“I wil do everything in my power to keep Förening safe, but you are al right,” I said. “We have yet to find a reasonable solution for the Vittra. That means this might very wel turn into a bloody fight, and if it does, we need to support our troops. They deserve the best care, including adequate housing and access to our healers if they’re injured in wartime.”

“Healers on a tracker?” Marksinna Laurent laughed, and a few others chuckled along with her. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why is that ridiculous?” I asked, working to keep the ice from my voice. “They are expected to die for us, but we aren’t wiling to heal their wounds? We cannot ask more of them than we are wiling to give ourselves.”

“They are lower than us,” Laurent said, as if I didn’t understand the concept. “We are in charge for a reason. Why on Earth should we treat them as equals when they are not?”

“Because it’s basic decency,” I argued. “We may not be human, but that doesn’t mean we have to be devoid of humanity.

This is why our people are leaving our cities and preferring to live amongst the humans, letting their powers die. We must offer them some bit of happiness, otherwise why would they stay?” Laurent muttered something under her breath, keeping her steely eyes locked on the oak table. Her black hair was slicked back, puled in a bun so tight her face looked strained. This was probably done on purpose.

Marksinna Laurent was a very powerful Tryle, able to produce and control fire, and something that strong was draining. Tryle powers weakened them, taking some of their life and aging them preternaturaly.

But if the Tryle didn’t use them, the abilities did something to their minds, eating at their thoughts and making them crazy. This was especialy true for Tove, who would appear scattered and rude if he didn’t use his psychokinesis.

“It is time for a change,” Tove said, speaking up when the room had falen into an annoyed silence. “It can be gradual, but it’s going to happen.”

A knock at the door stopped anyone from giving him a rebuttal, but from the beet-red color of the Chancelor’s face, it looked like he had a few words he wanted to get out.

Duncan opened the door, and Wila poked her head in, smiling uncertainly. Since she was a Marksinna, Garrett’s daughter, and my best friend, she had every right to be here. I’d extended an invitation for her to attend these meetings, but she always declined, saying she was afraid she would do more harm than good. She had a much harder time being polite when she disagreed with people.