Ett did not speak at once.
She sat quietly, her small hands occupied with the snacks laid before her, chewing with the unhurried patience of someone who had already made a decision and saw no need to rush it. The faint rustle of paper and porcelain filled the room where her voice did not.
There is a problem.
It was not, strictly speaking, a problem in itself. The difficulty lay elsewhere. If she voiced her thoughts plainly, they would be received in only two ways. Either she would be judged indifferent to the suffering described to her, or she would be seen as ruthless beyond measure. There would be no middle ground, no generous interpretation.
She swallowed, wiped her fingers neatly, and spoke.
"Leave them be."
The words fell without ornament, light as ash.
"Pardon?"
Dean Antonel felt as though a massive stone had been hurled directly into his mind. For a brief moment, the room tilted, and he wondered if he had misheard her. His mouth opened, then closed again, uncertain how to proceed.
Ett glanced at him once, briefly, then returned her attention to her food, as though the matter had already been settled.
Silence followed.
She continued to eat, sipping her tea between bites, unhurried and composed. The ticking seconds stretched, pressing upon Antonel's nerves until his fingers curled into his sleeves.
At last, as if remembering an afterthought, Ett spoke again.
"Instead, add a policy. Once a student leaves Adiand, should they disagree with the terms of the contract, then all actions thereafter are taken by their own discretion, and the end they meet shall be counted as the consequence of their choice."
Her tone was even, almost gentle.
No wonder he survived the former Emperor, she thought distantly. He is too weak when it comes to his students, especially once they graduate.
He cherished them, far beyond the bounds of professionalism. That tenderness made him easy to steer, provided one knew where to apply pressure.
"It shall be named the Cross Institutional Program Act of…" She paused, tilting her head slightly.
"What year is it today?"
"Year eight hundred fifteen," Akan answered at once.
"Then the Cross Institutional Program Act of eight hundred fifteen."
Dean Antonel stared at her, unblinking. "I am not certain I understand what you mean, Young Lady."
"Teacher exchange."
"Teacher… exchange?" He repeated the words slowly, turning them over in his mind. "Then would that mean we exchange teachers with other empires?"
"No."
He frowned, confusion deepening. "Young Lady?"
"That is simply how it will be named," Ett replied calmly, placing her teacup down with care. "It sounds refined, yet it allows the truth to be spoken plainly for those who understand it."
She folded her hands. "In this matter, they need our people. We do not need theirs."
Understanding dawned slowly, like light creeping across stone.
"You may even permit them to learn our language," she continued.
Though many within Adiand dismissed neighboring peoples as uncultured, there was no denying the growing interest from beyond the borders. Curiosity had a way of eroding pride. Allowing the language of Adiand to spread officially would widen the Empire's influence. If Guren wished it, penetration into foreign courts would become far easier once the barrier of speech weakened.
It could be useful.
Ett's thoughts drifted, unbidden, into patterns far removed from this world.
When the Anglo Saxons conquered England, the native tongue replaced Latin and Celtic speech. Yet in the eastern reaches of the Roman dominion, Greek endured despite conquest. That persistence of language had shaped the fracture between east and west as much as any blade or crown.
She shook her head faintly.
No. This is not that kind of story. Too ambitious. Too soon.
Why am I even thinking like this? Am I becoming the tyrant instead of my son?
"What does the Young Lady intend?" Antonel asked carefully.
She did not answer him directly.
"Akan will cooperate with you," Ett said instead. "He will provide reliable subordinates to recover as many of them as can still be saved. There will be no second chance."
"I…" Antonel began, but she raised a finger.
"Write a proposal to the Emperor." She tapped the table once, the sound sharp and decisive. "Any empire or kingdom may hire tutors from Adiand, under the status of subjects. The number shall be limited. Each tutor must be protected at all costs."
She paused, pressing a fist lightly to her mouth. "Excuse me." A soft cough escaped her. "And the nature of the tutor hired shall be clearly defined."
She drew a steady breath and continued.
"Any empire that possesses records or evidence regarding the missing or deceased graduates must submit them. Compensation shall be paid to the families left behind. The tutors' wages shall be doubled. No. Tripled."
Antonel swallowed. "And if our neighbors refuse to comply, Young Miss?"
Her brow knit slightly.
"Is there a need to ask what follows?"
His answer came at once. "No. No. Thank you. Thank you deeply, Young Miss."
He bowed low, relief and awe mingling in equal measure.
For those who were intelligent and quick of mind, there was no need to explain everything at once. Let them think. Let them reconsider their steps and retrace their reasoning. To lay out every outcome would only dull their resolve.
"Ensure that none of the tutors disgrace the name of our Empire," Ett said quietly.
"It shall be done, Young Lady."
She looked to Akan. He inclined his head.
"Dean," Akan said, "on behalf of Her Ladyship, do not hesitate to speak with me should you require clarification or encounter difficulty."
On the return journey, Ett and Akan changed carriages more than once. At times, she waited at the roadside, watching the world pass by through narrow gaps between destinations.
Only two crossings separated her from the House of Isotel, where Cashim resided.
She did nothing.
Months had passed. She no longer knew how much information he had gathered, nor whether seeing him now would serve any purpose at all.
When she next opened her eyes, dawn had already broken.
She lay beneath her familiar quilt, its fabric crumpling softly beneath her fingers. The faint ache in her limbs told her she had been carried. A tray of food rested nearby, still warm.
The timing was precise.
Did Akan do this?
She did not linger on the thought. She ate with appetite, savoring the meal.
Only afterward did unease creep in.
"Is it only me," she murmured, "or is the palace quieter than usual?"
No maids lingered nearby. In the past, at least one or two would attend her. It was not neglect. Guren simply preferred a lean household. Efficiency mattered more than numbers.
Still, the absence was noticeable.
She finished her morning routine and ventured out, pushing the small trolley bearing her empty plates. It was exercise, she reasoned. Necessary, even. Yet after twenty steps, she was already breathing hard.
This body is hopeless.
The palace felt colder. A scent drifted through the halls, unfamiliar and indistinct, slipping just beyond recognition.
"What is this?"
She stopped before an indoor plant, fingers brushing against something caught among the leaves.
A locket. Inside, a tiny portrait of a man holding an infant.
Warmth radiated from the image.
Careless, she thought. Did the maid not notice she had lost this?
She resolved to return it.
Yet even in the kitchen, only the head chef was present.
"Where is everyone?" Ett asked.
The chef bowed quickly, his composure strained. "Your… Empress Dowager. They are with Sire Akan. It is the monthly rotation, the time for reports."
"Then the head maid?"
At her words, the chef stiffened.
"Along with the head maid," he replied. "Sire Akan arranges duties in rotation, as there are few workers."
"I see," Ett said. "Then Butler Xiwen is likely with him."
She handed the trolley over. "Bring my meals as usual. Collect them later."
"Yes. I will inform Sire Akan."
She left without another word.
The chef exhaled shakily once she was gone.
If not for Sire Akan…
"Is she gone?" a voice asked.
"Yes, Sire."
"That is good."
Akan smiled faintly. The Dowager was no longer as suspicious as before.
"Sire, may I dispose of these rose petals?"
"Yes. Your assistants should arrive shortly. Wait for them."
"And remind everyone," Akan added, "that the meals of both rulers, especially the Dowager's, must be handled with utmost care. Nothing must be spilled."
The chef understood. She was not to know.
In this palace, intelligence was survival. Mistakes were not forgiven.
"Understood."
"Then I shall lea… ah?" Akan halted.
Ett stood there.
"How much did she hear?" the chef whispered.
Akan smiled, composed as ever. "Did you wait long, Your Ladyship?"
"I forgot to give you this," Ett said, handing him the locket. "It was caught in one of the plants."
"Oh. Thank you," Akan replied. "This belongs to the head maid. She has been searching for it. You have my gratitude."
Ett said nothing and turned away.
When she had gone, the chef and Akan exchanged glances.
"It cannot be sent outside," the chef murmured. "Forgive me."
"She cherished it for decades," Akan said quietly.
"And her family?"
"Leave them as they are."
Most servants of the royal household were of noble blood or carefully selected orphans. Loyalty was cultivated with care.
"Ensure the Eyes remain watchful."
They moved through hidden passages into the depths of the palace, to the underground garden where flowers bloomed without sunlight.
New beds awaited.
Petals were scattered. Seeds were planted.
The Silence Ceremony concluded.
Akan departed first, allowing the servants their grief.
Later, he found Butler Xiwen seated beside the Emperor's chamber.
"So you are here."
"Akan," Xiwen replied.
"How is His Majesty?"
Xiwen shook his head.
"Not exemplary."