The men stiffened and grew quiet as they drew closer. Selemei held tighter to the handle of her cane, placed it more carefully, stepped in measured cadence with her head high. The door was just beyond them. She’d have to walk between Secretary Boros and Palimeyn of the Third Family. Palimeyn was leering at her, holding something in his hand—it looked like a glass, but he didn’t hold it like a drink. Still several steps away from them, she hesitated.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.”
“Good afternoon, Lady Selemei,” said Boros.
Palimeyn took a single step forward.
Ustin flashed past her, and for a split second, she thought she’d attacked Palimeyn. The Third Family man grunted and stumbled backwards. His manservant feinted toward Ustin, but then backed off also.
Selemei clung to her cane, her heart pounding.
Ustin returned. She’d taken the glass; Selemei didn’t like the look of its brownish contents. “My apologies, Lady.”
Boros looked between her and Palimeyn, frowning. “I think we should go in,” he said. “Lady Selemei, will you come with me?” He offered his elbow.
“Thank you,” she said, but placed both hands on her cane until his arm dropped. Then she followed him in, noticing that Ustin still blocked Palimeyn from approaching her. It was alarming—and felt worse because Ustin had to stay behind on the threshold. Selemei ignored the staring eyes of the ancient Eminences, refusing to rush just because so many men were coming in around her, and walked steadily to Xeref’s chair—her chair, Mai willing. Ignoring hissed insults, she leaned her cane against the table, carefully pulled the chair out, and sat down. She almost wound her hands in the chair again, but this time, folded them in her lap. She tried to barricade her ears against the whispers, and waited for Fedron to take the seat beside her.
Just stay calm. Just stay.
Fedron was late. Well after the Heir and Eminence had already been seated, he backed in the door, harried by another man who must have been yelling at him for some time. She heard only, “… if you know what’s good for Varin and the Race!” before the man relented and went to his seat. She counted chairs—he was Fifth Family. Fedron grunted, and took the chair beside her with scarcely a glance in her direction.
“Let’s get started,” said red-faced Speaker Orn. The Manservant to the Eminence intoned his ceremonial speech; before the final words were fully out, the Fifth Family man stood up.
“First order of business must be the empty seat.”
Fedron grasped the edge of the table with one hand. “The seat is occupied; we already voted on this in the last session.”
“You’re pathetic, First Family,” the man retorted. “You fail to bring your substitute. You bring us—” He waved a hand at Selemei. “—this, instead. You’re still trying to cling to power after the battle is already lost. Well, no one’s laughing.” While he spoke, his gaze never left Palimeyn of the Third Family, as if everyone else were just the audience for an impending confrontation between them.
“I agree,” Palimeyn said. “Let’s vote on the empty seat.”
The Heir said softly, “Your Eminence?”
The Eminence sniffed through his noble nose. “I agree; we should vote.”
Selemei shivered. This was entrapment, carefully planned, kuarjos-pieces precisely placed. The Heir was Third Family, and the Eminence was Fifth. Those two families and their representatives would have spent the days since the last meeting wearing down the other cabinet members. How many had been harassing Fedron? How long would he endure this for the sake of a female cousin?
“Fine,” said Speaker Orn. “Cast your votes.”
She couldn’t watch them. These were men with years of history between them, layer upon layer of alliances and schemes, and here she’d been dropped into it blindfolded.
The Manservant to the Eminence examined his vote reporting device, and bowed. “A unanimous vote is required to certify an empty seat. I count six votes in dissent. The seat remains occupied by the First Family.”
Had she heard that right? Six? For a split second she glimpsed the kuarjos-pattern: herself, standing upon her post with Fedron beside her; Third and Fifth Families attempting to surround them, but behind their backs, another, contrary configuration. Someone hadn’t been paying attention to the rest of the board.
Fedron emitted a ridiculous sound, like a strangled giggle. He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m glad that’s settled. Turn on her voting screen, please.”
The square screen lit in front of her. An instant’s flash of green, then black, with a green date indicator in the upper left corner. In the upper right corner, it read, Xeref of the First Family. Selemei stiffened, bracing for the wash of grief, but by Elinda’s grace, she felt only warmth.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Selemei watched Fedron as they proceeded to business. His near eyebrow would rise, and he’d cast her a glance, then move his finger to the vote button. It wasn’t difficult, though at times it was tricky to tell when a procedural vote had been called for. Slowly, her muscles unclenched. She tried to read the potential for allyship in the expressions on the men’s faces, golden or pale; she counted chairs and identified the Fourth Family’s cabinet member—he would be a cousin, and she should try to reach out to him, perhaps through his Lady.
Then the Seventh Family’s member brought a proposal. She stared at him unabashedly, trying to remember every word he used: “Pursuant to our discussions, I move for a vote on the Selimnar Imports proposal.” Pursuant, and move, those were the keys she needed. She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.
A wysp drifted into the room, impudently, through an ancient Eminence’s face.
Let your luck come to me, wysp…
Fedron leaned toward her. “The First Family supports the Selimnar Imports proposal,” he whispered.
Selemei nodded, and pressed the correct button. She waited for the Manservant to the Eminence to make his announcement of the vote result, and said it. Blood hummed in her ears; she hoped her voice wouldn’t crack.
“Pursuant to our discussions, I move for a vote on the Indelis proposal. In memory of Xeref of the First Family.”
Discomfort shifted through the men. Someone down the table to her left muttered, “Varin’s teeth.” But many faces fell solemn at mention of Xeref, and those men might support her. One of them was bald-headed Secretary Boros.
“I’ll second,” said Fedron.
On the screen in front of her, the words appeared: Indelis proposal, brought by Xeref of the First Family.
She pressed her button in support.
For you, love.
The Manservant to the Eminence bowed. “I count four votes in support, twelve in dissent. The measure is retired.”
Selemei sat, unable to breathe for several seconds. She wanted to scream, or run, but this was no longer blood in her veins—it was some awful distillation of grief and shame. The air tasted of dust.
Fedron nudged her. “Selemei. Next vote, support.”
These were someone else’s hands, fingers pressed to the table surface in front of her. No, they were hers, just impossible to move. Next vote, support. She forced one up, pressed the button. Made herself heartless, a machine to act at Fedron’s instructions, while passing seconds pulled her inexorably away from the moment when it should have gone right.
No rockfall could have crushed her heart more utterly than this failure. Selemei lay exhausted on her bed, feeling its beat inside her chest, wondering why it still persisted. She’d failed to save Enzyel and Keir from the duties that would inevitably tear their bodies apart; she’d failed to save Lienne from the draining obligation that had so embittered her sister. The Race’s decline ground on, loved ones were plucked away, and one day only Pyaras would remember his mother’s name.