Nicomidi froze. Across the room, the muttered conversations stopped and everyone stared. Everyone except Prodominus. The old Revivalist was hunched over, shoulders shaking, and before anyone could speak he burst into huge, bellowing laughter.

“No one has challenged for their cognomen in a hundred years,” Nicomidi snapped, when Prodominus had subsided.

“One hundred and seventeen,” Maya said. “And Agathios Canivo was defeated. It has been one hundred and forty-eight years since a challenge was successful.”

“You don’t need to do this,” Basel said. “Maya, please. The Council understands—”

“With respect to the Council,” Maya said, “my decision is made, and the challenge has been issued. How do you respond?”

“You don’t understand what you’re doing,” Basel said. “If you lose—”

Maya cut him off again. “If I lose, I give up my status as agathios and any chance of becoming a centarch. I will be confined as the Council sees fit for the rest of my natural life.”

She’d flinched on reading that part. But the Order’s rules were harsh for a reason—anyone who could touch deiat, especially after receiving most of a centarch’s training, was far too dangerous to be allowed to roam free.

“I understand the consequences,” she went on. “How does the Council respond to my challenge?”

“I …” Basel shook his head, but Nicomidi jumped in angrily.

“I move that the Council contest the challenge,” he grated. “I call for a vote at once. All in favor, stand.”

The Dogmatics got to their feet all together. The Pragmatics rose one by one, more hesitantly, all except Baselanthus, who looked down at the desk as though he’d lost something there.

“I … abstain,” he muttered. “I cannot …”

Prodominus was the last to get on his feet, still wiping his eyes. He grinned at Maya.

“I hope you win, girl,” he said. “But I have to see you fight for it.”

“That’s eleven votes in favor, with one abstention,” Nicomidi said. “The Council will contest Agathios Maya’s assumption of the title of centarch. I volunteer as champion, and—”

“Oh, no,” Prodominus said. “That’s not what the rules say.”

“Correct.” Maya forced herself not to smile.

Nicomidi’s eyes narrowed. “Then enlighten us, Prodominus.”

“The code specifies that the centarchate is a chain through the generations that is only as strong as its most recent link,” Prodominus said. Maya blinked in surprise—that was practically word for word from the Inheritance. “The member most recently raised to their title represents us all.”

“In this case,” Maya said, “I believe that would be Centarch Tanax Brokenedge. I look forward to facing him in the dueling ring.”

Chapter 17

An old saying held that there were only two roads out of Deepfire.