“She didn’t know,” whispered Lianshi.
“She’s covering it well, though,” Scorio whispered back.
Raugr arrived moments later with two attendants of his own; unlike the others, the Autocrator of House Chimera hadn’t bothered with ceremonial robes, but instead wore an elegant set of charcoal gray robes that he might have donned for a regular day of work. But his presence was sufficiently severe and his appearance so striking that any manner of finery would have felt out of place; he was bald, square jawed, his nose kinked by an old break, his brows low, his shoulders broad and sloping. He moved with brutal deliberation, every inch of him speaking to his enormous capabilities in combat.
Eira arrived last. Scorio watched her with interest; the Autocrator of House Basilisk was reclusive and hadn’t appeared at all during the fight with Imogen; word was that she’d been absent from the city when the fight had taken place. Seeing her now Scorio couldn’t restrain his surprise. She was a sylph, her blonde hair cut boyishly short, her eyes alive with an almost feverish light. Freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose, and her smile verged on inappropriate as she stopped before the dais, just shy of a grin, as if this were all a grand jest that only she fully understood.
“What a surprise,” she said, inclining her head jerkily. “The White Queen herself winging her way down here to grace us all with her presence. Methinks something big’s afoot. Oh, and welcome.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Autocrator Eira. Please, all of you, be seated.”
The four Autocrators stepped up onto the dais and moved to their chairs; their attendants moved to stand behind them, and soon the Council was gathered. Other officials had filed into the hall to swell their ranks; Scorio recognized some of the city’s Dread Blazes, but many appeared to be functionaries of the Council and the Houses themselves. He couldn’t decipher their ranks or roles, but soon several hundred bureaucrats and lower-level leaders were in attendance, every one of them focused on the stage.
The White Queen raised her chin and stared out over the assembled crowd. “Thank you, all, for having gathered on such short notice. I am Nova, known as the White Queen, Charnel Duchess, and ruler of the Fiery Shoals. For almost a decade I have held preeminence over the Rascor Plains and ensured the continued peace under which we have lived, grown, and thrived. I have taken it upon myself to ensure the safety of Bastion and the Archspire, and that each year’s class of Great Souls has the greatest opportunity to realize their powers and aid us all in the war against the Pit. I have held these responsibilities as sacrosanct.”
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd.
Nobody had missed the White Queen’s usage of the past tense.
“But Hell is not as it was when I first took up this mantle of responsibility. During my tenure, I have witnessed great changes, with the greatest being the failure of the Empyreal Prophecy and our loss of three Imperators.”
The ripple became a wave; Scorio saw open shock on countless faces as the White Queen baldly stated that which so many had spent years either denying or tiptoeing around.
“This failure has immense consequences for all of us. None can deny that advancing of the ruins through Bastion’s wards, and the knowledge that when the Academy’s Archspire falls to the rot we shall no longer reincarnate Great Souls to aid us in battle. Our best estimates give us less than ten years before this tragedy befalls us, and then we shall truly be alone in this war against the fiends. Each death will be an incalculable loss, and as our numbers dwindle so will our last hopes of victory.
“Hell itself seems to be aware of this deadline. Ancient forces rouse themselves from slumber while new foes arise to challenge even our havens of greatest strength. The Blood Ox has taken LastRock, but none believe he shall content himself with this prize. The Viridian Heart and its living empire are moving north uncontested through the Shadowed Valleys of the Black Sun, and the Unspeakable One is almost free of the Weeping Glacier. There are reports of lights flickering in the uppermost windows of the Tower of Yig, and teams led by anyone less than a Charnel Duke or Duchess disappear when trying to cross the Mountains of Mnar.”
The White Queen gazed gravely out over the crowd. “I could continue in this vein for an hour. Each month fresh reports reach me of unrest, division, and failure. I can no longer in good conscience remain at the Fiery Shoals when my strength might better be used at the front. It is for that reason that I shall be withdrawing preeminence and permanently leaving the Shoals for Deep Hell.”
The crowd broke out into cries of alarm even as Raugr rose to his feet, his dour face creased in surprise and anger. Eira crossed her legs and laughed, while Octavia simply froze, her eyes narrowed.
Only Praximar nodded thoughtfully, a single vertical line between his brows.
But the White Queen wasn’t done.
“That said, my love and loyalty for the cradle of our kind remain undiminished, and thus I have worked closely with my advisers to expand and refine the Celestial Consortium so that it may operate in my stead in ensuring peace, an equitable distribution of resources, and the safety of everyone within Bastion and the Rascor Plains. I will review the particulars in greater detail with the Council in private, but want everyone to understand and take reassurance from the broad strokes of how it will be restructured to the advantage of all.”
Octavia leaned forward, an eyebrow rising.
“First and foremost, the Consortium shall observe new distribution quotas of the Gold mana. The bulk shall continue to be shipped via The Celestial Coffer into the Iron Weald so as to support the Iron Tyrant’s endeavors against his foes. However, each House shall now also receive five percent of the total shipment to distribute amongst its members as they see fit, with whichever House holds the rotating position of leadership overseeing the distribution receiving an additional five percent.”
This was apparently huge news; the alarm that had run through the crowd immediately became an excited buzz, and Scorio saw Octavia glance at Praximar even as Raugr gave a reluctant nod.
“A final five percent will be invested by the Houses in the improvement and maintenance of Bastion itself, both to sustain the community and prevent any further resentment from arising. The usage of this five percent will be overseen directly by Bastion’s Council itself. And yes, the Iron Tyrant has already agreed to this new ratio.” Nova smiled. “While I cannot say he was pleased, he proved amenable to reason.”
Nervous laughter filled the hall.
“To ensure that these new quotas are executed faithfully the members of the Consortium will agree to a new system of management. Consortium leadership—which shall be separate from Council leadership—shall rotate through the Houses every ninety Bastion days to ensure that no one House is able to accrue too much power or influence over the distribution process. That means each House shall oversee three shipments. This endeavor shall be aided by a new system of transparency that will include regular reporting of the amount of Gold mana distributed as well as regular audits of the previous administration to prevent hoarding or monopolization.
“The members of the Consortium will swear Heart Oaths to uphold a strict and clear code of conduct that prohibits any unethical behavior such as bribery, extortion, or manipulation of the distribution process. They shall also swear to ensure that their replacements, whether they be official successors or pro tempore leaders, shall also swear to uphold these tenets before being granted power. They shall also agree to set penalties for non-compliance, with penalties ranging from fines, suspension of their personal quota for relative periods of time, or even expulsion from the consortium.