In the formal hall, Theodore stood before his seated father.
Sophia, dressed now in a formal blue gown, held her father's hand and waited.
An elder of the council rose and announced the agenda: the approval of Sophia Herman's lineal rights.
Theodore bent his head slightly toward her. "If you're uncomfortable," he said quietly, "we can leave right now."
Sophia smiled up at him, confident. "No."
She could not run away from a room full of old men. Not this one. This was her first step toward becoming an adult, and she knew it while she was taking it.
She stood up straight, and set her first goal where everyone could see it: to be formally acknowledged as a member of the Herman family.
The Herman Council of Elders existed as a legislative body, a check upon the head of the family.
Along the length of the table, they began.
Her hair was blonde. Her accent was wrong. They could not recognise her. She lacked elegance entirely. Her physique was poor — look at her, look at the shoulders on the child. Two of the elders became quite animated about it: true Hermans, they said, are born with overwhelming charisma and dignity, and this one plainly was not.
Sophia sighed as another elder observed that even the impersonator had been better.
"She is my daughter," Theodore said. "Watch your words."
The elders recoiled as one, terror all over their faces, and Sophia panicked, because she could feel it too — her father was pointing murderous intent down the table like a drawn blade.
"Theodore," Hercio said. "Withdraw your killing intent before the old men collapse."
"Ha!" He looked along the table. "Calm yourselves, or I'll have you all admitted to a nursing home."
The terrified elders whimpered, and Hercio reflected privately that his own temper had never done this family any favours either.
"Riverson," he said, impatient. "Let's end this meaningless meeting."
The elder named Riverson stood and respectfully declined to end it. He would speak for the council, he said.
He began by asking everyone present to acknowledge the safe return of the Duke's long-lost youngest daughter.
Another man confirmed that he had personally witnessed Sophia's sanctification, and declared her irrefutably a Herman.
Riverson agreed that her qualifications would improve with study.
"Council head!" another elder protested.
The council head answered coolly that being a Herman was not so simple a matter as that. The Hermans had many enemies. A flawed descendant was not an heir; a flawed descendant was prey. She would have to be flawless.
"Then let the matter be settled," Riverson said, "in the most sacred and impartial place available to us."
Hercio scoffed. "The temple? That's a great joke."
"Ha ha." Sophia laughed nervously, and said how very trustworthy the council head was, and wondered aloud exactly how impartial the temple could be expected to be.
Inside, she was less diplomatic. Shameless, perverted bastards, every priest of them. She had seen what the temple's men did in the back streets of the duchy with her own eyes, in a life these people knew nothing about.
"High Priest Charone is in the duchy," Hercio said. "Are we being asked to share memories?"
Sophia's head came up. Memories — priests strong enough could read the memories of other people.
"With High Priest Charone," Riverson said, "and a memory projection device, we can confirm Miss Sophia's past."
Theodore's hand came down on the table hard enough to jump the cups. He would not allow them to pry into his daughter's painful memories. Not for this. Not for anything.
Riverson conceded a little; perhaps only a few elders need attend.
Theodore ground his teeth.
"The materials submitted are insufficient," the council head said, "to confirm her qualification as a direct descendant." He looked at Sophia. "Subjecting you to this process is the best act of faith I am able to offer you."
A bead of sweat rolled down Sophia's face. She stared straight ahead and did not look away.
Afterwards she slumped into a chair with her bear, completely exhausted, and held her head in both hands. This had escalated into a very much bigger fuss than she had planned for.
Her thoughts went back to a man she had met once who could read memories.
He had been a suspicious sort of sorcerer, and she had not trusted his ability at all, but curiosity had walked her up to his table anyway. He couldn't see her life in Korea. Not a moment of it. But he read her life as Lithia Den perfectly, start to finish, without a single wrong turn.
"Seeing past lives is an ability within the scope of a god," he told her. "Human abilities cannot transcend a single life. Looking into all the lives of one soul is the work of Mnemosyne, the god above all."
She had sat there looking bored while he said it.
Then he had impatiently demanded his silver coins.
Now, in the present, she worried at the edges of it. If the priest had anything like that ability, her secrets would be laid out in front of the entire council.
Her eyes widened. She was trapped. What was she supposed to do?
"Wow—!" She jumped half out of the chair. "Knock!"
"I did," Ian said calmly.
"The council meeting wasn't fun, I take it."
She glared at him. This brat.
He sat down on the arm of the chair beside her, quite at home.
"Would you like to learn sword arts?" he asked. "From me. I learned swordsmanship very young. You have to be able to protect what's precious to you." He nodded to himself. "It's the duty of a true man."
Sophia smiled a little. "Congratulations on being a man."
Ian was utterly stunned.
Then he apologised, and clarified: a sword that protects people does not distinguish between men and women.
He drew something out and offered it to her — an ornate short sword, gleaming along its edge.
It was his first short sword, he said. Their mother had used it once.
Sophia had no words at all.