Sunny days are finally here, folks. Get out and enjoy the Spring!
Maybe when we get back, the Conclave will have managed to pass a bill to fill a pothole.
Yeah, fat chance. Might as well have a picnic.
Spring 41
The Conclave echoed with the roar of the absent.
Forty and five Lords and Ladies in a hall built for three hundred.
Alisandra’s voice carried to the highest rafters. “…and this abdication is the proof that our fellows would rather hide in their manors than address the many woes of our nation!”
“Our nation!” scoffed her foe of the day, a devout Lord who had steadfastly voted against her every measure for a decade now. “Your southern masters whisper every lie that we hear from your lips!”
“Ah, yes, such grand conspiracy as the plain eyesight to observe that crops cannot reach Mel from the north road when it remains buried under silt; or that the metal tariffs so eagerly imposed for the protection of one Guild have driven all innovation to Highbranch!”
The Holy Receivership at the head of the Conclave smashed his gavel. “Gentle Lords and Ladies, please! Let us calm ourselves! The Conclave is no place for such a shameful display!”
Most eyes flitted to Lady Mishkan.
“This Conclave would rule better with a touch of shame,” she answered.
The priest smashed his gavel again. Tugging at his white robes in exhaustion, he proclaimed, “The floor is closed for discussion!”
Alisandra returned to her pew, fuming.
Time is my enemy. How swiftly the drums beat in the heights of Spring! Every hour I waste here is an hour I cannot remove the threats before they grow.
With Iris finally quiet, now she heard of disputes at the Jungle’s edge over who shall pay for road repairs; bickering in Moros over stolen fishing rights; and threats in Highbranch to break the moot over wandering cattle!
All that, and the constant drumming of little biters thirsty to meet their end at her Blade.
The proctor priest shuffled through his notes, tapping his gavel on the post. He glanced from his notes and then into the second-floor balcony.
“What does it matter without quorum?!” someone shouted from the third floor. “We might as well take shovels and fix the damned roads ourselves. Pay ourselves the tax for it too!”
At this rate, we will end the Spring without a meaningful session, the angel despaired.
“Ah!” The priest cleared his throat. “Yes, we appear to have missed one review.”
Alisandra frowned. They were behind by hundreds of reviews; which force had slipped this to the top of the list?
“Resolution 4711, concerning the state of power distribution in the boroughs,” the priest called. Shuffling papers, he began to read the statement on the resolution.
Mel had never expected to sprawl so far; the boroughs struggled for power at the best of time. Yet new power stations would cost tremendous sums, especially with the difficulties of tariffs and failing coal mines under the ashen mountains.
Who among the villages would volunteer another year’s taxes so the capital can enjoy better power?
Having seen the budgets, Alisandra well knew how much Mel sucked from its periphery. There were farms in the northern periphery that still suffered with wood stoves and outhouses!
Still, charity would not stir the Conclave. Again, why this one?
“…and here the response from Briarwood’s commander. Here reads an apology for the demands exerted by his facilities…”
Briarwood? A cudgel positioned at Mel’s head, pretending to assurances of protection.
As though a handful of tanks would matter if the Wyrm rose once more.
That does remind me, however. I should ask the Erudite sisters what progress has been made on our earlier discussions.
“…and here the response from the Fourthborough mayor. He explains the expense on hand. Each time the power cuts, our machines of industry halt, and it might take a full bell to extract the lost fiber and restart the line. If this continues…”
She let the proceeding drift by, ticking off chores for later.
Need to check on the outlying temples. Make sure the new leadership remember their responsibilities. Then a meeting with the spymaster. If Valkyrie is to join my temple, we will need to carve appropriate training regimens.
New ground for her and Valkyrie both. What could spring from the union of the north and south? From Mirielle’s whispers and Alisandra’s guidance?
More locally, I must check the funding for my charities. Make sure my allies remain solvent. See if Father Lucas can be convinced against his foolhardy retirement…
Too busy, even for one who did not sleep.
“In closing,” the priest summarized, “this matter is quite urgent. If the Electricians are to break ground by Summer, budget authorization must be received…” He coughed. “Today. Shall we take role?”
“We’ve had two role calls and no quorum all day, you dolt!” a Lord shouted, cracking his cane against the stones.
Alisandra rolled her eyes. Here was one of the old Lords, grey-haired when she first took the House mantle, still shaking his jowls at a world long past his understanding. A walking cadaver, clinging to his seat with undead fingers.
The antithesis of stewardship.
The proctor shook his head. “I only evince the proper procedure!” His eyes flicked to the balcony again. “If there is no vote today, the boroughs could face complete black-out by Winter!”
Since when is this man a hero of the people?
Yet his words found their mark on the third-floor balcony.
“Hold the vote!”
“We’ve hungry children and the weather to face while you suck your lips over procedure!”
“Do something to help for once!”
“Vote on the damned bill!”
Equal clamors rose from another quarter.
“This is a place of worship!”
“Honor the God of Fire and still your jaw!”
Constables rushed to resolve the brewing fight, and the Holy Receivership pinched his nose. “Yes. Attendance again. Please rise as your House is called.”
As each noble rose in turn, Alisandra assessed the room again. Forty-five Lords and Ladies accounted for ninety-two votes; the priest at the pulpit squatted on eight-five. Quorum demanded fully half of the Conclave three hundred.
She also assessed the current Holy Receiver himself. Both his political star and his limp arose from Lumia. He claimed to have saved a dozen people from the Wyrm during the evacuation. Though this was certainly a fabrication – and a popular one lately – he had spent the last three years in his position delicately balancing the various doctrinal factions with aplomb.
A bolus in our collective gut, refusing to pass, she thought crudely, scowling. Yet the political calculus is simple: a power withheld can be dangled indefinitely.
Why pick winners and losers with a single auction when one could mint everyone a theoretical winner and enjoy the universal favor? Much like noble courtship, though, the players would eventually grow frustrated. They would seek other sources of relief.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Or perhaps he realizes the end of his playful chase and has decided to throw his lot?
She craned her neck, peering into the second-floor balcony once more. Despite her vantage point in the front row, she spied no deacons in attendance.
The quick census completed, and the Holy Receivership cleared his throat. “Alas, we fall far short of quorum.”
He paused, and the third floor obliged with more curses.
“What good are you lot?!”
“Try spending a Winter’s week with a dead heater, you milksop bastards!”
“Couldn’t save the Cathedral! Couldn’t save the Keeper! Couldn’t stop the damned Wyrm!”
The Hand of God twitched.
Be still, she commanded her Blade. They speak true. Lady Mishkan did not defeat the Wyrm.
“Cut off Briarwood!” Alisandra shouted through the clamor. “Power must flow first to the people!”
Her suggestion brought cheers from the third floor and condemnation from her fellow nobles. A few had stake in Mel’s army contracts; one had a son on post there; others seized the chance to dogpile on the heretic Lady on general principle.
“Order! Order!” The priest slammed his gavel a dozen times. He stopped in the middle to work his sore shoulder; then another dozen followed. “If the accounting of intent is required, then we shall put the matter to a vote! Vote yay to authorize the expenditure or nay to allow the folk to freeze!”
What new game is this? Why would the proctor care one way or another?
“There is no vote without quorum!” she called.
“Then there is no threat,” the priest replied.
Words too smooth for his thick tongue.
She whirled to check the second floor again. This time looking for emissaries.
Margaret Dune stood in the shadows by the exit where only an angel’s sharp eyes would catch her hawkish glare.
Oh, icy hells.
“House Mishkan, you have first vote,” the proctor pressed.
“There is no vote!”
“Then I will mark you as nay, and–”
“And send an altar boy to take my vote tax?” she snapped, the temperature around her dropping. She leaped forward onto the stage and whirled on her idle fellows. “Mark my words! If the Receivership can call quorum for a vote, then this Conclave has surrendered its Regency! Each House that falls to vote tax or misfortune will swell the belly of the beast until this august hall is home to only a single white robe!”
A god-king Tyrant
“Oh, get off it!” a Lord called. “You campaigned harder than anyone for the Conclave to pass motions. Here strikes the iron, and you find your worries in the socks!”
“To pass motions in accordance with our own laws! The Holy Receivership would grant us quorum by silent assent – grant it! What of next week? Will the Holy Receivership grant quorum to twenty Houses so they might pass their every idle fantasy while you attend to an emergency?!”
The holy-frocked, whether robed in white or black, would deign to ease your burden of rule
Thankfully, her words caught, and the floor stirred in consternation. The Houses took a moment to count and slowly realize how few were required for quorum in the Holy Receivership’s shadow.
The commoners, however, turned all their fury on her. They hurled trash at her, though most rained on the empty pews instead, and accused her of every conspiracy.
Funny. The constables have yet to intercede this time.
“I will fund the Electricians then!” Alisandra roared. Turning to the proctor, she asked, “How much?”
He glared at her, working his jowls.
“How much?!” she demanded, her voice cracking like thunder through the auditorium.
“Eight hundred gold,” the proctor stated.
“Done.”
Many of the Lords grinned. Mishkan prepared to hurl a small House fortune into this measure!
She already bankrolls her little alliance
How much more can she take?
“Private House expenditures do not require Conclave authorization,” she called for commoner benefit. “The matter will be addressed; you will have your power this Winter!”
She drew only a few cheers.
Beside her, the proctor muttered for her alone, “Heretic.”
“Still sleeping with your altar boy?” she asked in return. “Ah, though he would be twenty-five by now. Time to swap to the newer model.”
The Holy Receivership paled to match his robes.
“Do you think you would be spared? Should the Inquisition conquer the Houses, Angela will soon turn her eyes upon you. The pyre hungers for heretics and sodomites in equal measure.”
Snarling, he smashed his gavel to the wood – doubtless imagining her face instead. “Session adjourned!”
***
“Wasted spectacle,” Margaret Dune growled from the shadows. “Fool lost his nerve the second she stepped on stage!”
“Tis a slow bleed that defeats the beast,” Angela Cecille intoned from just out of sight behind an arch.
“She’s got the funds for it.”
“Smuggled from the south,” the Grand Inquisitor agreed. “The mint of the gold proves it.”
“Legal to pay with tainted gold.”
“Which is why you will go to the treasury and secure certification on the origins of her money. We shall make sure all know who funds our dear Lady Mishkan.”
And by the taint of association, all members of Mishkan’s little alliance.
“One cut at a time,” reassured Angela.
That is how you slay a monster
***
The nobility ambled from the Conclave. Stretching, chatting, unconcerned. A beautiful day called them to more pleasant pursuits!
Alisandra intercepted a cluster of more reasonable Lords in the long hallway from the auditorium. Matching their long strides, she announced, “We must remove the Holy Receivership.”
She might as well have declared herself the Tempest; they faltered to a stop.
“Lady Mishkan, I beg your pardon?”
“The Holy Receivership operates outside its purview. We must force the vote auction. Now.”
One coughed into his handkerchief. “Your position on the Holy Receivership is well understood, Lady Mishkan. Is now really the time?”
“What prevents the Receivership from replaying this stunt next session? And the next? Until the correct audience is found to open the gates?” she demanded, struggling to leash her voice.
The hallway grew too cold, and she knew the tension showed in her shoulders.
“Do not worry so,” a Lord offered, conciliatory. “Good Lady, if you neutered the proctor any harder, he would have had to sign up as a nun!”
Do these fools even hear the drums?!
Of course not.
The drums never beat for men like these. They paid no price for their actions in either the Conclave or their personal lives.
“The Conclave empowers the Keeper of the Flame to preside in some matters; the proctor of the Conclave must not have the power to do more than the opening ceremony!” the angel growled.
The nearest Lord waved a hand. “Lady Mishkan, you made your point. The Holy Receivership is duly cowed.” A smirk played at his lips. “What compels you to such enmity against our fair priest?”
The pup thinks himself so clever.
“House votes are the center of our Regency,” explained Alisandra, fighting the angry pulse of her halo above her ears. “Almost a third of our number now sleep within reach of the deacons. If this tool remains, they will reach for it again!”
The group scoffed. “The church is not going to start voting. Lady Mishkan, perhaps the church would not seem so threatening to you if your own conduct was more in keeping with its teachings.”
Chuckling, they turned away.
That black thought rose again, rising through her palm from a buzzing Blade.
It would be so easy to…
She smothered it.
Walk gently; walk as mortals might. Walk gently; walk as mortals might…
One of her vaunted allies smiled in passing. The Lady matched pace and confessed, “I admit to a certain unease as well, Lady Mishkan. Let us discuss the matter next week over tea. The Receivership spoke out of place; he must be censured.”
One priest replaced by another; still eighty five votes in church hands.
“I would be delighted to discuss the matter further,” Alisandra agreed, knuckles grinding against the hilt of her Blade.
“Wonderful!”
They reached the atrium, and the woman slipped away.
Alisandra trailed after, staring at the opulent assembly, and wondered if she had finally cracked. If the burden of Blade and Crown had eroded her mind. Did she now see villains in every shadow?
That was a deliberate assault upon our principles, she reasoned. The matter chosen for its commoner appeal and its procedural nature. The Holy Receivership rose today with this foremost in his mind, his lips ready with practiced words.
How could the other Houses be this blind? They laughed and planned lunch in the wake of the first salvo of a war! A war that would steal…
Ah, but it would not steal their authority, would it? No, Cecille and her ilk would borrow tactics from the factory strike-breakers: offer preferential terms to the well-situated seniors and yank the opportunity for more from those yet unvested…
Passing beneath the dome of Aure, Alisandra shivered against the cold of her fears.
A few moments later, the drums beat in the distant jungle, and she relished the excuse to express her frustrations.
***
Late that night, Valkyrie heard the angel of Valor thunder into the apartment. Caught in the bath, she froze as the angel stomped straight down the hall.
“I apologize that I have not visited in some time,” Ali said through the door. “Are you well?”
Heart racing, the girl clapped her hands together to the beat of a Fuggboutit song.
“Well enough,” chuckled the angel, though her voice held a sharp edge tonight. “Inform Sebastian of any difficulties. Enjoy your bath.”
The angel retreated to her study; its door slammed shut with an echo of its infernal lock.
After a moment of furious debate, Valkyrie seized a towel and scurried to lean against the door to the Mishkan study.
“…enough votes for a censure, perhaps, but the threat remains. Hells! I feel as though I hold the entire edifice upon my brow!” vented the Lady Mishkan in privacy. “What disaster would have passed today were I busy with black scales?!”
A silent moment passed. Was she listening to someone?
Or some kind of echo?
Though as far as Valkyrie understood, living echoes were more like shouts sent through the astral dream of Yesod; just talking by another means.
Rie? Any insights?
To her surprise, that inner voice managed a response. Rie’s voice came slow and distant, like words delivered through a cave.
We should not eavesdrop.
Valkyrie blanched. “It’s not eavesdropping!”
Just staying abreast of current events!
“Please do not worry on our behalf, Mother,” Ali sighed.
Mother?
As in the Stormmother?!
Valkyrie leaned her whole weight into the door.
“What I would give for a second spymaster in the north! Time presses hard on his heels, and such shoes to fill! Who else can name every major player across the inhabited world on a whim? Such excellence is depressingly rare.”
Ha! Told you, Lyla - the spymaster is real!
“To that end, I wonder how we might make use of young Valkyrie.”
The girl’s heart skipped a beat.
“I do not require good girls with quiet souls. I require open minds and sharp tools. I might ask Oliver, but his heart has retreated to its borough fortress. No, he suffered enough in Lumia.” Quieter, the angel sighed, “…and his soul is too gentle. I love that gentleness, but I fear we require an edge.”
Not just in her temple but beside the Tempest herself! Beside Ali!
A dizzying euphoria rushed through Valkyrie, awash with ever-wilder fantasy.
Ever more intimate fantasy.
“After all, I would be remiss to ignore Mirielle’s last gift,” the angel chuckled.
“We could go on an adventure. Together!” she squeaked. Only her guardian curse saved her hide. Too late, she clapped her hands over her mouth!
The angel in her study stirred.
Valkyrie bolted for the safety of the bathroom and dunked her head beneath the water to smother her own echoes!
Listening to her heart pound among the bubbles.
***
Belle woke from a terrible dream
The shadow of the Wyrm lingering in every shadow
Her apartment echoing with her breath