Back in his rooms, Evan found not just more letters (the piles had grown), but a visitor.
Lady Cordelia sat in his sitting room, sipping tea as if she owned the place. Which, Evan supposed, she technically didn't, but you wouldn't know it from her demeanor. She sat in the best chair, used the best cup, and looked perfectly at home.
"Lord Carter," she said, setting her cup down with a delicate click. "I hope you don't mind. Your steward let me in."
Finch, standing in the doorway, gave Evan a look that said I had no choice and you know it, she's terrifying, please don't make this my fault.
"It's fine," Evan said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Can't a friend visit?" Her smile was all polished edges, perfect and meaningless.
"We're friends now?"
"Aren't we?" She gestured to the chair opposite her. "Sit. We have matters to discuss."
Evan sat. The chair, sensing his tension, didn't try to make itself more comfortable. A small mercy.
"I'll come straight to the point," Lady Cordelia said. "My son, Julian, is... unwell."
Evan blinked. "He seemed fine last night. Better than fine, actually. He looked healthy."
"Appearances can be deceiving." She leaned forward, her expression suddenly earnest—the mask slipping to reveal something real beneath. "He has a condition. Congenital. Weakness of the lungs. The healers say he won't see forty."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"You can HELP him."
Ah. There it was.
"Lady Cordelia—"
"Don't refuse. Not yet." Her eyes were sharp, calculating, but underneath them was something else—fear. Real fear. "You healed Lord Marten. You could heal Julian. Strengthen his lungs. Give him a full life. A long life."
"It's not that simple—"
"Isn't it?" She stood, pacing. "You have a gift. A power. What's the point of having it if you don't USE it?"
"Using it and being used are different things."
She stopped, turning to face him. "What do you want? Money? Land? Titles? I can get them for you. My family has influence. We have resources. Whatever you want, name it."
"I don't want anything."
"Everyone wants SOMETHING." Her smile returned, colder now. "Even if it's just to be left alone. Help Julian, and I'll make sure you ARE. I'll handle the other requests. I'll be your... advocate at court."
Evan thought about it. A powerful ally. Protection from the vultures. Someone to run interference. In exchange for one healing.
It was tempting. So tempting.
"Let me think about it," he said.
"Think quickly. Julian's next episode could be his last." She moved to the door, then paused. "You know, Evan, power is responsibility. You can pretend otherwise. You can hide behind confusion and accidents. But eventually, you have to CHOOSE: Will you use what you have? Or will you waste it?"
She left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Finch cleared his throat. "More letters arrived while you were out. Also, Lord Gereon sent his sword. With a note saying you should 'do your magic' on it. He's waiting for a response."
Evan looked at the piles of paper, at the wrapped sword leaning against the wall, at the perfect sphere and orb still floating in the corner of the room.
He was drowning in requests. In expectations. In other people's needs.
And he had no idea how to swim.
***