Tallulah Roberts, Lord Blackthorn reflected as he strode out of the Archive of Public Information, was surprisingly reasonable. It was a shame the girl was such an idealist, really believing that she could change the world with little more than willpower, but allowances had to be made for her age. If only his other business for the day was likely to go that well.
It was long overdue, though, and could not afford to be delayed any longer. He pivoted on the spot, and in an instant stood within his dressing room in Blackthorn Manor. Years of practice made sure he didn’t so much as wobble to recover from the teleportation. A wardrobe change was regrettably necessary. He’d tried on various occasions to find a way to wear a single outfit that changed its appearance, but those sorts of enchantments tended not to pair well with the others he placed upon his clothes. And maintaining an illusion spell on his robes was out of the question.
But with teleportation into a room like this otherwise warded thoroughly enough to be virtually impenetrable (no ward was ever truly impenetrable, and thinking otherwise was dangerous), and with being able to change in under a minute, the inconvenience was mitigated enough to become bearable.
It was indeed less than a minute later that he once again pivoted on the spot and vanished. This time he reappeared in a small, nearly featureless room featuring only a plain table and chairs, a small portrait of the King on a wall, and an equally plain door. His Parliamentary office. He tried not to spend a significant amount of time here, but it was at least a convenient teleportation point (the wards on Parliament permitted magicians who also held seats to teleport only into their personal offices).
Without pause, he opened the door with a spell and stepped out into the office’s main room. This was where his Parliamentary secretary, a jovial former spy who went by Edgar, worked, and where other members of Parliament would leave messages for him.
“Sir,” said Edgar, jumping to attention as he saw the door open. He’d been trained well during his time with the Ministry for Intelligence: I am your commanding officer, Lord Blackthorn always said, and whatever I may be a lord of is irrelevant.
“Report,” Lord Blackthorn replied without breaking stride.
“Nothing urgent. I have the detailed breakdown of the election results that – “
Lord Blackthorn waved a hand to dismiss that. He’d seen all the breakdowns of election results and filtered out the important details already this morning.
“The Prime Minister wishes to inform you that he is currently inclined towards coalition with the Traditional Rasina Protection Party but is open to arguments against that. Watson requests a meeting with you at your earliest convenience, as does Ariana Carling. Everything else can wait.”
“Thank you,” said Lord Blackthorn, and left his office. The first two of those three items were no surprise. Watson was the leader of the other major traditionalist party, the People’s Heritage Party, and for the next few weeks leader of Parliament’s opposition also. But he’d also been embroiled in a particularly nasty scandal that had ruined his party’s electoral prospects. He was lucky to have kept his own seat.
It thus made sense why the Prime Minister wanted to avoid being tainted by this scandal by entering into coalition with the PHP. It was regrettable, though: the Traditional Rasina Protection Party were more extreme traditionalists, and Lord Blackthorn thought their policies were likely to increase the growing unrest amongst the population. But despite the Prime Minister’s message, Lord Blackthorn had little power to prevent it or save Watson’s ailing political career. His direct Parliamentary influence was limited.
As for Ariana Carling, though… that was more interesting. Reformists tended to be more vocally anti-Blackthorn than the other parties – it was useful to have a villain they could point to as responsible for all the evils of the Rasina establishment they hoped to change – and though she hadn’t personally attacked him during the campaign he saw little reason to suppose that they could be political allies in any practical way. Her request for a meeting was convenient nevertheless, because meeting her was exactly why he had come here.
It took two minutes to walk from his office to hers. All Parliamentary offices had the same basic layout: an outer room where the secretary and the rest of the member’s staff worked, and an inner room reserved for the member themselves to work or hold meetings. The leader of the United Reformists was not in the outer room.
“Is Miss Carling present?” he asked her secretary, a mousy young man.
“I – Lord Blackthorn – yes, but she – “
He didn’t much care what she was doing. Nothing that couldn’t be interrupted for this. But he didn’t know what she wanted with him; she could be scheming something. There were too many unknowns about that woman for his liking. And the best way to resolve them was to have this conversation.
He crossed the room, ignoring the secretary’s feeble protests, and opened the door. It wasn’t even locked. Not that a locked door would have kept him out for long. The two women inside fell silent and snapped their gazes to him.
Ariana Carling was a striking woman: tall, with thick flowing black hair and piercing blue eyes. She sat at her desk, studying him with an unflinching gaze. She wasn’t afraid of him.
But his attention was taken up by the woman she was talking to, because he couldn’t understand what Carling would want with her of all people. And because he was sure that whatever it was would be a problem.
“You,” hissed Mildred Cavendish.
Carling recovered her composure quickly. “Lord Blackthorn,” she said. “I did not expect the pleasure of your company so soon. I wanted to discuss – “
“No,” Cavendish interrupted.
“What do you mean, no?” Carling asked, an edge to her voice.
“I mean,” said Cavendish with barely supressed cold rage, “that you have thirty seconds to forbid Lord Blackthorn from joining the United Reformists if you want our arrangement to hold."
So that was what she was up to. He should have considered the possibility sooner. Carling wasn’t going to play by the established rules of politics, that was the thing, which meant there were a lot more possibilities for her actions.
Her goal was to secure a Parliamentary majority and become Prime Minister. There were two conventional routes to achieve that: she could persuade enough of the smaller parties and independent elected seats to join her coalition that they would outnumber the King’s Party, or she could obtain the support of the King himself: if the United Reformists became the King’s Party, most of the nobility would automatically be considered United Reformists and that would be sufficient to give them a majority.
The problem was that those were both politically impossible prospects. No traditionalists would agree to join a reformist coalition, and His Majesty had strong traditionalist leanings himself. So Carling had no way of winning according to the conventional rules.
But some of the nobles and other unelected members did have reformist sympathies. And some – like Cavendish, he guessed – were just sufficiently desperate and resentful to take any offer that would bring radical change. He’d have to calculate numbers properly, but it wasn’t impossible she could get enough for a majority. Or enough to persuade the King to support them.
Where did he fit into this scheme of Carling’s, then? Did she really think he could be brought on board, and that even if it succeeded she wouldn’t alienate all the anti-Blackthorn activists within her own party? Or would she take the more certain route of the desperate girl she could use?
He counted the seconds in his head. Stars, he’d known since the unfortunate incident with Tallulah that Cavendish would be trouble. He would have arranged for her to be assassinated or implicated in her father’s crimes long ago if he hadn’t been so certain he’d take the blame; no, removing her as a threat had to be done entirely legally, which made it considerably harder.
Carling made her decision after twenty-three seconds. “Very well. I promise you that Lord Blackthorn shall not be granted membership of the United Reformist Party while I am its leader. Does that satisfy you, Lady Cavendish?”
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So that was her decision. She might assume that he would be displeased by it; he was not, of course, because he could never have given an offer of that sort the slightest consideration. But that assumption might be useful. And besides, she had made a mistake.
“Miss Carling, you do not have the authority to make that declaration.”
To her credit, it took only a second before the look of confusion on her face faded to realisation. While she did have permission to forbid him from joining her party, that was only so long as it was not the King’s Party; only His Majesty had the power to expel a noble from his party.
“Of course. Forgive me. I misspoke. Of course I would never question His Majesty’s authority. Lady Cavendish, I promise you what I do have the power to offer. Does our arrangement hold?”
Cavendish didn’t look happy. But then she never did. And she had to understand that she had no real power here, and that rejecting Carling’s deal would leave her with nothing. “It does.
Gathering information hadn’t been his primary purpose for this visit, but it now seemed very necessary. He had nothing against a Reformist government if Carling could actually make her scheme work, except insofar as a Reformist government would likely have something against him. But a government without the King’s support? That meant political turmoil with potentially dangerous consequences. That had to be prevented at all reasonable cost.
“So,” he said. “You’re trying to recruit enough unelected seats to get your majority. It’s quite a risk, jumping parties and incurring the wrath of the King. I can’t imagine many people would be willing to do that without some certainty of it working.” He had a good suspicion of exactly who was to be first to make the move, prove to those wavering that it was real and there was a chance.
“Those with real faith in my vision for the country’s future will,” Carling replied. There was real conviction behind her words; either she was a brilliant actress, or a true believer. He wasn’t sure which was worse. But he could see why people loved her and would follow her.
“Or those with nothing to lose,” he challenged. It was debatable to what extent that was true of Cavendish, but the girl certainly thought of things that way. She wouldn’t be in this room if it were otherwise.
“Is that man’s presence really necessary?” asked Cavendish archly. “Now that we’ve established that you are not going to work with him, surely – “
“Lady Cavendish, I understand you have good reason to dislike Lord Blackthorn. But please, try to be reasonable. He is one of the most powerful people in the country, and unduly antagonising him more than I already have will make what I intend considerably harder. Besides, I don’t think my telling him to get out of my office would actually have any effect, unless I threaten legal action.”
Lord Blackthorn was very familiar with trespassing laws. In this case, they were somewhat ambiguous. Parliamentary offices were considered to be leased from the King by their residents for the duration of their term as members, and the usual trespassing laws extended accordingly, meaning Carling did have the right to prosecute her unwelcome guests.
But that right did not in fact extend to Lord Blackthorn: as a Royal Magician, it was his duty to maintain Parliament’s ward system and he had the right to move unrestricted through Parliamentary rooms for these purposes. Of course, he would have to prove he was there for that purpose, and that could lead to an ugly lawsuit; besides, that particular privilege was best saved for an emergency, given the chances that abusing it would lead to a change in the law to prevent it occurring again.
So if Carling did threaten legal action, he would accept defeat and leave. But her words suggested otherwise. And that she was capable of some amount of pragmatism. That could be a good sign, that she could be negotiated with. Or a bad sign, that she wouldn’t be fettered by her own ideals.
Cavendish rose to her feet. “Well, I do not wish to be in the same room as him any longer, so if you will not dismiss him I shall take my leave. Thank you for your time, Miss Carling.”
“Likewise, Lady Cavendish. I look forward to further working with you.”
Cavendish’s face twisted into something ugly for a second, as if she’d really expected Carling to dismiss him; then she mastered herself and swept out of the office.
“Forgive me,” Carling said after the door had shut behind Cavendish. “Such are the difficulties of building a coalition.” She rose to her feet and walked to the door herself, but it was only to lock it. “You may be assured that my privacy wards are in full effect. Our conversation from here will not leave this room.”
Interesting. “You think we have private matters to discuss?”
“I’ve looked into your history. Your voting records, the speeches you’ve made. You’re – “
She was serious, then. He’d have to take this seriously himself. “You will have no objections to my adding my own privacy wards to yours?”
“Not at all,” she said immediately.
Pragmatic, indeed. He chalked out the wards by instinct and memory. “You’re aware that Cavendish will begin spreading rumours that you and I are plotting something together, are you not?”
“I doubt that,” Carling replied. “She knows I am her only chance at political relevance.”
“That girl doesn’t care about political relevance any more. All she wants is vengeance on me, and – “ he stopped. A cure for her mother’s illness, he’d been going to say. And that was information he didn’t want spread too widely, not just yet. Certainly not information he wanted the woman in front of him to know.
He mentally noted that Carling was a serious threat as he activated the wards. “Finished. Continue.”
“The policies you’ve encouraged show a distinctly Reformist leaning. We’re not as far apart politically as you might suppose.”
“You know I can’t work with you against the King’s Party. And you know that if I did half of your own party would revolt.”
“You can’t openly work with me. But I’m sure you have many less than open ways of acting.”
He had been right to insist on setting up his own privacy wards inside hers. The mere fact he wasn’t walking out right now, if the King found out about it, could be fatal to him. There was a chance she could use it against him even now, but without witnesses it was a matter of whose word the King trusted more, and that would not be Ariana Carling’s.
What was the best approach? After half a second’s thought he decided it was brutal honesty. “The country needs reform, yes. But what it needs more than that is stability. A strong and united government ready to deal with whatever threats present themselves.” The threat of war with Sirgal was still very real, for one thing, and there was the growing unrest domestically.
“Oh, spare me,” Carling said theatrically. “You’re one of that sort.” She put on a faux-noble accent. “Of course what you want to do is good, and in an ideal world I’d be delighted to support it. But you have to understand that there would be too much opposition, and it would cause dangerous instability, and we need to change things more gradually.” She rolled her eyes and said in her normal voice, “Guess what? Nothing ever changes this way.”
“The traditionalists would fight you every step of the way until you strip away their power to do that. And if you’ve found a way of doing that without triggering a civil war, please do let me know.”
“So what? I’m supposed to settle for tiny changes and little nuggets of progress, all the while knowing that there are people suffering because I’m not truly fighting for them?”
“Yes.” That was a commanding, intense voice, and he noted with approval that she didn’t so much as flinch.
“I’m sorry, but no. I can’t do that. I can’t work with you if you’re not going to fight for real change.”
Was she trying to goad him? Eighteen years ago it might have worked, but he’d had a long time since then to make peace with reality and duty. “You would rather have me as an enemy?”
“I don’t want you as an enemy. But I will pursue my plans, and if you will oppose them… so be it.”
Carling wasn’t what he’d expected. He should have reached out to her sooner, even if it probably wouldn’t have changed anything. She reminded him of Tallulah Roberts, in a way. Except far harder to control and with far more power. In other words: a problem, and yet someone he could have gladly worked with if she were more willing to compromise.
Not someone he wanted as an enemy, either. And they both wanted things from each other. “I’d like to offer you a deal,” he said.
Her brow rose. “Is this where you blackmail me into conceding the election? Because I’m reasonably sure I don’t have anything you can use against me.”
He didn’t. Which was almost suspicious on its own: everyone had their dirty secrets. “No, it’s not. It’s where I ask you to concede the election if you haven’t secured a majority by three after noon today. And in exchange, promise that if you have secured a majority, I will speak in your favour with the King.”
He intended to do that regardless, if she did obtain a majority, because it was far better than the alternative. And if the protest situation was to be under control, then the election needed to be resolved one way or the other today. And the best way to do that was for her to concede.
She blinked once, and then controlled her expression. “Four after noon,” she said, “and I’ll agree.”
The exact time was a detail, and while he’d prefer earlier his read on the protest was that it wouldn’t boil over today unless Carling outright provoked it. Which based on this conversation seemed improbable, and if she did intend to do that then this discussion was irrelevant. “Three and ten,” he offered. This was about making it clear that he was prepared to negotiate – up to a point.
“Three and thirty.”
Exactly halfway between the initial suggestions. Was it reading too much into that to see I’ll give you a fair deal, but nothing more? If it wasn’t, then refusing that gave altogether the wrong impression, and if it was… the specific times mattered little anyway. “Agreed.” Whether she followed through with her side of the deal was uncertain, but he thought it likely. She didn’t seem the treacherous sort, and was surprisingly willing to talk to him.
“As for further cooperation…” Carling said, letting him fill in the blank she left.
“That can be discussed as and when necessary. For now, shall we say that our negotiations have ended in failure and we are consequently enemies?” In public, that was. It becoming known that there was any sort of accord between the two of them would be terrible for them both: her losing favour with the anti-Blackthorn groups within her coalition, him losing favour with the King.
“Naturally,” she agreed. “You are quite insufferable. Every bit as bad as the rumours state.”
“And you are a fool with foolish ideas,” he replied easily, and broke the chalk circle of his privacy wards. He left without another word, ignoring her parting accusation of supporting an undemocratic regime. That was true enough, of course, but one of those things that could not be changed without provoking civil war.