Aviaryn considered this. "I plan to simply command them and they will be forced to do as I say."
"You may," Axar said, "but you must still know how to compel. It can be your greatest weapon or your greatest weakness." He paused. "You must perfect a phrase. Learn it. Control it. Otherwise you may begin to develop one without realizing it, and find yourself controlling those you care for without ever intending to." He set his wine down. "That is what happens to a feeder without proper training. They begin to harm things without understanding why. They mistake the obedience they receive for affection."
"What is your phrase, Majesty?"
He smiled. "Please sit."
She stared at him. "That is all?"
"Two simple words, commonly used. The human sits and believes in the moment that the choice was entirely their own. They may even despise themselves for it later." He leaned back. "You can see why this becomes dangerous for a feeder who lacks control. They may use those words constantly without realizing, begin to assume they simply have a preference for the phrase. Eventually their entire understanding of reality can shift around it."
“The human,” Axar continued, “may even unintentionally begin to find relief in hearing the phrase. When done repeatedly, it may even bring them comfort.”
"How pathetic," Aviaryn murmured.
"A pleasure," she declared. "That shall be mine."
"Then you must practice it, learn it, control it." He took a slow sip of wine. "Those in power do not maintain it through command alone, young one. They maintain it through manipulation and charm. Command is the last resort of someone who has already lost the room."
Aviaryn tilted her head. "Has King Sevrin been properly trained?"
“I do not know. His father spent much of his time divided between two castles. Whatever teaching was given would have been…selective.”
A pause. “And not always obvious to those watching.”
"The other sons are not feeders?"
"It is rare to produce more than one feeder child. The younger is siakar, and a siakar cannot also be a feeder."
"What are their names?"
"Colsar Rathmor and Teorin Rathmor."
She angled her head slightly. "Teorin. That name is familiar."
“He is a Thren prince. Kalar Rathmor’s eldest, born of a Thren princess. Likely strong in ways that are less…predictable.”
He paused, swirling the wine in his cup. “Besides, a Rathmor with that kind of power would be a particular problem.” He let the thought linger before continuing. “This place was built for their blood. Others might seize control while Sevrin is distracted, but Morrath itself would not accept them if a true successor still existed.”
Aviaryn sighed. "I wish to controlallthe humans. Not only the Yorali ones.”
"Perhaps one day we will have enough power for that," Axar said. "But know that even a small amount of Yorali blood is sufficient to compel. And remember that not every Yorali is weak.”
"Another question, Majesty."
"Yes, princess."
"Have you any cakes?"
CHAPTER 81
The Question
Ido not send word ahead.
Kiss refused to nap again, crying until it became clear she would not tolerate anyone but Colsar or me. Colsar was in the palace’s southeast wing with General Rorin, receiving a military briefing update.
The quiet stretch of time I thought I would have to myself disappeared, leaving me with a restless child in my arms instead. The more I look at her, the more the question of Morrath burns in my mind. She is heir not simply to Veynar but to something we do not understand and might not be able to control.
