“Hang on,” said Sarto. He stood heavily. “I’ve got something to say.” Everyone waited.
“This woman is a fraud. We all know it. It’s inconceivable that this family could have sustained themselves and their retainers for centuries within a single tower, cut off from the outside world—”
“Not inconceivable,” said the ambassador of Oxorn from behind her griffin mask. “Quite possible.”
Sarto glared at her. “What did they do for clothes? For even the tiniest item of utility, such as forks or pens? Do you really believe they have an entire industrial base squirreled away in that tower?” He shook his head.
“It’s equally inconceivable that someone raised in such total isolation should, upon being dropped into society and all its machinations, conduct herself like a veteran! Did she rehearse social banter with her dolls? Did she learn to dance with her rocking horse? It’s preposterous on the face of it.
“And we all know why her claim has any chance of success. It’s because she’s bought off everyone who might oppose it. Buridan has tremendous assets—estates, ships, buildings, and industries here and on Greater Spyre that have been administered by other nations in absentia, for generations. She’s promised to give those nations the assets they’ve tended! For the rest, she’s proposing to beggar Buridan by paying all its debts here and now. When she’s done Buridan will have nothing to its name but a herd of gangly equines.”
“And this house,” said Venera primly. “I don’t propose to give that up.” There was some stifled laughter around the table.
“It’s a transparent fraud!” Sarto turned to glare at the other council members. “Forget about the formal details of her claim—in fact, let it be read that there’s nothing to criticize about it. That doesn’t matter. We all know the truth. She is insulting the name of a great nation of Spyre! Do you actually propose to let her get away with it?”
He was winning them over. Venera had one last hand to play, and it was her weakest. She stood up.
“Then who am I?” She strode up to the table and leaned across it to look Sarto in the eye. “If I’m a fraud I must have come from somewhere. Was I manufactured by one of the other nations, then? If so, which one? Spyre is secretive, but not so much so that we don’t all keep tabs on one another’s genealogies. Nobody’s missing from the rosters, are they?
“And yet!” She turned to address the rest of the council. “Gaze upon me and tell me to my face that you don’t believe I am noble born.” She sneered at Sarto. “It’s evident in my every gesture, in how I speak, how I address the servants. Jacoby Sarto says that he knows I am a fraud. Yet you know I am a peer!
“So then where did I come from?” She turned to Sarto again. “If Jacoby Sarto believes I did not come from Buridan Tower, then he must have some idea of where I did. What do you know, Sir Sarto, that you’re not telling the rest of us? Do you have some proof that you’re not sharing? A name, perhaps?”
He opened his mouth—and hesitated.
They locked eyes and she saw him realize what she was willing to do. The Key to Candesce was almost visible in the air between them; it was the real subject of tonight’s deliberations.
“Sacrus has many secrets, as we’ve seen tonight,” she said quietly. “Is there some further secret you have, Sir Sarto, that you wish to share with the Council? A name, perhaps? One that might be recognized by the others present? A name that could be tied to recent events, to rumors and legends that have percolated through the principalities in recent weeks?” She saw puzzled frowns on several faces—and Sarto’s eyes widened as he heard her tread the edge of the one revelation Sacrus did not want made public.
He looked down. “Perhaps I went too far in my accusations,” he said almost inaudibly. “I retract my statements.”
Duke Ennersin leaned back in his chair, openmouthed. And Jacoby Sarto meekly sat down.
Venera returned to her seat. If I lose, everyone learns that you have the key, she thought as she settled herself on the velvet cushion. She took a sip of wine and kept her expression neutral as Pamela Anseratte stood again.
“Well,” said the lady in a cautious tone, “if there are no more outbursts… let us put it to a vote.”
Venera couldn’t help but lean forward a bit.
“All those who favor this young lady’s claim, and who wish to recognize the return of Buridan to Spyre and to this Council, raise your right hand.”
Guinevera’s hand shot up. Beside him, August Virilio languidly pushed his into the air. Pamela Anseratte raised her own hand.
Oxorn’s hand went up. Then Garrat’s ambassador raised his.
That made five. Venera let out the breath she’d been keeping. It was over. She had failed—
Jacoby Sarto raised his hand.
His expression was exquisite—a mixture of distaste and resignation that you might see in a man who’s just volunteered to dig up a grave. Duke Ennersin was staring at him in total disbelief, and slowly turning purple.
Lady Anseratte’s only show of surprise was a minute frown. “All those opposed?” she said.
Ennersin threw his hand in the air. Five others went up.
“And no abstentions,” said Anseratte. “We appear to have a tie.”
Jacoby Sarto slumped back in his chair. “Well, then,” he said quietly. “I move we take the matter to the Council investigative team. Let them visit the tower and conduct a thorough—”
“Don’t I get a vote?”
They all turned to stare at Venera. She sat up straighter, clearing her throat. “Well, it seems to me…” She shrugged. “It’s just that this meeting was called to confirm my identity and claim to being head of Buridan. Confirmation implies a presumption that I am who I say I am. I am Buridan unless proven otherwise. And Buridan is a member of the Council. So I should have a vote.”
“This is outrageous!” Duke Ennersin had had enough. He threw back his chair and stalked around the table. “You have the temerity to suggest that you—”
“She’s right.”
The voice was quiet and languid, almost indifferent—but it stopped Ennersin in his tracks. His head ratcheted around slowly, as if pulled by unwilling forces to look at the man who had spoken.
August Virilio was lounging back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him. “Article five, section twelve, paragraph two of the Charter,” he said in a reasonable tone. “Identity is presumptive if there is no other proven heir. And Buridan is a member of the Council. Its title was never suspended.”
“A mere formality! A courtesy!” But Ennersin’s voice had lost its certainty. He appealed to Pamela Anseratte, but she simply spread her hands and smiled.
Then, looking around him at Venera, she said, “It appears you are right, dear. You do get a vote. Would you care to…?”
Venera smiled and raised her right hand. “I vote in favor,” she said.
She was sure you could hear Ennersin outside and down the street. Venera smiled as she shepherded her guests to the door. She was delirious with relief, and was sure it showed in her ridiculous grin. Her soiree was winding down, though naturally the doors and lounges would be open all night for any stragglers. But the council members were tired; no one would criticize them for leaving early.
Ennersin was yelling at Jacoby Sarto. It was music to Venera’s ears.
She looked for Garth but couldn’t see him at first. Then—there he was, sidling in the entrance. He’d changed to inconspicuous street clothes. Had he been preparing to sneak away? Venera pictured him leaving through the wine cellar exit to avoid the council’s troops. Then he could have circled around to stand with the street rabble who were waiting to hear the results of the vote. She smiled; it was what she might have done.