The old man’s gaze flips back and forth between the Oligarchy and Lincoln. His lower lip twitches. Anxious silence fills the room. One thought runs through every mind: Will the Scala honor Lincoln or the ghouls?
The old man sighs. “I cannot harm my Prince.” He reaches out a withered hand to Lincoln. “Come sit beside me, brother.”
The Oligarchy bare their teeth. “How dare you?”
The Scala raises his hand. “You want imprisonment too?” A few igni swirl lazily about his palm. “I can oblige.” He lets out a low cough. “Your people care for me and keep me safe, so I’ve been willing to follow your orders. But when it comes to my Prince, there can be no negotiation.” His eyes narrow. “Don’t rely too much that I rely on you.”
The Oligarchy stare at the Scala, the gears of their collective mind ch
