"It's up to you to help me."
Iver nodded. "I can't create water... The Good Lord's water requires burning the lives of slaves before it can be summoned continuously. In theory, the lives of four hundred people can provide enough water for thirty-two thousand people to use for a year, a ratio of roughly 1.25% lost each year."
"That doesn't sound like much. It's even lower than Avalon's mortality rate."
Sherlock looked at Iver. "Aren't you going to 'offer' them up? Isn't that the sort of thing you Devotees love doing?"
"Because there's no need, Sherlock. I have you, don't I?"
Iver said with a beaming smile, "Compared to them, you're an acquaintance of mine, a good friend. If I wanted to offer someone up, wouldn't it make more sense to offer you?"
"...I see," Sherlock said, the corners of his mouth curling slightly as a faint Deep Blue radiance flickered several times in his eyes. "No wonder you found this staff for me... Tell me honestly, had you already imagined this scene before entering Parthian?"
"Of course." Iver looked innocent. "I told you about it long ago. You just didn't pay attention."
"I thought you only wanted me to produce water for our caravan. Who could have known you planned to stay behind and become the Good Lord..."
Realizing that he had once again fallen into the Fox's plans and schemes without the slightest precaution, Sherlock shook his head helplessly and abandoned the subject. "How do you plan to rule them? Do you remember what I just said? Even Parthian's slaves support slavery. How can you persuade them to give it up?"
"I don't plan to persuade them."
Iver spoke gently, her voice growing calmer. "I only intend to forgive them—as long as they don't break the law, as