Pamela Anseratte stood as soon as they were seated and banged her gavel on a little table. “We were supposed to be gathering today to discuss the change of stewardship of the Spyre docks,” she began. “But obviously—”
“She has started a war!”
Jacoby Sarto was on his feet before the echoes of his voice died out—and so were the rest of the ministers. For a long moment everyone was talking at once while Anseratte pounded her gavel ineffectually. Then Sarto held up one hand in a magisterial gesture. He gravely hoisted a stack of papers over his head. “I hold the signed declarations in my hand,” he rumbled. “This is nothing less than the start of that civil conflict we have all been dreading—an unprovoked, vicious attack in the heartland of Sacrus itself—”
“To rescue those people you kidnapped,” Venera said. She remained obstinately in her seat. “Citizens of sovereign states, abducted from their homes by agents of Sacrus.”
“Impudence!” roared Sarto. Half the members were still on their feet; in the pillared gallery that opened up behind the council pew, the coteries of ministers, secretaries, courtiers, and generals that each council member held in reserve were glaring at one another and at her. Several clenched the pommels of half-drawn swords.
“I have a partial list of names,” continued Venera, “of those we rescued from Sacrus’s dungeon last night. They include,” she shouted to drown out hecklers from the gallery, “citizens of every nation represented on this council, including Buridan. The council will not deny that I had every right to seek the repatriation of my own kinsmen?” She looked around, locking eyes with the unmasked members.
Principe Guinevera’s jowls quivered as he thunked solidly into his seat. “You’re not going to claim that Sacrus stole one of my citizens? Surely—” He stopped as he saw her scan the list and then hold up her hand.
“Her name is Melissa Ferania,” said Venera.
“Ferania, Ferania… I know that name…” Guinevera’s brows knit. “It was a suicide. They never found a body.”
Venera smiled. “Well, you’ll find her right now if you turn your head.” She gestured to the gallery.
The whole council craned their necks to look. People had been filing into the Buridan section of the gallery for several minutes; in the ruckus, nobody on the council had noticed.
On cue, Melissa Ferania stood up and bowed to Guinevera.
“Oh my dear, my dear child,” he said, tears starting at the corners of his eyes.
“I have more names,” said Venera, eyeing Jacoby Sarto. Everyone else was staring into the gallery, and he took the opportunity to meet her eye and nod slightly.
Venera felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.
She had stage-managed this confrontation for maximum effect, calling for volunteers from the recently rescued to attend the scheduled council meeting with her. Garth alone had refused to come; pale and still refusing to talk about his experience in the tower, he had remained outside in the street. But there were prisoners from Liris here as well as half a dozen other minor nations. As her trump card, she had brought people taken from the great nations of the council itself.
Sarto seemed more than unfazed at this tactic. He seemed satisfied.
She realized that a black silence had descended on the chamber. Everyone was looking at her. Clearing her throat, she said—her own words sounding distant to herself—”I move for immediate censure of Sacrus and the suspension of its rights on the Council of Spyre. Pending, uh… pending a thorough investigation of their recent activities.”
For once, Pamela Anseratte looked out of her depth. “Ah… what?” She pulled her gaze back from the gallery.
August Virilio laughed. “She wants us to expel Sacrus. A marvelous idea if I do say so myself—however impractical it may be.”
Venera rallied herself. She shrugged. “Gain a seat, lose a seat… besides,” she said more loudly, “it’s a matter of justice.”
Virilio toyed with a pen. “Maybe. Maybe—but Buridan forgot its own declaration of war before it invaded Sacrus. That nullifies your moral high ground, my dear.”
“It doesn’t nullify them.” She swept her arm to indicate the people behind her.
“Yes, marvelous grandstanding,” said Virilio dryly. “No doubt the majority of our council members are properly shocked at your revelation. Yet we must deal with practicalities. Sacrus is too important to Spyre to be turfed off the council for these misdemeanors, however serious they may seem. In fact, Jacoby Sarto was just now leveling some serious charges against you.”
There was more shouting and hand-waving—and yet, for a few moments, it seemed to Venera as though she were alone in the room with Jacoby Sarto. She looked to him, and he met her gaze. All expression had drained from his face.
When he opened his mouth again it would be to reveal her true identity to these people: he would name her as Venera Fanning and the sound of her name would act like a vast hand, toppling the whole edifice she had built. Though most of her allies knew or suspected she was an imposter, it had been neither polite nor expedient for them to admit it. If forced to admit what they already knew, however, they would find her the perfect person to blame for the impending war. All her allies would desert her, or if they didn’t, at least they would cease listening to her. Sarto had the power to cast her out, have her imprisoned… if she didn’t counter with her own bombshell.
This was the great gamble she had known she would have to take if she came here today. She had rehearsed it in her mind over and over: Sarto would reveal that she was the notorious Venera Fanning, who was implicated in dastardly scandals in the principalities. Opinion would turn against her and so, in turn, she would have to tell the people of Spyre another great secret. She would reveal the existence of the key to Candesce and declare that it was the cause of the coming war—a war engineered by Sacrus for its own convenience.
And now the moment had come. Sarto blinked slowly, looked away from her, and said, “I have here my own list. It is a list of innocent civilians killed last night by Amandera Thrace-Guiles and her men.”
Braced as she was for one outcome, it took Venera some seconds to understand what Sarto had said. He had called her Amandera Thrace-Guiles. He was not going to reveal her secret.
And in return, he expected her not to reveal his.
The council members were shouting; Guinevera was embracing his long-lost country woman and weeping openly; August Virilio had his arms crossed as he stared around in obvious disgust. Swords had been drawn in the gallery, and the ceremonial guards were rushing to do their job for the first time in their lives. Abject, shoulders slumped, Pamela Anseratte stood with gesturing people and words swirling around her, her hand holding a slip of paper that might have been her original agenda for the meeting.
It all felt distant and half real to Venera. She had to make a decision, right now.
Jacoby Sarto’s eyes were drilling into her.
She cleared her throat, hesitated one last second, and reached behind her.
17
Treble was a musician by day, and a member of Bryce’s underground by night. He’d always known that he might be called upon to abandon his façade of serene artistry and fight in the Cause—though like some of the others in the secret organization, he was uneasy with the direction things had taken lately. Bryce was becoming altogether too cozy with the imposing Amandera Thrace-Guiles.
Not that it mattered anymore, as of this minute. Clinging to a knuckle of masonry high on the side of the Lesser Spyre Ministry of Justice, Treble was in an ideal position to watch the city descend into anarchy.
Treble had gained access to the building disguised as a petitioner seeking information about an imprisoned relative. His assignment was to plant some false records in a Ministry file cabinet on the twelfth floor. He evaded the guards adroitly, made his way up the creaking stairs with no difficulty, and had just ensconced himself in the records office when two things happened simultaneously: the staccato sound of gunfire echoed in through the half-open window; and three minor bureaucrats approached the office, talking and laughing loudly.