Chapter 29 #2
“I promised all the Houses would be given a seat. Each House may make its own decision on any given matter. The prevailing choice will carry the weight of five votes.”
“Five is not enough,” she snapped.
“Limiting the Houses to five votes was your idea, Marthe.” I flashed her an innocent smile. “If the other Houses have a problem with that, I suppose they’ll have to take it up with you.”
Her skeletal fingers clenched around the bronze cuff on her arm. There was strong magic lingering in those brittle old bones, and I had little doubt it burned for a chance at me.
“Five votes is plenty,” Garath said smoothly. His chilly smirk was a never-before-seen level of smug. “It’s all we need.”
I did not like at all how delighted with himself Garath looked. “Shouldn’t Remis be in that seat?” I asked him.
“My dear brother has decided to retire as Head of House. We agreed that the person needed to guide our family forward in these strange, uncertain times . . .” He leaned forward and steepled his hands. “ . . . is me.”
Beside him, Aemonn shifted in his seat, though his attention was not on his father, but on the man seated between his brother and Luther: Zalaric Hanoverre.
I glanced at Remis. The internal politics of House Corbois meant little to me now, but I had to admit, my curiosity was piqued. Remis Corbois was not a man who let go of power without a fight, yet there he sat, not a word to speak at being so summarily dismissed.
Another warning bell clanged in my head.
I looked at the other tables. House Corbois was not the only one with an unexpected face in its seat.
“Evrim Benette,” I said. “If I remember correctly, you refused to serve on this council.”
He shot me a withering glare. “I changed my mind.”
In the packed mass of spectators from House Benette, Norwick had been relegated to the back. I couldn’t tell whether his dour expression was for me or the uncle who’d unseated him.
My heel bounced nervously under the table. After the catastrophic introduction Norwick and I just had, maybe I was better off taking my chances with Evrim. His greedy motives made him easy to predict. His vote could probably be bought, for the right price.
But I’d given my word.
And that was not the kind of Queen I was going to be.
“My rules were clear, Evrim. A Head of House is entitled to their House’s council seat, but if they refuse it, I get to appoint their replacement.”
Evrim’s face went so hot, I wondered if his mustache might begin to smoke and curl. His fist slammed on the table. “You have no right to choose who leads my House!”
“You’re still Head of House. Until that changes, Norwick keeps his seat. But if you’d like to resign, I’m sure one of your kin would be thrilled to take your place.”
The crowd of Benettes quivered with anticipation, sharks in bloody water sensing the aroma of a fresh demise. One glance over his shoulder, and Evrim sensed it, too. He dragged out his chair and nearly shoved his advisor to the ground so he could take the seat beside it.
Norwick’s glare locked on me as he made his way to the table. I felt a little guilty that I’d just made him an enemy within his own House. When he took his seat, Evrim grabbed him by the arm and hissed words into his ear that had his features hardening to stone.
“As I was saying,” I resumed, a little less sure-footed, “five votes to the mortals, and five to the Houses. Of the remaining five votes, one will be cast by the independent Descended”—I nodded at the Unhoused Descended, whose faces flickered with pleasant surprise at my description, then I gestured to Nidara—“and another by our new residents from Ignios.”
A few quiet grumbles rose around the room.
“Two more votes will be held by half-mortals. One for those residing in Lumnos”—I nodded to Luther, then to Zalaric—“and one for those still exiled abroad.” The murmurs grew louder, and I hurried on. “As the Crown of Lumnos, I will hold the final vote.”
“And one vote is all you will take?” Norwick asked. “Even if the council makes a decision you don’t like?”
Even if we decide to execute the Guardians for what they’ve done? his pointed stare seemed to ask.
This was a dangerous gamble. I would never truly sit back and watch mortals led to slaughter, but breaking my word would have consequences. Even Vance’s violence might pale in comparison to the war I would start at home.
“Just one vote,” I said. “Now . . . let’s get to the business of running the realm.”
Marthe rapped her bony knuckles on her table. “House Hanoverre has a matter to raise for a vote.”
The alarms in my head grew louder.
“I propose that the Crown of Lumnos be removed from this council and that its vote be permanently stripped.”
“A brilliant suggestion,” Garath chimed in. “I second the proposal.”
“Thirded,” Brant shouted from the mortals’ table. My mother’s head whipped toward him.
“Out of the question,” Luther said. “Diem was chosen to rule by all nine of the Blessed Kindred. If any person belongs here, it is her.”
No one spoke up to agree.
“Why should you get a seat?” the mortal farmer asked me. “Each of us represent a much larger group. You only represent yourself. Do you believe your voice is worth more than all of ours?”
I blinked in speechless surprise. As I fumbled for an answer that wouldn’t bury me in hypocrisy, my eyes dropped to the woman’s throat. Just inside her collar, I caught a glint of golden light. Another sparkle slipped out from the hem of her sleeve.
The longer I looked, the more curious it got. A dagger strapped to her calf had an ivory handle inlaid with dark grey seams of Fortosian steel. Her clothes were not the silks and brocades of Descended fashion, but they were the finest attire mortals could buy in the realm.
Alone, any one thing might have gone unnoticed. It wasn’t unheard of for some of the more privileged mortals to hold items of great value that their families had passed down or saved for years to buy.
But farmers were far from privileged, and the leather pouch at her waist was stuffed fatter than any mortal coin purse I’d seen.
Shit.
I’d feared this would happen eventually. To see it so soon was a devastating blow. After all they’d been through, all the blood that had been shed . . .
“How many for yours?” I asked sadly.
The woman’s head leaned to the side. “Excuse me?”
“You speak to me of the worth of a single voice. When you sold yours to House Hanoverre, how many coins was it worth?”
Pink exploded across her cheeks. She dropped her hands into her lap, tugging down her sleeves.
“Do you see?” Iléana Hanoverre spat from Marthe’s side. “Diem has no answer, so she resorts to smearing the reputation of an innocent woman. She can’t be trusted by mortals or Descended.”
“Iléana,” Luther rumbled, dark and slow.
More than anything she’d said, it was the sound of her name on his lips that had my vision going red. I’d never been a possessive lover, but the mating bond triggered something primal inside me. I had to grip my chair to keep myself from lunging at her throat.
“I am a half-mortal raised by mortals wearing a Descended Crown,” I ground out. “I represent everyone. And I am the tiebreaking vote.”
“We only need a tiebreaking vote if the Ignios scum are given a seat,” Brant said. “They don’t belong here.”
“Neither do the half-mortals,” Iléana said. “They’re supposed to be dead.” Her brother Jean chuckled, his smarmy smile targeted at his forsaken son.
Zalaric yawned.
“The half-mortals have every right to be here,” I said. “I lifted their exile.”
“If they return to Lumnos, no reputable House will accept them, and they’ll be Unhoused,” Garath said. “If they don’t return, they have no stake in how the realm is run. Either way, they merit no vote of their own. Certainly not two. Son, don’t you agree?”
It wasn’t the way Aemonn’s eyes went distant and cold that surprised me. Nor was it the way Taran reddened with rage, forcing Zalaric to soothe him with calming strokes down his arm.
It was the casual cruelty of Garath’s question. It served no purpose—Aemonn had no seat on the council, and his obedience to his father had already been proven many times. The only thing Garath could hope to accomplish was driving the wedge between his sons even deeper than before.
I had a sickening feeling that was exactly the point.
“Yes, Father,” Aemonn said, his voice sounding too small for the charismatic man I knew him to be.
“Fucking coward,” Taran growled.
Jean exchanged a poisonous smile with his sister. “No wonder those two are together. They’ve got so much in common. Both of their fathers would rather they were dead.”
The Hanoverre siblings dissolved into laughter. Luther’s hands flattened on his table. “Iléana,” he said again, “this is your final warning.”
Though she rolled her eyes, her snickering fell quiet.
“We may not have your expensive Descended education,” my mother cut in, “but they still teach basic math in mortal schools.” She wagged a finger in Marthe and Garath’s direction.
“You two are trying to stack the council in your favor. Without the votes of Diem, the half-mortals, and the people from Ignios, this seat”—she pointed to the Unhoused Descended—“will be the swing vote. Five mortal votes to six Descended.”
“They must not teach logic at those mortal schools,” Garath sneered. “If all we wanted was more Descended on the council, we’d leave them their seats.”
“Would you?” Zalaric cut in. “The people of Ignios are faithful to their Blessed Mother. If anyone in this room has their loyalty, it’s her chosen Crown: Diem.
As for the half-mortals . . .” He adjusted the stack of thick gold bangles on his wrists, many studded with diamonds or colorful jewels.
“We have made our own fortunes. We have no need of yours. Our vote cannot be bribed—and I think you know it. That only leaves the other kin you cast aside.” He twirled a finger at the Unhoused Descended.
“You’re betting you can dangle the promise of a return to win their vote. ”