Felix had spent most of the return journey to Central Spire imagining what he would say to Severin.
By the time the booked carrier delivered him, he had three excellent openings and a headache.
The receiving clerk checked the truce terms, the escort and his declared instrument. A witness retained the access copy. Nothing in the visit conveyed custody of the deck or consent to the office.
Then somebody showed him into a room that smelled of supper.
All three openings abandoned him.
Severin stood beside a modest table. There were two bowls, a dish of vegetables, bread and a covered pot. Beyond the window, the regulator gallery glowed through its slow working cycle.
“Have you eaten?” the Regent asked.
“Recently enough to remain legally human. Not recently enough to negotiate well.”
