The West Wing was grander than any place Ether had inhabited since his return.
He walked through it slowly, inspecting every corner with the precision of a spiritual microscope. Thick walls. A single barred window. A cedar door reinforced with spectral threads. Precious furniture he couldn't care less about. And in the center, a black marble surgical table—as if Miral knew exactly what he needed.
Or perhaps, as if she knew exactly how to make him feel that she knew.
Ether spread his bag across the table. Seven scalpels. Three needles. The remnants of the Rust Specter.
He sat down.
The seed had been removed—that was a fact. His left lung was perfectly clean, and Miral believed she owned him. That was all that mattered for now. But the seed had never been the problem.
The problem was that Miral had given him nothing.
He replayed the scene in his mind calmly. A Rank 3 Sovereign. She saw a slave resolve a complex affliction that had baffled her own doctors. Logic dictated: use him, give him something to bind him, make him indebted to you. But she didn't. She gave him a room and an order to double production—nothing more.
Why?
Because she didn't need to give him anything.
In her equation, he was bound by the seed, broken in strength, and trapped on islands with no escape. From her perspective, he was already her property. Why pay a price for something you already own?
"A calculation error, Miral," Ether thought. "A price isn't paid for what you own. It is paid for what you think you own."
Kai knocked once and entered.
He looked at Ether, sitting on the table and staring into the void. He didn't ask questions.
This was one of the rare useful things about Kai.
"Sit," Ether said.
Kai sat on the floor—there were no chairs in the room except for the table—and waited. His blue veins pulsed with a slow, rhythmic beat. The mutation was stabilizing.
"Miral wants something she doesn't have," Ether said directly. "That is why she kept us alive. The only important question now—what is it?"
"A way out of the islands," Kai replied.
Ether paused.
He looked at him. "Explain."
"The Raven family has been exiled here for two generations. Miral was born on this rock." Kai spoke in a neutral tone, like someone reading a report. "A Rank 3 in the Outcast Islands is a waste. She knows that. And she knows that returning to the Continent requires a price she cannot pay alone."
"And she thinks that price is me."
"Not you." Kai's eyes were cold. "What you create."
Silence.
Correct. The spiritual surgery on Valerian—the doctors of these islands had never seen anything like it. The seven monsters in the ninth cave. The reactor. Techniques unknown to anyone in this part of the world. Miral didn't want to sell him—she wanted to sell his knowledge. She wanted to present him as a gift to a great Continental power in exchange for a return ticket.
And he had sat in his new room thinking about the removed seed while the real danger was far more obvious.
"Time enough to correct this calculation," Ether said calmly. "Kai—starting tomorrow, I want you in the shipping tunnels. Every ship that arrives or leaves. Its cargo, its destination, and who receives it. Miral is tracking something coming from the sea. I want to know what it is before she does."
Kai stood up. "And you?"
"I need to understand exactly what Miral knows about me. And what she doesn't." Ether looked at his hands. Rank 1 Advanced. Talent D. "There is a huge difference between a prisoner planning an escape and a prisoner planning to own the prison."
Kai left.
In the East Wing of the palace, away from the noise of servants and the night watch, Count Valerian lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Something was wrong.
He couldn't name it. He couldn't prove it. But in every training session since that night, his energy hit a ceiling that didn't exist before. It was as if there was a transparent glass wall—one he couldn't see, but felt every time he tried to transcend.
He had sent a message two days ago.
The reply arrived tonight.
He opened the letter sealed with red wax. The renowned doctor "Barin"—the most famous reader of spectral channels in the entire archipelago—would arrive within a week.
Valerian closed his eyes.
If Barin found what he suspected... there would be a reckoning for someone.