Glokta gave Luthar one brief glare. Just to remind him of where we stand. Then he swivelled in his chair, grimacing as he stretched out his throbbing leg, pressing his tongue hard into his empty gums as he felt the knee click. We have more important business than Jezal dan Luthar. Far more important business.

For this one day, the power lies with the Open Council, not the Closed. With the nobles, not the bureaucrats. With the many, not the few. Glokta looked down the table, at the faces of the great men who had guided the course of the Union for the last dozen years and more: Sult, Hoff, Marovia, Varuz, and all the rest. Only one member of the Closed Council was smiling. Its newest and least welcome addition.

Bayaz sat in his tall chair, his only companion his pallid apprentice, Malacus Quai. And he looks scant companionship for anyone. The First of the Magi seemed to revel in the bowel-loosening tension as much as his fellows were horrified by it, his smile absurdly out of place among the frowns. Worried faces. Sweaty brows. Nervous whispers to their cronies. They perch on razors, all of them. And I too, of course. Let us not forget poor Sand dan Glokta, faithful public servant! We cling to power by our fingernails—slipping, slipping. We sit like the accused, at our own trials. We know the verdict is about to come down. Will it be an ill-deserved reprieve? Glokta felt a smile twitch the corner of his mouth. Or an altogether bloodier sentence? What say the gentlemen of the jury?

His eyes flickered over the faces of the Open Council on their benches. Three hundred and twenty faces. Glokta pictured the papers nailed to the Arch Lector's wall, and he matched them to the men sitting before him. The secrets, the lies, and the allegiances. The allegiances most of all. Which way will they vote?

He saw some whose support he had made certain of. Or as certain as we can be in these uncertain times. He saw Ingelstad's pink face among the press, near to the back, and the man swallowed and looked away. As long as you vote our way, you can look where you like. He saw Wetterlant's slack features a few rows back, and the man gave him an almost imperceptible nod. So our last offer was acceptable. Four more for the Arch Lector? Enough to make the difference, and keep us in our jobs? To keep us all alive? Glokta felt his empty grin widen. We shall soon see…