It was a mellow evening, a wonderful time to enjoy fried schnitzel slathered in onions and sour cream. Elias Casteel took a bite, indulging himself in a delight harmful to the body yet warmly satisfying to the soul. His teeth broke the thin layer of fried flour and egg, crunched through breadcrumbs and dug into veal, saliva flooding the cream into his mouth, and the diced onions gave the filling, rather bland dish a spicier taste. He swallowed and sipped his coffee, a franziskaner espresso and milk topped with hefty amounts of whipped cream garnished in cocoa powder. He dabbed his lips with a napkin, then leaned back in his flower printed booth. Elias soaked up the familiar cafe scene. Waiters and customers alike weaved between pillars holding up the rib vaulted ceiling. Lofty windows illuminated the cafe, leaving the simple black chandeliers little to do but swing daintily above. The plaza outside had regained its vibrant spark since the attack. Elias was glad the perpetrators were apprehended and sentenced to appropriate terms. What they did was reprehensible. Elias looked to the plaza's opposite side at the ASSR's headquarters. He had to admit he wouldn't have minded if a certain someone had gotten hurt, even, heavens forbid, died in the line of duty. Elias clinked a spoon against his cup. No, he mustn't think that way. Wishing ill upon a person brought nothing but trouble to the thinker. He paid for the meal and went to the Parliament offices adjacent to the cafe, a slither of a crack separating the buildings. The elevator's metal cage clanged abruptly shut. Elias's hands fluttered about, settling inside his pockets. He must put in an inquiry to have this elevator updated to the latest model. His stomach churned. He regretted scarfing down what was a bullet to the intestines. Elias patted his moist palms against his jacket. He didn't know why he felt queasy when all he was to do was have a friendly chat with a colleague, one he respected. It was safe to assume not a single person had qualms with this politician, not even those on an issue's opposing side could scowl at their name. And now, Elias had his sights on a golden plaque bearing the name: Dorabella Campagna. He smoothed out the crinkles in his tie. An open door greeted him. Elias, confused, peered into the room. A woman sat in an armchair and scritched words into a book with a feather pen. Her furious scribbling splattered ink blots into her white blouse.

"Dorabella?"

She rose. "Elias, good evening. Please come in."

Her office, well, it was more apothecary than office. A very disorganized one. Glass spice jars clumped together in large groups on the floor. Bright exotic species in crowded planter boxes fought for sunlight on the window sill. Brown garden pots hung from the ceiling by wires made navigating the room most difficult. Elias ducked underneath a pot, then rose and hit his head on the bottom of another hung shorter than the others.

Dorabella steadied the ceramic pot, apologetic, "I've been told to choose the plant I like best, but I can't bear to part with any."

Elias sat in the visitor's chair, "I'd say the plants give a much-needed flair. Perhaps put a few in the hallway to give it color."

Dorabella picked up a thin copper teapot, "Pollen allergies spoiled my efforts."

"Ah, one sympathizes. I was given a puppy as a child, golden fur, brown soft eyes, beautiful. It licked my face and the spots it licked reddened and I could not stop sneezing."

"Tea?"

"Thank you." Elias scraped his nails together as if they were rocks he tried to start a fire with. Was she not interested in his story, or did he disclose too much? He didn't dare look at the door he wished he could escape through. He should've kept his mouth shut.

"What a pity you could not have the most delightful animal stay in your life," Dorabella said, "Could you have any pets?"

Elias's anxiety faded, then flared.

"We had some doves."

Did she really mean that or was it said for appearances sake?

Elias. You are forgetting she is your friend. She said so herself. Quit it with these rash thoughts

Dorabella said in past conversations she considered them friends, having known each other for years, and asked Elias to speak informally, not in what she called 'the insufferable pompous manner' demanded of them when in Parliament chambers. Steam puffed above the tall glasses Dorabella poured the tea into, glasses which style Elias hadn't seen before. Dorabella noticed his gaze and answered his questions.

"I acquired this tea from Rekar when I went on a diplomatic assignment. They have a vibrant tea culture and more or less perfected their technique on brewing a perfect cup." She carried the tray and set it on her desk.

"Thank you." Elias picked up the handleless cup. The heat roasted his sensitive fingers, but he appreciated the stinging pain.

Dorabella sat next to him and raised her glass, "This one is my favorite, cinnamon. Excellent for one's health."

Elias took a sip. The smooth liquid lathered his tongue. He detected a sweetness, a sharp spike of spice dulled by lemon juice and a drizzle of honey. The tea swirled down his throat and its warmth purged his chest a stuffiness that had constricted his breathing. Elias's agitation waned and he felt more at ease. His earlier witless comments bothered him less.

"Delicious!"

Dorabella cupped a hand on the bottom of her cup and brought it to her lips, "I'm glad you like it."

They sat in silence, enjoying each other's company and the refreshments. Dorabella's office was his favorite place besides home. Adventure beckoned in the herbal tang and he felt like he could walk with a spring in his step and sprint up a flight of stairs without heaving. They finished their tea. Elias set his cup on the desk.

"So, Dorabella-" She poured him more- "Thank you. What important matter did you want to discuss?"

She sighed. Yes, they were not for light banter, and she had stalled long enough. "I called you here today...There is no gentle way to say it."

"Let's hear it."

"Arwen Mordecai must retire."

A needle punctured Elias's heart.

"What?"

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"Arwen's dominated government for far too long. I despise the criminals but perhaps they were right on one thing. His retirement."

Elias panicked on a reply. Dorabella continued.

"One man controls Parliament. He controls the country. We have royalty, mere ceremonial roles. Arwen is a King that can enact his will onto the people. His decrees influence us all. That is absurd. We are a Republic, not monarchy."

Elias tried to calm his jitters wringing his hands.

"Dorabella," he cautioned, "Who's to replace him as Prime Minister? Elin Bonilla, the Chief Whip, a copy of Arwen that will maintain the status quo, his heir, still undecided, or his favorite, Alter Carlebach, son of the country's wealthiest family? Other choices are not worth mentioning if your goal is uniting the country."

Elias rubbed his neck, averting his eyes, "Or you? What's to say you're not like Arwen? Your ambition is showing, Dorabella."

She poured herself more tea. The aroma lulled the trembling in his legs.

"I do want power, as much as I can take. I want it all. But I know I cannot have everything. I must yield when I must and take when I can. The same cannot be said of the Five Families who have governed this country since its conception. I say, let the people govern themselves."

"Why confess this to me, then? I am a member of the Five."

Dorabella smiled a smile of condolence. "I mean you no offense, Elias, but one hardly considers the disgraced Casteels within that circle."

"My family's reputation is disastrous. If you are trying to start something, I am the worst person-I will surely drag you down." Elias bit his lip, wondering if she divulged this to him on Arwen's orders to test his loyalty. He began to question her friendship.

"Would you like more tea, Elias?"

"I-Yes?" He was confused, and in his confusion he became speechless.

Elias discreetly watched Dorabella through the long strands of his chestnut hair. No motion was wasted, each gesture was a testament to her experience in tea brewing. The fragrance glided into the room buoying his spirit with energy.

"I spent a lifetime learning all there is to learn about tea, tasting each plant, memorizing countless preparation methods and when I exhausted what the world had to offer, I created my own special concoction to sate my cravings. This cup represents my passion."

Dorabella put it into Elias's hands, "I have a belief I seek to achieve. It is the purpose with which I entered politics. I ask you, Elias, why are you here?"

"I."

I'm here to change my family's image.

In spite of that, corruption was too ingrained in the Casteel household. His efforts, trivialized, his election outcomes, probed. Self loathing clouded his vision, or was that jealousy towards his friend thrashing his intestines? Dorabella was not well known, but if someone mentioned to passerby her name the majority would nod in recognition. She was the oldest living person in Arseny, joining the war two decades in when she was a hundred to become a Soldier Dragon. Her efforts did little to secure victory, but her story became a fine example of patriotic heroism. How could he stand beside her?

"You are here to rehabilitate your family's reputation."

"Yes, yes I am, and I will do that through hardwork and dedication, without shortcuts or dabbling in anything that will set back my endeavors." Elias stood, "You are asking me to commit sedition. How will that help me? It won't. Goodnight, Mrs. Campagna."

"Your family's dreadful reputation is something you must overcome, I agree. The first step is to tackle the not unfounded assumption your family switches to whichever side that benefits them. Your re-elections prove your constituents trust you, but they do not make up the entire jury in the court of public opinion. They are not the ones you must sway. You must stand your ground and show everyone your principles and steadfast integrity."

A hand on the chair, a hand in his pocket, Elias did not know what to do, his breathing, erratic, the pressure to make a decision murdering him. If he chose Dorabella and they fail, execution. If they win...Elias could not fathom things going their way. He had no idea what winning would entail. Something hot touched his hands, startling him. A teacup. Dorabella put a teacup in his hands. His inaudible choking turned into a cough as he started to laugh. Dorabella also smiled. She handed him a napkin. Elias did not want to provoke Arwen. He refused to be the one to end the Casteel line, living a life avoiding conflict even when it hurtled towards him. But if he had the choice, he would rather live under Prime Minister Dorabella Campagna than Prime Minister Arwen Mordecai.

"It is an honor to work with you."

"Elias! I cannot thank you enough." They embraced.

He asked, sitting down, "Who do you want to recruit besides me? Few would risk Arwen's wrath."

Dorabella gave him some names. They had high standing in the party or authority to their name, but Elias knew convincing them would be difficult.

He laid a hand on her arm, quickly lifting it. "I have to ask. What drove you insane?"

Dorabella chuckled. "I suppose courage is a form of insanity. I fear Arwen wants to instigate war.

"What proof-"

"I have none. I feared I was becoming paranoid, until recent events proved me right. A statement like the purge does not come without its violent sequel. Bloodlust hangs over the country. There will be suffering if we don't dispel it soon."

"What makes you think that?"

She twirled her quill. "The Arsenian youth saw the glorious accolades their grandparents won for feats of valor, and now, they have come of age. I am afraid they want to try their hand at war, and Arwen intends to grant their wish."

Elias dwelled on her words for some time. "Harsh feelings can't last forever. A new administration with a new vision is a great distraction."

"Precisely."

"But if we fail, it would only embolden Arwen and his supporters."

Dorabella tapped her quill's sharp end on the chair, "Elias, we will be victorious."

"Yes, of course."

Positive. Positive thoughts, Elias. I must change myself to change the family. This is the first step.

Dorabella sighed, voice lowering to a whisper, "I have watched this country since before it collapsed into war. Once long ago may someone have found glory in battle, but there is none in modern warfare. I would not wish it upon anyone. I need to become Prime Minister."

Dorabella was tired. Her body, though relaxed, slumped into the posture of a person in the midst of despair who had lost their will to live. Dorabella's exuberant personality intoxicated those she met, and Elias frequently forgot just how old she was. No human brain was used to living for so long shouldering the carnage she endured and memorized. And yet, Dorabella found the strength to carry on. Elias was proud he was someone who could withstand the intensity of her light.

"Well, I think it's time I leave, prepare myself for the future," Elias said, clapping his knees, "I cannot wait to work with you, Mrs. Campagna."

"And I, with you, Mr. Casteel."

She walked him to the door, "I'll visit your office some time with tea bags. Tea might be a healthier option for you, Elias, instead of coffee."

He turned the knob, "I'll provide braided bread and jam."

Alter Carlebach stood in the hallway.

Elias fumbled, tried to close the door, but Alter stuck out a foot, and he lurched back into Dorabella.

No no no no no. Why was he here? Why was he here!

Arwen stepped out from behind Alter. He waved a hand, "Dorabella, Elias. Good evening."

"We've come to collect Elias," Alter said, smiling, "We need to discuss an article in that proposal of his. A few points up for compromise."

Elias's arms tingled, salty sweat slipped into the corner of his eye. He was drowning in the bottomless black seafloor of Arwen's blue gaze.

Dorabella gently pushed him aside.

"Excellent timing. Would you like some tea before you leave? It is not often I can entertain the Prime Minister."

"I appreciate the offer, Dorabella. I'm afraid we cannot accept your hospitality today. The date of the vote is fast approaching and we must refine this measure to the utmost."

Arwen tilted his head, "Isn't that right, Elias?"

Speak. You cannot let someone else fight your battles.

He nodded, "Let us go. I apologize, I must have been difficult to find."

"We ran in circles chasing someone we thought was you." Alter said, "You've become unrecognizable." He gestured at his own face, "The beard suits you."

Elias stood rigid. He always had a beard.

They couldn't have overheard their conversation, could they? Every office is soundproof. They couldn't have heard, couldn't have.

Arwen and Alter walked Elias like a man prison guards escorted to the gallows.

Dorabella was right. This imbalance of power must be corrected.