The Marshal cleared his throat. “Jokes about vioting the Lord General’s commands are inappropriate, Master Evan. Ward Harridan is being trained for a purpose.”

  “Of course, of course,” Master Evan waved away the criticism. “I merely observed how convenient his services could be for the family. Maybe if the Lord General rejects the boy.”

  A middle-aged woman with a serious expression snapped her fingers. “Enough of your foolish talk, Evan. I think we are all convinced that the Lord General’s ward has gained an insight. Are there any dissents on that point? There don’t appear to be. So what is your proposition, Marshal?”

  “Thank you, Master Aria. I would like to request a change in resource allocation. I move that Ward Harridan forfeit his allotment of elixirs. In exchange, he would receive an amount of fat, yeast, and salt of equivalent value.”

  Master Aria nodded agreeably. “That seems reasonable. The family greatly prefers elixirs. We won’t miss the body enhancers.”

  The old man, Master Evan, leaned back in his seat. “Don’t promise anything that hasn’t been discussed, let alone voted on.”

  “Then discuss, by all means,” Master Aria said.

  Master Evan smirked. “Why does he need any resources? Fickle fate, if chaos is an elixir to him, why must we part with family property?”

  “We are bound to enact the Lord General’s will,” Master Aria countered. “His decree may have been directed to the Marshal, but the family must conform to any preference we have knowledge of. We were all there when this decree was given, thus we share responsibility for its enactment.”

  Master Sharon nudged Master Evan with an elbow. “You’re thinking of this the wrong way. We want to increase Ward Harridan’s level. What does he need for that to happen? Not resources. Not access to the cosmic chamber. He needs time. I propose we grant him a cell for closed door cultivation.”

  The Marshal violently twitched at the suggestion.

  “Yes!” Master Evan voiced his support. “Closed door cultivation until level five. That is the best thing we could do for him.”

  Master Rowan cleared his throat. “While I hate to separate newlyweds, I do agree that Ward Harridan should be encouraged to gain another level. I support the proposal of enforced closed door cultivation.”

  Master Aria smacked the table. “He needs to be trained to be a warrior, not locked away in a cell! Marshal, please give your opinion.”

  “I strongly disagree with the proposal,” the Marshal said.

  A man who didn’t look much older than Volithur cleared his throat. “I side with the Marshal.”

  The Casteln cut through the tension with a question. “Shall we hold a vote on the matter?”

  The vote went quickly. The Marshal, Master Aria, and Master Liam opposed the motion. Masters Sharon, Evan, Catherine, and Rowan joined the Casteln in sentencing Volithur to a jail cell for intensive cultivation. Throughout it all, Volithur remained silent, certain that no words he spoke would ever sway the opinion of the council. He could only shrink down inside of himself as he realized that he was now being punished for his success.

  Master Rowan volunteered to escort Volithur to his cell. Barely cognizant of the trip, Volithur let the words of Khana’s uncle wash over him. He was sorry but wanted to maximize the chances that his niece would get to live on Tian. Lots of words about how much he had loved his te sister and felt obligated to be a good guardian. More than once Master Rowan noted that a couple of months in isotion wouldn’t be so bad, how it would be a benefit actually.

  Volithur had gone numb. All of his assumptions about how his life would be now that his lies of joining the Lord General’s retinue had become truths were proven to be false optimism. He was being imprisoned so that the family could have an excuse to not give him resources. It wasn’t even the most desirous resources they were denying him.

  When the thick metal door closed, Volithur noted that there was no doorknob on the inside. The room was three paces in each direction and tall enough that he could just barely touch his fingers to the ceiling. A shaft let in a sliver of light and the lightest of breezes. The furnishings for his new home included a thin mattress along one wall, a wooden chair with cushion, and a chamber pot.

  His eyes grew warm and Volithur blinked them angrily, unwilling to cry. He would not be broken by this. They would not win. Not now, not ever. He had the secret to free energy and one day he would hold the fate of the Fifth Household in his hand.

  Overcome with anger, Volithur shouted his hatred of the family at the walls, uncaring of who might hear him. When his voice grew hoarse, he went through the fitness exercises he had hated so ardently when he first arrived at the barracks. The movements felt good, but couldn’t offer much relief. His physical condition was superhuman by this point and he could do calisthenics for hours.

  Eventually, Volithur settled onto the chair, gring at the door in the dim light. He had thoughts of using his domain to escape. Domains moved things, so how hard would it be to pick a lock? Probably pretty hard, he concluded.

  And any energy he expended for something other than increasing the level of his soul would cause him to spend longer in this room. In fact, he was deying his escape by refusing to cultivate. The way out of the cell was to cooperate with the ‘closed door’ bullshit.

  Volithur clenched his jaw so hard he worried he might crack a mor. All the repressed rage he had bottled up since his abduction was bubbling free. Fshes of brutal memory erupted. His parents dying, heads exploding at a deft application of domain. Attractive young women being led away by soldiers for purposes that had never been a mystery to him. His name being stripped from him so that he would forever be called after someone he resembled. The Casteln punishing him and Thassily for their ignorance of Amarat social courtesies. The Scribe belittling him. Master Dorian beating him so badly he had to be hospitalized. Master Lydia, a child, bming him for a loss at the academic competition that she caused and blocking his marriage out of spite. The family conveniently forgetting about his wedding ceremony. The constant bait and switch conducted with the garbage resources provided to soldiers.

  A whirlwind of rage scoured his heart, stripping away the veneer of civility he had been forced to adopt. The Amaratti nobility were a pgue on humanity. They invaded, killed, and abducted in a sadistic show of force. They stole the inherent dignity of everyone they interacted with, ensving people in all but name. The only escape from their malignant social order was death.

  His anger hardened into hate. The only escape was death. He didn’t want that for himself. He cked the power to cause the death his tormentors. Yet there were other powers out there. Jinn and Arahant warred against the Xian. There were nations other than Amarat on Tian as well. He could surely find allies.

  With those allies, he could cim his vengeance.

  Any other day, Volithur would think his thoughts brought on by momentary insanity. Not this one. The test indignity forced upon him had been the pebble that began the avanche. He refused to live a life of frightened conformity any longer. Everything he did from now on would be done with the aim of striking back.

  His great-grandfather, Volithur’s true namesake, had lost his life battling pirates. Volithur had always thought it a fascinating bit of family history. Now, though… he understood. When evil men tried to take what was yours, you fought. There could be no cowardly calcution of risk.

  You fought.