The morning found them sequestered within the town hall. It was a spacious room with carpeted floors and some foreign art hanging from the hardwood walls. A series of empty pews were available to the public, facing two lecterns from which speakers would debate and three rows of chairs seating the city’s leading men. Any city or town would have guilds for the crafts such as leatherworkers, weaver, and dyers, but a trading town such as this would also have a guild for its merchants.

“Honored masters and magnates,” Mayor Symon began after the doors were shut, “today I have the honor of presenting Lady Mydea Kolchis, acting as lady advocate for Lord Aspyrtus. She has petitioned that our city provide new taxes.”

“A point of order,” Mydea said, rising to approach the empty lectern. “They are not new taxes. My brother has not received the taxes he is owed. I also have farmers here from your surrounding villages who will testify that their taxes were collected by this town. Your own mayor confirmed it yesterday afternoon when we spoke.”

“My lady, Phaleinas is a city,” a woman from the guild of bakers said. “I must insist you address us as such, and our elected representative by his proper title of Lord Mayor.”

“A city requires a charter,” Mydea said. “If you should present yours to me, I shall be glad to correct myself.”

“Are our words worth so little that it would cause you to doubt us like this?” the woman asked.

Mydea showed her teeth. “I would not disparage your town’s good name, but I am the Lady Advocate. I shall not sully my name by speaking a falsehood when I have been charged with carrying out the law.”

There was some grumbling, but eventually one of the men took down the charter which had been framed in glass and hung above their chairs. He showed it to her with both hands, though did not let go, as if afraid Mydea would seize it. It was her mother’s name on the document, like she’d thought. Unfortunately for them, the wax forgery of her sigil gave it away.

“This sigil is imperfect,” she said. “I cannot verify this to be my mother’s work.”

“As the sun sets in the west, it is hers!” Symon insisted, banging his fist on the lectern.

“Then we are at an impasse,” Mydea said. “I see no means of moving forward on this issue save for letting a hystor in good standing with the Thalassian Athenaeum divine its origins.”

“That could take weeks!” another said. “Is there no other way?”

She made a show of considering it. “As a gesture of good faith, I would also accept oaths from this body sworn before the Pantheon as to this document’s true nature.”

“Would that truly satisfy you?” Symon asked.

“It would satisfy me,” Mydea said, “though I think you’ll find my brother less trusting than I.”

“Allow us a moment, my lady,” Symon said, his each step towards the counsellors causing his great belly to jiggle. They spoke in hushed tones and one among their number had employed the wind to keep Mydea from overhearing with either her ears or her own wind. She could overpower such a barrier probably, but not without alerting the caster to her actions. The mayor turned to her after they concluded some rather heated deliberations. “We would prefer to have the athenaeum verify the charter, though as a matter of courtesy, we ask that you refer to Phaleinas as a city.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then we shall have to adjourn for now until the athenaeum’s response arrives,” Symon said.

Mydea thought it through for a moment. “I will accept on the condition that you refer to my brother henceforth by his proper title: the Lord External of Kolchis.”

“Lord Pleonexia has not granted him a warrant external,” Symon said.

“My good man, we could sit here and speak all day of whether a lord external derives his authority from tradition or from warrant,” Mydea said. “I am frankly tired of such talks. Let us consider his proper title and the status of this settlement matters of courtesy and be done with it.”

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They spent a few minutes more consulting and it irked Mydea to see. This lack of decisiveness in democracies had nearly doomed Arh-Kaine in the time of Syla the Stormsong.

“We can agree to that,” Symon said at last.

“Then let it be so,” Mydea said. “If we may return to the topic at hand regarding the taxes?”

“The city refuses to pay further taxes,” Symon said firmly.

“I understand that, but I have no interest in repeating myself all day,” Mydea said. The charter was one thing, but this was beyond the purview of the athenaeum. “You claim the taxes have been sent, but have been waylaid by bandits. I have said we received no taxes. Perhaps the both of us are right, or perhaps one of us is wrong. I could still have you fined for overstepping your bounds and collecting taxes without my brother’s leave and we should arrive at the same amount. Spare us all the trouble.”

“So high a fine would be a grave abuse of your powers,” Symon warned. “We could petition Lord Eminent Pleonexia to intervene.”

Mydea stepped out from behind her lectern and towards him and the magnates. “You could,” she said, “but you would be a fool to think it could remain limited to fines. We would speak of charters and warrants for weeks before a ruling was made. The athenaeum would get involved. All the while, your families would remain here, shivering from winter and without walls for the Tuskar.”

The mayor paused. “My lady, we have walls.”

“Surely you do not think we would leave those intact when we leave?” Mydea asked. “You might rebuild them in time, but that would be the work of months, not weeks.”

“You do not have enough mages to bring it down so swiftly,” a man with a crooked nose said.

“I do not need to remove a clam’s whole shell to eat its meat. An opening will suffice for the Tuskars to sink their fangs into Phaleinas,” Mydea said. “So shall we gamble, though I know the outcome already? Say the words. Test your wards against my father’s might. Let us see who shall emerge the victor.”

“There is no need for violence,” Symon said. “We are all civilized men and women of the Empire, unlike the barbarian Tuskars!”

“Yes, civilized,” Mydea said. “Do you know what that means? It is to pray to Nomos, to accept law, order, and governance. Above all, it is to pay your taxes.” She breathed out. “Do you know what my brother will do when winter sets in and your walls have been punctured?” She paused for a moment, raising a hand and letting fire slither between her fingers. It came slower than she was used to. “He’ll send out his knights to protect you, because the bond between your families and mine is not a transaction, but a responsibility. But you’ll wonder at night, won’t you? ‘Are the troops coming? Will my family be saved? Oh, if only I’d paid my dues!’”

Silence dominated the hall for a long while. “Is that it then?” Symon asked, slipping into Monsi for a moment. “We resort to violence?”

“There is another way,” Mydea said. “One where both of us get what we want.”

“We are listening,” Symon said.

“You have a city charter, my brother is Lord External, and both are disputed. But if you were to formally recognize my brother’s traditional title, he could confirm the authenticity of your charter,” Mydea said. “Of course, you would still need to forward him your taxes, but in the interest of civility, the fines owed might be waived away and a reasonable plan of payment agreed upon.”

More consulting behind whispers. It surprised her that the mayor could retain so much fat with all the walking he was subject to at council meetings.

“Are you sure your brother would agree?” Symon asked, tapping his sausage-like fingers against wood.

“I am positive, Lord Mayor,” Mydea said.

“We would need to negotiate over the exact terms of payment,” Symon said.

The hard part was over and the rest of it was haggling. In the end, Mydea received from them a significant payment upfront as a token of good faith, and a letter declaring their support for her brother’s position. In exchange, she stamped their charter with her magic to signal its authenticity. Nothing was final until Apsyr agreed, but she did not see a problem there.

The sun was already low when they exited the city hall, and so Mydea consented to staying another night at the Lord Mayor’s manse.

Come morning, the great and not so great men and women of the city saw them off at the city gates. News that the city’s charter had been ratified spread quickly, and it proved a popular motion judging by the crowd. No doubt they had already been doing so, but a city charter permitted Phaleinas the right to establish a warehouse and market, to govern themselves and set their own laws so long as these did not run contrary to edicts from the Empress or Lord Pleonexia. Perhaps most important to the least of them, it ensured they were now citizens of a city and exempt from forced labor.

“I take it you succeeded, my lady?” Tomas asked when he rejoined them.

Mydea nodded. “How did your business go?”

“As well as one could hope for,” Tomas said.