When the Ospies finally crumbled, he wanted to come back: he hadn’t seen Gedda in fifteen years. Lillian sympathized. And when Honora reached out to her about a position in the interim government’s press and public relations wing, she offered him the chance to come along. Siebenthal’s conjured up a post for Jinadh at the Observer, a paper they’d recently purchased in Amberlough City. He’d taken a pay cut but so far loved the work.

“The last train to Damesfort leaves in an hour,” said Magnusson, “though there’s one in half that time you might still catch.”

“If it’s running,” she said. The country’s railways were a mess, half of them bombed into uselessness. The Catwalk’s strategy of starve, divide, and conquer had been successful in the end, but left chaos in its wake. A fact that both leading ministerial candidates were dealing with in their campaigns. Frye as a piece of her platform, and Saeger as a perpetrator of the bombings.

Despite the upcoming dedication ceremony, the Catwalk weren’t heroes to everyone.

“Ma’am,” said Magnusson. “Before you go, there was a telegram while you were out.” He inclined his head toward the mail tray on the hall card table.

Makricosta.

They kept in spotty touch, but enough that she’d felt comfortable reaching out to him about the ceremony. The whole thing was more Honora’s line; Lillian coordinated press briefings, put together public statements for the interim ministers and governing council. Honora threw the kinds of parties that made the provisional government look like it knew what it was doing: luncheons, galas, charity breakfasts. Pomp could put a spark of confidence into anyone’s breast.

When the idea for the monument first came up for discussion, it was Honora who had cornered Lillian and asked, almost breathless, “Is there any chance of bringing Makricosta here? It would be like living history.”

And though she’d strenuously objected, on any number of grounds, Honora wore her down. Lillian owed her for the job, and hated to owe anyone.

Aristide flatly refused the first time—the telegram had simply read No—but the second time he’d nearly set the onionskin alight with ire, which she thought was progress. There hadn’t been a reply to her third telegram … yet.

The committee was breathing down her neck, asking when they could finalize the list of speakers and start to publicize the ceremony. She couldn’t put them off much longer.

Trepidatiously, she set aside her whiskey and slit the seal.

CYRIL IN DADANG STOP ARI GONE TO SEE STOP DIRECT CORRESPONDENCE GRAND LDOTHO HOTEL STOP D QASSAN END

The delicate paper crackled in the rush of her indrawn breath.

“Ma’am?” Magnusson’s shoes creaked as he shifted his weight, ready for orders.