Chapter Ten The Trial of Stewardship, Again #2
The boy grinned. A camera captured everything.
Her public score rose before she reached the next hedge.
Lucen joined the procession midway through. The crowd got louder.
Anya muttered, "Do not walk beside me."
"I was assigned."
"Walk beside Mirel."
"She threatened to fake an ankle injury if I did."
Mirel, three places ahead, did not turn. Lucen lowered his voice.
"You are trending again."
"I despise that word."
"The boy was effective."
"He was six."
"Exactly. Ruthless demographic."
Anya almost smiled.
Then she saw a banner outside the fence.
SERRIN FOR CROWN - WATER FOR GREYbrIDGE. Her smile died. Lucen followed her gaze.
"I'm sorry."
"Why? You didn't paint it."
"Because the system teaches them that this is how resources move."
She looked at him.
"Doesn't it?"
Lucen's face tightened.
"Too often."
"Then maybe they are not confused."
They walked several steps in silence.
"If I win," Anya said, "Greybridge probably gets more attention."
"Yes."
"If Mirel wins, freight policy favors central routes. If Sela wins, western agriculture gains influence."
"Likely."
"So the Trials make regions compete through women."
"Yes."
"And everyone calls that unity."
Lucen looked at the crowd.
"You see why I want it gone."
Anya's anger softened.
"I see why. I still don't know how."
His expression changed.
A secret passed behind his eyes.
Article Twelve, though she did not know its name yet.
"Neither do I," he said.
It was technically true. Anya would remember that later.
How carefully a person could tell the truth and still leave another person uninformed.
At the end of the garden walk, a reporter shouted, "Candidate Serrin, do you want to be queen?" Anya stopped.
The approved answer was something about serving Aldermere wherever called.
She looked at the banner again.
"I want Greybridge to get water whether I marry anyone or not."
The clip led every broadcast that night.
Her score rose four more points.
Sela brought the cake box into Anya's room. Only Lucen's iced shoulder remained.
"Emergency dessert?"
Anya took it.
"I hate democracy by pastry."
"Wrong government type."
"I hate all available systems."
"Eat."
Anya did.
? ? ?
The palace scheduled Anya's family call at 18:20 and allowed twelve minutes.
Love, apparently, came in regulated intervals.
A communications officer seated her before a screen in a room painted a soothing cream color. A small red light indicated recording. Another light indicated review delay.
"For security," the officer said.
"Whose?"
He pretended not to hear. Mira appeared first.
Then Nemi pushed half her face into frame.
"You are famous."
"Tragic."
"Tomas made everyone stop work during the water Trial."
"That sounds unsafe."
"He said pressure was stable."
"He lies under stress."
Mira elbowed Nemi aside.
"How are you?"
Anya had prepared answers. Fine. Fed. Busy. Not poisoned. None survived her mother's face.
"Tired."
Mira nodded as if that were the answer she had expected.
"Are they treating you well?"
The review light glowed. Anya looked at it.
"They are treating me visibly."
Mira's mouth tightened. Nemi leaned close again.
"Is the prince nice?"
"No."
"You smiled at him."
"Technical malfunction."
"Twice."
"You should be doing homework."
"I am studying government."
"Poorly."
Mira laughed.
For a second the communications room disappeared.
Anya was back at the kitchen table beneath the ceiling stain.
Then Mira said, "A letter came about the apartment." Everything returned.
"What letter?"
The officer shifted behind the glass.
Mira held up a folded notice.
"Eligibility review. It says candidate household status may affect subsidy tier."
Anya went cold.
"That isn't supposed to happen until final disposition."
"I know."
Of course Mira knew. Anya had left her copies of every regulation she could find.
"Did you answer?"
"No. Tomas says the district legal clinic will look at it tomorrow."
"Good. Don't sign anything."
The officer pressed a button. A soft tone sounded.
"Candidate Serrin, household administrative matters should be directed through Trial support services."
Anya turned toward the glass.
"This is my family call."
"Correct."
"Then stop participating."
The review light changed from green to amber.
Nemi's eyes widened on the screen.
"Are you in trouble?"
"Constantly."
Mira held the letter closer to the camera.
"Can you see the code?"
Anya leaned in.
HR-17. Household review. Not random.
She had seen that prefix on one of the candidate regulation packets.
"Send a copy through the legal clinic. Not Trial support."
"Anya," the officer warned.
She ignored him.
"Mother, if anyone comes to the apartment, ask for written authority. If they say verbal directive, get a name. If they say Crown priority, get the statute number."
Mira's expression changed. Not fear. Recognition.
This was how Davin used to speak before arguing with officials.
"I know how to read paper," Mira said.
"I know."
The timer showed four minutes.
Nemi said, "Everyone at school thinks you're going to win." Anya looked at her sister.
"Do you?"
Nemi considered with the seriousness she usually reserved for desserts.
"I think you're bad at losing."
"Family support is moving."
"If you win, do we live in the palace?"
"No."
"Good. It looks cold."
Mira glanced toward the unseen monitor on her side.
"Nemi, give us a minute."
"Why?"
"Because I gave birth to both of you and have earned strategic authority."
Nemi left complaining.
Mira waited until the door closed.
"You like him."
Anya nearly ended the call herself.
"Absolutely not."
"Anya."
"He is useful."
"So was the red wrench you slept with when you were nine."
"That wrench never lied to me."
Mira smiled.
"Does he?"
The question landed harder than teasing should.
Anya thought of Lucen telling her the scoring system had two audiences. Of Southworks. Of the archive door. Of the way he listened when she explained pressure loss instead of waiting for a simpler metaphor.
"Not often."
Mira's face softened.
"That is not the same as safe."
"I know."
"And liking someone does not make the system around him less dangerous."
"I know."
"Good."
Anya frowned.
"You could be more comforting."
"You already have a palace full of people telling you stories. I am your mother."
The timer showed one minute. Mira leaned toward the screen.
"Whatever happens, come home because you choose to. Not because you failed correctly. Not because you won correctly. Choose."
Anya swallowed.
"I will."
The red light began flashing. Nemi burst back into frame.
"Wait! Tomas says north feeder is at forty-two."
Anya laughed.
"Tell him thirty-eight minimum."
"He says stop managing him from the palace."
The screen went black. Twelve minutes. Love cut off mid-argument.
Anya sat still while the communications officer unlocked the door.
"Trial support can assist with the housing notice."
She stood.
"No."
"Candidate Serrin—"
"If your office generated it, I want independent review. If your office didn't, I want to know who did. Either way, you are not the person I ask first."
She walked out with HR-17 memorized.
By bedtime, Mirel had found the same prefix on two other candidate household notices.
Losing, Anya realized again, was being made expensive in advance.