Not the same question.
Harder. .
The question of a man revising his read of the situation.
Celestia looked up.
Coughed.
The , composed, entirely-managed cough of a woman clearing a throat that needs no clearing.
"What I told you is true," she said.
Her voice was even.
She met her father's eyes.
"I have seen it myself. The dead child has the power." She set her fork down. Folded her hands. The practiced composure of a woman who has been in diplomatic rooms and has learned that the body must follow the mind's instructions regardless of what it's doing. "He can see forward. The accuracy is not luck or coincidence. It is systemic. Reliable." A breath. "We should move the plan forward."
The table absorbed her words.
The way the walls absorbed sound — completely, without echo.
The silence lasted three seconds.
Then everyone was talking.
"Forward? Now? With Leo's faction already—"
"If we commit to the Queen we lose the northern alliance—"
