Queen of Candesce

She had given them the enemy they needed. Sarto’s candid admission of the fact was a clear overture from him.

Venera hesitated. Then, deliberately clamping down on her anger, she walked back to him. They were now the only council members remaining in the hall. The others had taken their seats, and she saw one or two craning their necks to watch their confrontation.

“What do I get if I return the key?” she asked.

He smiled again. “What you want. Power. For the rest, take your satisfaction by attacking us. We know you’ll be sincere. We’re counting on it. Only return the key, and at the end of the war you’ll get everything you want. You know we can deliver.” He held out his hand, palm up.

She laughed lightly, though she felt sick. “I don’t have it with me,” she said. “And besides, I have no reason to trust you. None at all.”

Now Sarto looked a

She laughed bitterly. “What could you possibly give me that would convince me you were sincere?”

His expression darkened even further; for the first time he looked genuinely angry. Sarto spoke a single word. Venera gaped at him in undisguised astonishment, then laughed again. It was the bray of disdain she reserved for putting people down, and she was sure Sarto knew it.

However, he merely bowed slightly and turned to indicate that she should precede him into the chamber. The doors were wide, and so they entered side by side. As they did so, Venera caught sight of Sarto’s expression and was amazed. In a few seconds he underwent a gruesome transformation, from the merely dark expression he’d displayed outside to a mask of twisted fury. By the time they split up halfway across the polished marble floor, he looked like he was ready to murder someone. Venera kept her own expression neutral, her eyes straight ahead of her as she climbed the red-carpeted steps to the long-disused seat of Buridan.

The council members had been chatting, but one by one they fell silent and stared. Several of those were gazes of surprise; although they were masked, the ministers from Oxorn and Garatt were poised forward in their seats as if unsure whether to run or dive under their chairs. August Virilio’s usual expression of polite disdain was gone, in its place a brooding anger that seemed transplanted from an entirely different man.

Pamela Anseratte stood as soon as they were seated and banged her gavel on a little table. “We were supposed to be gathering today to discuss the change of stewardship of the Spyre docks,” she began. “But obviously—”

“She has started a war!”

Jacoby Sarto was on his feet before the echoes of his voice died out—and so were the rest of the ministers. For a long moment everyone was talking at once while Anseratte pounded her gavel ineffectually. Then Sarto held up one hand in a magisterial gesture. He gravely hoisted a stack of papers over his head. “I hold the signed declarations in my hand,” he rumbled. “This is nothing less than the start of that civil conflict we have all been dreading—an unprovoked, vicious attack in the heartland of Sacrus itself—”

“To rescue those people you kidnapped,” Venera said. She remained obstinately in her seat. “Citizens of sovereign states, abducted from their homes by agents of Sacrus.”

“Impudence!” roared Sarto. Half the members were still on their feet; in the pillared gallery that opened up behind the council pew, the coteries of ministers, secretaries, courtiers, and generals that each council member held in reserve were glaring at one another and at her. Several clenched the pommels of half-drawn swords.

“I have a partial list of names,” continued Venera, “of those we rescued from Sacrus’s dungeon last night. They include,” she shouted to drown out hecklers from the gallery, “citizens of every nation represented on this council, including Buridan. The council will not deny that I had every right to seek the repatriation of my own kinsmen?” She looked around, locking eyes with the unmasked members.

Principe Guinevera’s jowls quivered as he thunked solidly into his seat. “You’re not going to claim that Sacrus stole one of my citizens? Surely—” He stopped as he saw her scan the list and then hold up her hand.

“Her name is Melissa Ferania,” said Venera.

“Ferania, Ferania… I know that name…” Guinevera’s brows knit. “It was a suicide. They never found a body.”

Venera smiled. “Well, you’ll find her right now if you turn your head.” She gestured to the gallery.

The whole council craned their necks to look. People had been filing into the Buridan section of the gallery for several minutes; in the ruckus, nobody on the council had noticed.

On cue, Melissa Ferania stood up and bowed to Guinevera.

“Oh my dear, my dear child,” he said, tears starting at the corners of his eyes.

“I have more names,” said Venera, eyeing Jacoby Sarto. Everyone else was staring into the gallery, and he took the opportunity to meet her eye and nod slightly.

Venera felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

She had stage-managed this confrontation for maximum effect, calling for volunteers from the recently rescued to attend the scheduled council meeting with her. Garth alone had refused to come; pale and still refusing to talk about his experience in the tower, he had remained outside in the street. But there were prisoners from Liris here as well as half a dozen other minor nations. As her trump card, she had brought people taken from the great nations of the council itself.

Sarto seemed more than unfazed at this tactic. He seemed satisfied.

She realized that a black silence had descended on the chamber. Everyone was looking at her. Clearing her throat, she said—her own words sounding distant to herself—”I move for immediate censure of Sacrus and the suspension of its rights on the Council of Spyre. Pending, uh… pending a thorough investigation of their recent activities.”

For once, Pamela Anseratte looked out of her depth. “Ah… what?” She pulled her gaze back from the gallery.

August Virilio laughed. “She wants us to expel Sacrus. A marvelous idea if I do say so myself—however impractical it may be.”

Venera rallied herself. She shrugged. “Gain a seat, lose a seat… besides,” she said more loudly, “it’s a matter of justice.”

Virilio toyed with a pen. “Maybe. Maybe—but Buridan forgot its own declaration of war before it invaded Sacrus. That nullifies your moral high ground, my dear.”

“It doesn’t nullify them.” She swept her arm to indicate the people behind her.

“Yes, marvelous grandstanding,” said Virilio dryly. “No doubt the majority of our council members are properly shocked at your revelation. Yet we must deal with practicalities. Sacrus is too important to Spyre to be turfed off the council for these misdemeanors, however serious they may seem. In fact, Jacoby Sarto was just now leveling some serious charges against you.”

There was more shouting and hand-waving—and yet, for a few moments, it seemed to Venera as though she were alone in the room with Jacoby Sarto. She looked to him, and he met her gaze. All expression had drained from his face.

When he opened his mouth again it would be to reveal her true identity to these people: he would name her as Venera Fa