“Mother.” Mahliki touched her fingers to her chest. “Whatever are you implying? That I’d deliberately come up with a plan that forced me to go off on some interesting new adventure?”
“I’m implying you’re too young to go on an infiltration of a building full of belligerent marines. Turgonians aren’t-” Tikaya glanced around the room, the Turgonian-filled room. “Not all Turgonians are like your father.”
Starcrest was leaning back in his chair and watching this exchange, a bland expression on his face.
“It’d be a strange nation if they were,” Mahliki said. “Not that I was planning to get myself invited on their mission, but I’m sure Father was infiltrating buildings-or probably ships-full of belligerent marines when he was seventeen.”
Amaranthe observed with amusement as Professor Komitopis, a woman who reputedly knew dozens of languages, in addition to having all that cryptographic expertise, floundered for an inoffensive way to say, “It’s different for girls.”
“Actually, I was still at the military academy when I was seventeen.” Starcrest smiled at his daughter, but made a shooing motion with his fingers. “Get to work, and let’s see what you can come up with.”
“From the stories you’ve told me,” Tikaya said, after Mahliki left, “I doubt your academy years were devoid of belligerent marines.”
“Belligerent instructors, perhaps. The infiltrations were all sanctioned, a part of my training, with little possibility of loss of life. Unless one did something stupendously stupid. That did happen on occasion.”
“How often did it involve you?” Tikaya asked.
“Me? Never. I was a tranquil and studious cadet, much loved by my instructors.”
Tikaya folded her arms on the table and raised frank eyebrows.
“I was, admittedly less well loved by my older, larger, stronger schoolmates,” Starcrest said. “Still, I maintain that Cadet Badgercrest, that brutish fellow who kept trying to stuff my head in Colonel Pondcrest’s humidor-as if a simple volume equation wouldn’t have told him that was impossible-burned down the upperclassmen’s barracks all by himself. I merely failed to point out the flammable nature of lacquer when he came up with his super-quick-automatic-floor-buffing scheme.”
Amaranthe found this aside amusing, though it tickled her more that Sicarius listened with the attentive mien of a bird dog focused on a rustling bush.
“Tell them who modified the automatic floor buffer,” Tikaya said.
Starcrest cleared his throat. “I might have tinkered with it. That old model was in need of a performance boost.”
Hm, if his daughter took after him at all, Amaranthe supposed she should plan on having something interesting-and possibly volatile-to use on their infiltration. She had better assemble and brief-warn-her team.
“How soon do you need the Barracks secured, my lord?” she asked.
“I’d say by dawn, but that’s only a couple of hours away. Plan to go tomorrow night. And plan to be careful. Going by the reports I’ve received, it’s getting dicey out there in the city. The gangs are rearing their heads, and the black market is thriving. As soon as we can remove Marblecrest and Flintcrest from the equation, someone on our side will very publicly and very heroically find a way to repair the supposedly broken aqueduct, put engineering teams to work on the bridge-teams that won’t be harassed the way Heroncrest’s men are sadly being-and find emergency rations from little known imperial reserves.” Starcrest was gazing at Sespian as he spoke this last sentence.
“Me?” Sespian blurted. “You want to set me up to be the hero in charge of all of that?”
Amaranthe was almost as surprised. When last she’d spoken to Starcrest, he hadn’t been certain he wanted to back Sespian as a candidate for the throne. Tikaya nodded firmly at this exchange though. Had she been whispering in her husband’s ear? Something along the lines of, “Straighten this mess out and put an acceptable candidate on the throne so we can go home, dear?”
Books was frowning, but he didn’t speak.
“The will to solve struggles with claims of superior blood is a familiar one, for it simplifies the issue and ensures certain agencies remain in power,” Starcrest said, “but we’ve entered an age where more and more Turgonians are literate, and though the education system is designed to create good soldiers and factory workers, not future rebels and anarchists, I think you’ll find that the civilians are ready for a change.” Starcrest nodded toward Books, causing his frown to fade into a thoughtful nod. “If not in this generation, then in the next. Regardless, the common man has always been ready to accept a hero as a leader.”
“But I wouldn’t be a hero,” Sespian said, “I’d be a fraud. We made this problem. For me to come in and supposedly fix it, it wouldn’t be honest.”
“Honesty and politics rarely ride in the same wagon,” Books said.
“You don’t approve of this scheme, do you?” Sespian asked him.
“I… don’t know. It’s not ideal, but I would not fault you for taking advantage of an opportunity.”
Sespian looked to Sicarius, as if to ask his father for advice, but he must have decided against it, for he stared at his hands instead. Amaranthe checked Sicarius’s face, wondering what advice he might give to his son. Take the chance, or walk away from it all for a safer life? He’d mentioned something along those lines to her once, that he wished he’d taken Sespian away from Raumesys and from the Imperial Barracks, figuring out a way to have him raised as his own man, one who’d have a choice in the careers he picked. She couldn’t read past Sicarius’s mask though, not at this moment.
“Sespian,” Starcrest said, “I’ll not pressure you into a decision, but might I point out that you merely requested the assistance of a military adviser, trusting in him to find a solution to what couldn’t be, given their numbers versus our numbers, anything except guileful?”
“I requested?” Sespian touched his chest.
“Your father did, then.” Starcrest nodded toward Sicarius. “Fathers have been attempting to do what they believe is right for their children since time immemorial. I posit that there’s no blood on your hands here. If there are critics of my methods, I’ll take the blame.”
“Mmm.” Amaranthe touched a finger to her lips and shook her head at Sespian. She thought about signing the rest of her message, but Tikaya didn’t have much trouble reading Basilard’s code. Might as well make her comment public. “If you want the throne, take the credit for this, or at least for hiring the admiral. I suspect… The food isn’t truly gone, nor is the water, and it sounds like the railroad damage is minor. I think this will be seen as a guileful plot, yes, but smartly so. If not next week, when people are feeling duped and affronted, then in the months and years ahead. There’s a reason the Nurians call him foxy, eh?”
One of Starcrest’s gray eyebrows twitched. “Enemy Chief Fox is the phrase they use.” And not, his tone seemed to say, anything so effeminate as “foxy.” At his side, Tikaya lifted her gaze ceiling-ward.
“I concur with Amaranthe,” Books said. “I don’t think the military or the populace will see this as dishonest, not in the long run. Sespian… if you want the throne back-” his lips twisted downward, “-this is your opportunity to have it.”
“And what if…” Sespian traced a crack between the desks jammed together to form a table. “What if I want to throw my weight behind Books’s manifesto and suggest a restructuring of the empire-of Turgonia-into something fairer for the people and more suitable for a modern world?”
“Constitution,” Books said.
“Pardon?”
“Manifestos are what you have before elections, being largely temporary and fleeting. My work is called a constitution. Not temporary.”
“Would you run for office?” Amaranthe asked Sespian. “For president, or whatever Books has decided the head chief should be called?”