Millerson wasn’t sure how to react, but he kept his face as neutral as possible. This man, whoever he was, had learned a bit too much, and that couldn’t continue. “Mister Kemmer, I’m not sure what you think you are doing . . .”
“I’m still trying to decide that, Mister Millerson,” Kemmer said. “Because, the funny thing is, I still believe in the ideals behind the Patriots, even if the methods were wrongheaded. Revolution through blood and fear is merely an exchange of tyrants. But, while you funneled money and instructions to us, you never were actually interested in our cause. We were convenient agents of chaos.”
“Son,” Millerson said, “you’re clearly confused.”
“Not at all,” Kemmer said. “And I did not make contact here lightly. I’ve decided I will not be an agent of chaos, but I will be an agent of change, and you’re going to help me.”
“That is patently absurd, young man. I’m not going to entertain this any further.” He got to his feet.
“Archduke Holm Windall,” the man said. “High Justice Feller Pin. Duchess Erisia Leighton. Do I have your attention yet?”
Millerson sat back down. This boy had a grasp on more than Millerson thought possible. He might not know the entire Grand Ten, or that they were a Grand Ten, but he had enough to be dangerous.
“What do you want?”
“For now . . . I think city politics. Yes, I think I’ll start there, and then move up to the Parliamentary level.”
“You missed the elections.”
“This year, yes. But I think I’ll start planning for next year. First get noticed, make speeches, challenge the system, and then get elected next year. You know, sir. Be a man of the people.”
Saints, he knew.
“What do you want?”
“To start?” Kemmer gave a sly grin. “This campaign of mine will take money. Which you will provide. And we’re going to meet here, weekly. We can discuss your co-conspirators, and what they’re planning for this nation. Maybe I’ll even agree with your plans. Maybe we can make a better nation. Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“And if I have my man there put a crossbow bolt in your neck?”
“Then all this reaches the press. Today. It’s already underway, and only if I’m alive could that be stopped. Think about that.”
“How much money?” Millerson asked through gritted teeth.
“A thousand crowns is a nice round figure to start with,” Kemmer said. “By six bells tonight.” He got up from the table. “Oh, and enjoy the party, sir. I understand that Lady Mirianne is really planning quite the rage.” He saluted to Millerson, and then to both of Millerson’s men, and left the pub.
Resendrick came over. Ex-Intelligence, smart and fast. Came from Major Altarn, which meant Millerson didn’t trust him, but he was good at his job.
“What was that, sir?”
“Trouble,” Millerson said. “Track him, find out where he goes, who he talks to, and be ready to put a stop to him.”
“As you say, sir.”
Resendrick left, and Millerson, at a loss of what else he could do, went back to his lunch.
This would sort itself out. And, at worst, Millerson had plans underway to throw a lamb or two to the wolves if he needed. This Kemmer was an inconvenience, but Millerson admired the tenacity of him. And he had enough plans in place that, no matter how things unfolded, he would still be safe. At the end of the day, the people would protect him. Because he was their man.
Chapter 14
THE INITIATES WERE UP with the sun, and with almost no prodding, packed and ready to march within minutes. Amaya was incredibly proud of them. Despite what they had gone through—some injured, some affected in their spirit—they showed steel in their hearts and bellies. Even though she was still ranking them in her head, she knew most of them would make fine Candidates now. Most.
They went with the ballot wagons and the remaining marshals, making good time as they approached the city midday.
Enther came up next to her in the march. “Madam Tyrell?”
“What is it?” she asked.
“Mentorships are based on ranking, yes?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, at the end of this week some of the third-years are going to get specific mentorships with Adepts and Masters, but only the top-ranked ones.”
Not quite. “Why do the same rumors persist every year?” she asked him. “You’d think the truth would filter through.”
“What is the truth?” he asked.
“All right, spread this around. Yes, at the end of the week, third-years get their mentorships. You’re attached to an Adept or Master, and that Adept or Master takes a personal interest in your training and advancement. Our sessions under my supervision won’t stop, but the structure of your training day will shift, depending on your mentor. And, yes, the Grandmaster will make Mentorship decisions based on ranking.”
“So everyone gets one? And it’s one on one?”
“Masters will often take on two,” she said. “Dayne and I were both with Master Denbar in our third year.”
“But everyone gets one?”
She sighed. This was the usual source of panic. “Strictly speaking, the Grandmaster is not obligated to assign every third-year a mentor. On paper, I believe, it’s a privilege only for the top three.”
“Right, those are the rules!” Enther said. He bit his lip shamefully, looking around to see if anyone noticed his exclamation.
“Technically, yes,” she said. “But in practice? Everyone had one my third year. And I’ve always seen that be the case.”
“So we shouldn’t worry,” he said with a sigh.
She clapped him on the shoulder. “Oh, Initiate. There are plenty of things for you to worry about. That shouldn’t be one of them.”
She brought up her pace before he could respond.
They arrived in the city and followed along with the caravan to the Parliament Square. Marshal Pentalin went inside and came out with a few more marshals, who brought the ballot boxes and officiants inside. A marshal chief came up to her.
“I’m given to understand we owe you a debt of thanks,” he said.
“Debt isn’t how I would put it,” she said. “We were in the right place, and did our duty.”
He extended his hand to her, which she took. “Well, your nation thanks you. You’ve helped keep our election sacred and safe.” He then went down the line and shook the hand of each of the Initiates, as well as Vien’s.
“What next, ma’am?” Tander asked.
“Now?” she said. “We go back to the chapterhouse, unpack our gear, and visit the baths and infirmary. After that, you’re at liberty for the day. You’ve earned it.”
When they reached the chapterhouse, the Initiates were more than eager to follow her instructions, half of them stripping off their blood-caked, mud-stained clothes in the foyer before running out to the baths.
“Quite a ruckus.”
Grandmaster Orren was coming through the foyer with Osharin—the new Adept from Acora—at his side.
“I’ve put them through a bit,” Amaya said.
“I have received word,” Grandmaster said. “Your exercise turned into a full engagement.”
“They what?” Osharin asked.
“I took the Initiates on a hike,” Amaya said. “We ended up thwarting an ambush of the Acoran ballots on their way to the city.”
“Great saints!” Osharin exclaimed. “That . . . so . . . are the votes safe?”
“Safely delivered at the Parliament,” she said.
“Very impressive,” Grandmaster Orren said, though there was an edge of judgment in his tone. “Fortune smiled on us all, that you happened to be there.”
“Good fortune, indeed,” Osharin said. He clapped Amaya on the shoulder. “Well done, but I shouldn’t dall
y.” He went out the door.
“I should get cleaned up as well,” Vien said. Amaya had barely realized the girl was still by her side.
“Miss Reston,” Grandmaster Orren said. “As Initiate Prefect, I’ll charge you with making sure this mess in the foyer is attended to.”
“Aye, sir,” she said with a salute, and went off.
“Sorry about that,” Amaya said. “The kids were . . . excited.”
“And so they should be. How did they do in real combat?”
“Some quite well, some . . . had trouble.” She sighed. “I’ll write a full report for you tonight.”
“There’s no need to rush on that,” he said. “I am interested in your assessment, of course, but let your thoughts center themselves for a day or two. Besides, I believe there is some . . . festivity tonight?”
“Well, it is the Revels of Liberation.”
“I meant there’s a specific event, in the household of Lady Mirianne Henson—”
Lady Mirianne Henson, indeed.
“She’s invited all the Tarians to attend. I’ve told the Candidates and Adepts here they are free to go if they wish. The Initiates, at least the third-years, should be given the same liberty.”
“I’ll let them know,” she said. They certainly did deserve a party. She’d attend as well, to chaperone them, if nothing else. But she was very curious to see this woman and Dayne together in her environment.
“I don’t know how many will actually wish, but I think it will be good for morale, and our image. And Master Nedell and I will stay here on watch for the night, so no one else is troubled.”
“Thank you, sir.” She nodded and started to leave for the baths herself.
“Nothing else?” he asked.
“Sir?” she asked.
“Amaya,” he said sharply. “You just happened to be there? Am I that old and doddering you think I wouldn’t see through that?”
“No, sir,” she said, feeling her cheeks flush with shame. “But, truthfully, I only had a hint that something might happen to the ballots, and felt that the hike was a valuable exercise even if nothing happened out there.”
“Fortunately for you, Amaya, I agree. But next time, tell me all your thoughts before taking such actions. Yes?”
“Yes, sir.”
Now she was more than ready to go to the baths, but three people came into the foyer—a prim-looking woman flanked by two armed men. She first looked at the mess of clothing and gear on the floor in disdain, and then to Amaya. “I’m here for Jerinne Fendall. She will be brought to make her initial testimony. By force, if needed.”
* * *
After Dayne had delivered the day’s report to the press, he was up to his neck in the sausage grind of democracy. Election results for seven archduchies needed to be certified. Officiants were put in separate rooms, with their certifications and sealed election results, while the locked boxes of collected ballots were put under guard in a vault in the marshals’ offices. Each officiant had two marshals guarding them.
Then, to finalize, two members of the King’s Council—the Grand High Lord, Duke Prindale of Abernar, and the High Lord of Protocol, Baron Jameson of Trentinack—oversaw a team of clerks appointed by the Parliament and certified by the Grand High Court. The team of clerks unsealed the election results, compared the results to each other, and researched possible errors or discrepancies.
And all of this was done one archduchy at a time, fully in the view of five select members of the press, from Throne and Chairs, News of Throne and House, The Royal City Press, the South Maradaine Gazette, and The Daily Maradaine. Dayne’s job in all of this was to supervise those five reporters. Which meant he watched them while they watched the clerks engage in the minutiae of bureaucracy. It was dreadfully dull, even for someone like Dayne, normally fascinated with every aspect of Druth history, governance, and tradition.
If nothing else, at least Baron Jameson was an engaging sort.
“Mister Heldrin, it really is a pleasure,” he said, when they met. “I want to let you know that I have, in my limited scope, tried to be a champion for the Elite Orders. I think they are a vital part of our culture and history, and I have pressed that point with the king when I could.”
“I appreciate that, my lord,” Dayne said.
“And your actions last month, that gripping tale of everything you did against the Patriots and Tharek Pell, and saving our good people on the Parliament floor. I was . . . I was moved, Mister Heldrin. And I can tell you, the king was taken by it as well. I have been trying to arrange a proper event at the palace where you could be hosted as the guest of honor . . .”
“That is not necessary, my lord.”
“I think it’s proper, though—”
“Jameson, let it be,” Duke Prindale said. “I’m sorry, Mister Heldrin. We appreciate your service, but we don’t want to cause you any embarrassment.”
As the day ground on, the results of the elections for each archduchy were confirmed and approved by the Grand High Lord. “Largely the incumbents,” one of the reporters noted.
“Same old story,” another said. “A new nobility, with lifetime appointments.”
Dayne couldn’t disagree with that. It was disheartening that there were few surprises. Of the fourteen regular elections they had results for, only three resulted in a new Member of Parliament. Seeing it up close gave the whole exercise a sense of futility. People were dissatisfied throughout the city, throughout the nation, but they elected almost all the same people.
When they finished, the Acoran ballots arrived, and the process began again. That, at least, had some engaging elements, as the officiants were quite excited to tell the story of being ambushed and rescued by Tarians. Some of the accounts sounded fanciful—apparently the bandits had a mage—and Dayne was going to have to get the real story from Amaya and Jerinne when he got the chance.
“Now,” Marshal Samsell said to Dayne and the five reporters, “I will again make the point that none of the results are to be released until Reunification Day. If I see even a hint of this information being printed before then, your newssheet won’t be printing bread recipes, let alone news of the government. Am I clear?”
“Does that include the story about the Acoran ballots being ambushed?” the reporter from The Daily Maradaine asked.
Samsell sighed, and looked to Dayne for a moment. Then he said, “That’s fine, as long as there are no elements of election results.”
By five bells the job was done, and he wanted little more than to go to his apartments and fall on his cot. Instead, he found a letter wedged in the door of his apartment.
Dearest Dayne,
I am dreadfully sorry to have been so scarce the past few days, when I know you have been struggling with a rough transition of duties. I wanted to be the steady foundation you could rest on, a role I know you would be for me if our positions were reversed. Indeed, I was grateful to have you nearby in the past month, as we finalized the opening of the store. Now that it is up and running, I had hoped that my direct involvement day-to-day would need to have been minimal. I had intended that my managers handle the running of the store, and I would occasionally oversee them. That has proven to have been shortsighted on my part. In retrospect, I should not have tried to launch the store and host a lavish gala for the Revels in my home all within the same week. But that cannot be helped. I must live with the commitments I have set for myself.
I am confident, as I know your heart, dear Dayne, that this is something you understand.
But to the matter at hand—the party. I would want to pick you up myself in a carriage, so we can arrive together, but even though I flout several rules of etiquette, I recognize I cannot possibly “arrive” at my own party and my own home. That would be simple absurdity.
Instead, I was quite serious about my invitation both to your fellow Tarians,
and to the lovely ladies of the Royal First Irregulars. I have, then, a rather daring request of you all, and I ask that you take on a leadership role in this task, as I know that you can. Please meet with the Royal First and your fellow Tarians who are attending outside the south Acorn Lane gate of Callon Hills at eight bells. The gatesmen will be expecting you. Please, if you agree, have the Royal First lead a march—similar to the one they did at the parade—up the lane from the gate to my house, with the Tarians keeping time behind them. When you reach the house, straight through the front door and to the ballroom! It should be glorious.
I am aware this is a massive imposition, but I promise I ask only this in exchange for my hospitality.
I am deeply eager to see you tonight, my love. I hope that your duties will not force you to return to your dreary apartments in the Parliament straight away. Of course, I will understand that if you must, we all must respect your duties. But I hope that we can impose upon each other a bit more time than we’ve been able to in these past days.
With deep and abiding love,
Miri
Miri’s party.
He truly wanted to just stay in and sleep, and he was in no mood for festivities. But at the same time, he couldn’t let her down. She had been there for him in so many ways, and he didn’t want to fail her. Sighing, he went to the water closet to wash up. He only had a couple hours to get himself in dress uniform and be ready to be in a parade.
All to celebrate a unity of country that he was having a hard time feeling.
* * *
Jerinne wasn’t about to be intimidated by Arthady Mirrendum, and she made that clear in how she responded to the summons. She came to the foyer with just a drycloth wrapped around her wet body.
“Miss Fendall, you cannot come to give testimony like that.”
Shield of the People Page 18
