After her outburst, Sidy broke into tears. With the floodgates open, any further attempt to communicate ended in failure. She was unable to get anything coherent out between the tremors of her sobs and fell in a heap into Ixa’s embrace a moment later.

It took her a full half an hour to tire herself out, dry heaving at the end as her eyes had no more tears to give. There was enough snot for several people, though, and Ixa had her hands full trying not to have it smeared all over everything.

Eventually, when she reached the comforting arms of sleep, the snake-girl handed the pile of sorrow over to Lubosh. He moved her to a bedroll and tucked in the blankets.

Ixalia looked their counterparts over critically, one at a time, she scrutinized their faces and tried to decipher the thoughts hidden therein.

Helena, the crippled one, wore her emotions on a sleeve right now, reflecting some of what Sidy showed a few minutes earlier. Her companion was openly staring, switching between Ixa’s arm and the impaired woman’s face, sometimes switching it up and looking towards Peter or Perry and Jerry instead.

On the other hand, the four men behind them could have been statues, most of the time. They were looking straight ahead, nowhere in particular, fulfilling their guard duty excellently. Only the eyes of two of them betrayed what lurked inside, the other two were unreadable.

But it was the ones whose lid Ixalia was able to get a peak beneath that made her hair bristle and stand on end. The man on the left was clearly angry, and given what happened, that might have been understandable.

The warrior directly behind Helena was on a different level, however. His eyes had a slightly wet sheen and were full of hate. In the rare moments during the talks when his gaze fell on the group, it was unmistakable. And directed at Ixa herself was such a deep spite and hostility that she had to wonder why she hadn’t spontaneously combusted yet.

Having his compatriots killed couldn’t have been the only reason for his malice, surely. There had to be more behind it. Try as she might, she was incapable of coming up with any immediate cause.

Since no more would have been done that day without an interpreter, the delegation left them shortly after.

That had been five days ago.

They came every day since, except the one directly after. There were no more questions for now, it was deemed more important to build a better way of talking than having Sidy's commendable, but broken clergyspeak be the only mode of talking to each other.

Working with the man from before, Ixa’s friend was learning Merenese, as it was called, and then teaching it to the rest of them. Some were catching on better than others. It was a process, and would take some time to truly bear fruit.

Meanwhile, any plea for getting outside was promptly shut down.

Ixalia couldn’t imagine why they were treated the contradictory way they were. As the most honored of guests and the vilest of criminals at the same time.

Almost every of their whims would be taken care of, they were given clothes, cloth to make adjustments, food, and materials for anything they needed. That was how Lubomira got a wheelchair, made with everyone’s help from components provided to them.

At the same time, they were not allowed to leave the room. Every time any of the Others was present, so were armed guards. And aside from the two who were their point of contact, no one was willing to talk to them. They barely even acknowledged their presence and it was always the same set of people to boot.

It wasn’t like Ixalia was new to spending time inside, or to not once venturing outside the house for a week at a time. During those occasions, if the fridge wasn’t in the kitchen, she likely wouldn’t have left her room either.

But choosing not to go outside and being forcefully cooped up with several others in a single, albeit spacious, room wasn't her imagination of a good time.

Furthermore, new things to wear were nice and all, but they didn’t have the chance to wash up yet, and it was up to the point that anyone who got less than two meters away could tell.

Similarly stifling was the room itself. There were simply too many emotions inside. Current ones and those in fresh memory. In the week they spent there, the group was working up something of a cabin fever.

Especially Perry and Jerry, who couldn’t give their counterpart any privacy and whose bonding was wreaking havoc on their mental state. One moment they were all curled up in a tight embrace, whispering sweet nothings, the next they were at each other’s throat only to then sit with backs touching, stalwartly ignoring their partner.

Or their wiring would connect and they’d walk in perfectly mirrored sync, eat like that or talk as one, saying matching sentences at the same time with identical intonation, with only the pitch differing. Quite frankly, it was eerie and did not speak favorably about their individual futures.

Zev was either taking turns with Ixa in watching over their patients, or sitting in a corner, scribbling on a piece of paper she had given him. He was being the exact opposite of how he used to act before. Reclusive and passive.

The two Ls of the group, Lubosh and Lubomira, were putting their hands to work wherever there was any to be found. Cleaning, repairing, sowing, or general tinkering all fell into their purview.

Sidy had her job worked out for her, so, she had her hands full.

Out of the lucid members, Peter probably had it worse. There was nothing he could do. He didn’t speak any languages and had trouble learning the new one, nor did he have hands to keep himself busy. He was trying to do just that but had trouble even operating Ixa's tablet. He gave up on looking up useful information and returned it a day after it was given to him for fear of damaging it. Therefore, he simply… was there, suffering as silently as he could manage.

Ixalia herself was still growing, she gained fifty centimeters since coming here. At this rate, which was getting faster, she’d gain twenty-four meters in a year. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. She begged anyone and anything willing to listen for it not to be the case.

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Her appetite was only increasing as her growth did. She was eating more than the rest put together by now. And started to get weird looks from those around to see it.

Consuming such large quantities would have been a wet dream for some people, and Ixa would have agreed at the beginning, when they had access to great delicacies from the prepared feast. Then it was just tiresome as they started getting regular meals, consisting mostly of vegetables or fruits, with meat and fish being rarer. Now she was, as Sidy joked one time, ‘fed up with it’.

Not only was eating taking so much of her time, but her jaw was sore and her tongue and throat felt raw. Humans just weren’t built for so much stuff to pass through. Not to mention that she was hungry all the time. Even minutes after having just eaten.

Clothes were another issue for her, but luckily, Ls took care of that, elongating a shirt for her, making it flow into a skirt. Pants and common underthings were, obviously, a no-go. She'd have to get creative if she wanted to have something similar.

All in all, she was starting to get more annoyed than angry at their current situation. A few more days and she’d surely give anything to be able to go outside, not just watch a bustling city and a distant horizon from inside. And the gods' damned windows couldn’t even be opened either.

The claustrophobic feeling culminated in her snapping at Sidy just for her picking up something Ixa dropped.

“Sorry, that was uncalled for.” She apologized immediately after and hid behind her hand in shame. “I’d give almost anything for the opportunity to just lay on some grass.”

“You aren’t the only one, Ixa.” Her friend handed her the item and went in for a hug. Those were a common sight between the two of them. It wasn’t clear who was comforting whom, but if asked, both would answer that they were the ones helping the other.

And if the situation wasn’t bad enough as it was, the group had a problem, two actually. And they were named Ingrem and Beatrice.

Ixa and Zev had no IV, and even though they might have been able to improvise one, they had no fluids to give the pair. They didn’t have the guts to risk putting unsterilized and most likely wrongly ratioed homemade saline solutions directly into someone’s veins.

Their coach was in a coma, unable to swallow and they had no feeding tube to administer. They were getting worried and tried to keep him cool to reduce the amount of water he lost through sweating. He was still doing rather well for his condition, so, they decided to give it one more day before trying some more drastic measures.

Last but not least was Betty. She wasn't doing too well. She’d only reacted to touch and fought anyone who so much as tried to make her do anything. They’d had to ambush her in her sleep with everyone helping just to force some water and food into her. The bruises she got from that treatment were definitely not pretty, and she had accumulated a hefty collection by now.

That was until lunch on that day. This time, she did nothing but swallow what was given to her. With a blank look and distant eyed. Ixa wasn’t sure what was better. They wouldn’t be hurting her anymore but on the other hand, her mental health seemed to be deteriorating further and further.

Hour after hour, day by day, they survived. Those with something to occupy their minds better than those without. Something would have to change if they were to come out of this without any more injuries. Mental or physical.

Luckily, by the end of the day, Ingrem did come to. Not completely, nowhere near enough to talk to, but enough for the two medicos to administer tiny bits of water and food at a time. He was dehydrated and somewhat malnourished and getting larger portions might have been detrimental to his health. It was better to get him used to it more slowly.

***

Fourteen days. It had been two whole weeks since that fateful day and yet, nothing much has changed since the status quo has been established. They were teaching the Summoned their language, but it was slow going.

Helena was visiting with her uncle at the moment. The demon was true to her words and she was regaining the feeling in her limbs, even being capable of walking with some help. Additionally, the snake-human pair helped her with removing the projectile lodged in the priest’s leg and treating her wounds.

Even the royal healers had trouble coming up with a way to do what the two did with so little trouble without having to cut Helena’s leg open. That would surely leave other difficulties and, possibly, lasting pain. This way, she was being assured of very few complications during healing.

And it was eating Helena inside that there was nothing she could do to repay them. Oh, she was willing and even fought for them to be let out.

She was overruled. Her most fierce opponent in this was her husband. He wouldn’t, and maybe couldn’t, forgive them for being demons, even if they might not be demons as Meren understood it. Helena's people might have even been the cause for the inhuman appearance of some of the Summoned, but Percy was too stuck up on the fact that the serpent crippled Helena.

She understood his emotions, she truly did. If something similar happened to him, she’d be on a murdering spree already. But she was healing and as hypocritical as it might have been of her, she needed him to let it go.

But it wasn't up to any of them, it was in the hands of the King and he wasn't interested in their personal opinions. He had a kingdom to run and had to consider the well-being of all his subjects. If he was to be a good king, that is. And Reymund III. was one, or at least as good of a one as could be reasonably asked of him. He did try.

The king couldn’t let the Summoned out because they wouldn’t leave as anything but a group. The people that were allowed inside the ballroom were chosen for their secrecy and everyone else’s, who might have had any inside knowledge, silence has been bought by gold.

Tensions were already running high, domestically and abroad. If word got out that demons were running free around the city…

None of that helped Helena, though. So, with her husband being emotionally unavailable on this matter, she could confide only in Terrence.

Guilt at what she had done to these people was eating her from the inside.

The ritual had stated that the other side was a willing participant in the pact and that the personnel was waiting for such a moment when it would be carried out and was trained for it. But they themselves had lost the scripture for centuries, how could they have expected the same from the other side?

It was desperation that drove them to search for mythological solutions and it was a miracle they actually found one. And having done so, Helena believed that they had been too blinded and elated to think things through properly.

What was worse, she knew that she’d do it again, without hesitation.

Even now, the Summoned were proving to be more capable in several fields than the indigenous population. Medicine was one and, more importantly, weapon-making was another.

Knowing those facts, that the ritual brought them exactly what they were hoping for, Helena would have it carried out again. And again, and again.

Bringing so much anguish as she’d seen in that room to anyone and the certainty that she was capable of repeating it, tore her inside. She thought she was a better person than that. That she would have sacrificed herself for the better of others.

As it turned out, she was selfish. Not for herself, maybe, but at least for those she loved.

All of that, and much more, was now pressed into too few words to truly encompass as she poured her heart out to the High Priest.

He told her a few well-placed, choice words, but generally just listened. His sleeved produced endless amounts of sweets for her to wrap her nerves with.

It was close to midnight when the ruler himself barged inside the High Priest's rooms. The king had a disheveled look to him, messy hair, jacked unbuttoned, and hose untidily sticking out from his riding boots, that were covered in fresh mud.

He had a wild look in his eyes and his face was deathly pale. Not paying any attention to the woman, he went around and plopped on the chair next to her, opposite of Terrence. He probably didn’t even notice her yet and she made herself smaller to keep it that way.

Silence stretched as he started rubbing his face, in the way that tired people do. Or those that have been brought low and didn't know what to do. Helena wasn't sure yet, although she had a guess.

It turned out she was right. When the king spoke, his words were laden with such heaviness, so much meaning, that there was only one answer to the previous choice.

“They know.”