They wouldn’t be the most accurate stories. But they could certainly start fires. She glanced at a few as she walked past.
CONSTABLES DEAD! BOTCHED ELENDEL OPERATION LEADS TO BILMING TRAGEDY!
SECRET ELENDEL CONSTABLE FORCE UNDERMINES LOCAL POLICING EFFORTS!
EARLY ACT OF WAR PLACES ELENDEL FORCES IN DIRECT OPPOSITION TO BILMING LAW ENFORCEMENT! SHOTS FIRED! SEVENTEEN DEAD!
The spins were different, but the flavors were similar. Waxillium had drawn attention as usual, and she had no doubt that most of the casualties were members of the Set. That wasn’t a nuance for headlines. Still, she had sent her children out of the city with Kath. She prayed to the Survivor that they were safe in their grandfather’s estate to the south.
For now, Steris pushed through the cacophony, steeling herself against the fluttering of pages, the tumult of words, and made her way to the vice governor’s seat. There Steris delivered the proper authorization form for her to take her husband’s position in the Senate.
Adawathwyn said nothing about the dire letter Steris had sent earlier, detailing the threat to the city. Why? Did they dismiss her that easily?
People never wanted to listen to Steris. They preferred to nod along and think about other things. She made her way to Wax’s seat — her seat. Wax was correct; standing for House Ladrian was her right. Indeed, it was one of the main reasons they’d initially explored a union. Her fortune; his authority. Together they could do great things.
If she could keep her nerve. Yes, she’d taken his spot before, but never for something so vital. So, she stood at the small desk, surrounded by chaos. She’d prepared for this. She’d written down what it would be like. She’d even taken two deep breaths. Yes, her heart thundered in her chest, insisting she was nervous, but what did her heart know? It had spent years insisting she’d never fall in love, and it had been so very wrong. Her heart was no expert in what she couldn’t do. It only knew what she had and hadn’t done.
As she’d hoped, people noticed her there, standing silently, and some of the arguments dropped off. This allowed Adawathwyn to shout for quiet in the room — and finally be heard. Her forceful tone, unusual for a Terriswoman, brought order at last. Like a teakettle moved from the burner, senators stopped boiling, but remained hot — settling in their seats and muttering softly.
“The governor,” Adawathwyn said, “requests an explanation from the acting senator of House Ladrian.”
Every eye in the room turned to Steris. Well, she was accustomed to that. People did tend to stare at her. Or glare. Or glower. It depended on how wrong they were, and what level of annoyed they were at hearing her point it out.
“My husband,” she said to the room, “has been called back to his duties as a lawman because of a particularly dangerous situation in Bilming. His operation was fully approved by the constables-general, under the authority of the governor himself. Your Grace, everything my husband has done has been strictly legal and documented.”
“Sometimes,” the governor said, “it doesn’t matter if the permissions are in place and the documents prepared. An act can still be improper.”
What? How dare he! That was the very definition of proper! Steris forced down her anger. Some people … just thought that way.
She covertly glanced at her note card. She had determined, after deliberating all morning, that she’d need to get the governor into a small-group setting. She didn’t want to panic the city, and didn’t yet know how urgent the timing was.
She still needed to get a plan in place for evacuating the city. Always plan for the worst. So: get the governor into a more private conversation. In the proper circumstances, he could authorize an evacuation of the city without a Senate vote.
“Your Grace,” she said to the governor, “Constable-General Reddi has information of relevance about my husband’s mission. I sent him reports with details of my fears this morning. We are facing a far larger issue, even, than the growing intercity aggression. I therefore move that a select council be formed to deal with the emergency in an immediate and timely manner.”
A Governor’s Select Council would be a small commission — in this case made up of a handful of senators and at least one constable-general — with a limited remit. In the past, they had been used for smaller-scale matters, such as addressing traffic needs in the city hub. But a select council was a potent tool, allowing a concentration of power in a few specific individuals. She was shocked it hadn’t been used for an emergency before now; a thorough reading of the law made the application obvious.
“Wait,” the governor asked, “is that … allowed? I thought those committees were for choosing flowers at grand openings and the like.”
The vice governor grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down, where they conversed in quiet, hissing tones — eventually calling over a legal clerk. Several others in the room did likewise.
The governor stood up. “This seems an excellent suggestion,” he said, sounding surprised. “Motion to vote on creating a select council on this matter with Bilming?” He pointedly looked toward a few senators in the room — including Lord Darlin Cett, a man with slicked-back, thinning hair.
The Cetts were among the more powerful faction leaders in this incarnation of the government, and the look seemed to say, “You’ll be included in this council if you vote for it.” It was a shrewd move for the governor, which likely meant he hadn’t come up with it himself.
For once, the Senate vote gave Steris the result she’d been hoping for. A select council was to be formed at the governor’s discretion, granted authority for twenty-four hours to deal with the crisis at Bilming.
“Lord Cett,” the governor said, “Lady Hammondess, and Lady Gardre. Please join me and Adawathwyn in the governor’s chambers to strategize until Constable-General Reddi arrives. The rest of the Senate is adjourned.”
Steris hesitated. He hadn’t called on her. Was … that an oversight? Was it implied that she’d join him, or …
Or was he leaving her out?
Oh, rusts. How could she have missed such a natural possibility? She called for a select council, but then wasn’t included in it? She should have seen that coming.
She put her hand to her head, feeling hot and ashamed of herself. The woman who was ready for everything, blindsided by such an obvious move.
As she tried to control her nausea, someone stood up at the back of the chamber — from the observation seats. A figure in a sharp wooden mask painted with red lines. “Your Grace,” the Malwish ambassador said, “I should very much like to observe the workings of this council.”
“Um, Admiral Daal?” the governor said. “This is a matter of internal Basin affairs.”
“Yes, which is exactly why I want to observe,” the ambassador said. “I can learn much about a people by how they react to a crisis. I have a pleasure craft, of a personal ownership, docked in the city. Perhaps you would find it useful to borrow, my lord governor? To observe the Basin.”
The governor blinked. “Well,” he said, “I’m sure the wisdom of a battle-hardened admiral would be of great use to our council. Come on, then.”
Oh, rusts. Had he really taken such an obvious bribe? In public? The action cut through Steris’s shame, and she glanced toward Adawathwyn. The vice governor had her palm to her face. She’d have to work hard to spin that exchange. But, well, one of the problems with having a pushover like Varlance as governor was that others were fully capable of pushing too.