"You think I wanted the rite," he said. "You think I wanted children brought into that chamber."
"No," I replied. "I think you wanted an answer badly enough that you accepted whatever method someone put in front of you."
His jaw tightened. A direct hit.
"You have no idea what it's like," he said softly, "to watch a child die while every physician, mage, priest, and scholar tells you nothing can be done."
I thought of Spiro bleeding in my arms in the desert, his small body shaking under the clash of aura and mana, Abi asking me whether I wanted to save him. My fingers stilled against the armrest, and for one breath I said nothing at all.
Then I looked at Marcellus. "No," I said. "I do."
The room went quiet. Abi didn't speak. Neither did William. Marcellus's expression shifted, not into trust, not into forgiveness, only surprise. I didn't explain myself. Some things people didn't deserve to know simply because they'd happened to ask the right question.
