I’m once again in my prime form, filled with strength. Doesn’t do a thing about my tired mind. “Come on.” She retreats as I fill the doorway, Geneva exiting on my heels and closing the door. “You need something?”
“I could just want to see you. See if you’re doing…better.”
I wince. “In a way. Sorry about dinner. I was…annoyed.”
“It’s an annoying situation.” Her hand brushes mine; I catch it and lace our fingers. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For protecting him. Protecting us.” Her voice drops as she hangs her head. “I don’t want to kill him either.”
“But you would.”
“I would.”
“Well, it won’t come to that.”
“Because of the summoning?”
“Mm.”
“This elemental has to be pretty strong if you think it’ll be able to control Khan for the rest of his life.”
“Oh, it’s strong. Last recorded capacity is close to four hundred. Could be five by now.”
“I’m assuming it has lifetimes of experience using it?”
“Realm travelers tend to be long lived.”
“Is it like that one?” she asks, jerking her head in the direction of Geneva.
“I wouldn’t do that to him. No, this one is smart, but it’s not a calculator. It’s cunning enough to see through any plot Khan can conceive of before it enters the man’s mind. If he’s smart, he’ll learn a thing or two.” He better, or things are going to become uncomfortable very fast.
“That’s good. Khan’s had it hard.”
“Hard as you?”
“Maybe.” Huh. “He refused to fight. You know what it’s like to be looked down on, but you still had your family, a little. You had a home. Khan had nothing. He has nothing. He’s spent most of his life on literal ice, wandering through storms.”
“…poor bastard.”
“Yeah. I wasn’t surprised he risked his life for Little Water. He didn’t have much to risk.”
“Like you being so eager to join the north’s war?”
She squeezes my fingers. “James are stubborn. He could go his whole life without thanking you. So, I’ll do it.”
“I’ll take it.” Though I don’t know if her judgment is trustworthy; Alana’s no villain, but her morals are more aligned with mine than I would have ever expected. She has a just heart, but her justice is dark and bloody.
Still love her to pieces.
“And I was looking for you a reason.” In her free hand, she raises a folded paper. “A messenger came by. Your first prosecutor is summoning you for an official deposition.”
I take the paper, skimming the note. “They want to hold the trial in a week?” That’s fast. Maybe too fast.
“They’re motivated. Moreover, the Grand Summoners aren’t masterminds. They’re shattering like brittle ice.”
“Well, for good or ill, this is their lesson to learn. Want to come with?”
“No. Your laws say I can’t even come into the room.”
“You could if you’re my legal representative.”
“I don’t know the law.”
“Cheh. The lady of the city isn’t even familiar with its charter? Shame.”
“Please. We’re not even married.”
“Yeah? What’s your excuse going to be when I change that?”
Her eyes snap up to meet mine, lips curling in a smile. “When are you going to change it?”
“Sooner than you think.”
“Then you’ll have an answer sooner than you think.”
Hmph. We’ll see if she can remain nonchalant when the time comes. “I thought about what you said.”
“What?”
“About what happens when we control a significant amount of the kingdom. Or when it at least looks like we do.”
Her gaze sharpens. “And?”
“I agree. No more pretending. I’ll have to make good on that palace you asked me to build.”
“I never asked for a palace,” she says with a huff. “Funny. I spent my life saying I don’t want to be the duchess of Victory. Now I’m going to be royalty.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself. There’s a chance I can work something out with the king.”
“Fat chance.”
“If he was reluctant to take me on when I had nothing but a broken city behind me, he’ll be a lot less eager when I have an army. And don’t think I’m counting on him to make a smart decision. There’s a shadowy organization whose sole purpose is to keep the kingdom from going to war. They won’t let him confront me.”
“Unless he decides to go war with them too,” she unhelpfully points out, but the idea draws a scoff out of me.
“The king declaring war on anyone? That’d be the day.”