Lady Ebigail spun on her heel. Sensing another argument, Marek hung back. There were few of Lady Ebigail’s conversations to which he wasn’t privy, but the illusion of distance was important.

“Consider this a lesson,” said Lady Ebigail icily. “Consider this all a lesson. Why do you think I wanted you here, even in this sorry state? One day, when I am gone, this Republic will be yours to guide.” She sighed. “It’s my fault. I’ve indulged you. Letting you play at pirate with those moustachioed ruffians who think themselves a navy? No longer. You have much to learn and little time in which to learn it.”

Lady Sevaka glared at her. “The Council leads the Republic. It will manage well enough without me.”

“We shall see about that,” replied her mother. “And if you’ve so fine an opinion of the Council’s good sense, why did you show up on my doorstep this morning, begging for help?”

Lady Sevaka’s eyes flared, then dropped to the worn carpet. “I’m sorry.”

“Good. Because the lesson isn’t over. Marek?”

Obedient as ever to his beloved mistress’s command, Marek strode past and opened the oaken door to the Grand Council chamber.

With a few cobwebs and a thick layer of dust, the chamber could have been a relic of the old city. It reeked of faded history, the air thick with the breath of spent years. The stone pews were graven with creatures of myth, few of which Marek could name. The marble statue of Lumestra behind the podium bore tell-tales of discoloured stone, betraying where modern masons had lengthened the goddess’s skirts and sleeves to match a more civilised age. The seascape mosaic of the floor was similarly mismatched, the roiling waves of the centre rendered in larger, newer tile than those at the edge.

Lord Tarev stood at the podium, forearms braced against the winged lectern. His lordship’s face was haggard beneath the salt-and-pepper beard.

“Marek?” said Lady Ebigail. “Remain at the door. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”

“Yes, lady.”

He allowed mother and daughter to pass, then set the door closed and turned the heavy key. As further precaution, he set his back to the timber, and kept one ear alert to footsteps in the corridor.

“Anton,” said Lady Ebigail, her voice thick with effusive condolence. “I could barely believe it when I heard. Sevaka and I are so very sorry for your loss. It is no easy thing to lose a child. As I know too well.”

Lord Tarev peered at her. Sevaka kept one file of pews between her and Lord Tarev, perhaps separating herself from her mother’s sentiment.

“Thank you, Ebigail.” His left eyelid twitched. “It is a cruel world. I pray Lumestra grants Aske peace.”

“Oh, I’m certain she will.”

Marek noted the dryness in Lady Ebigail’s tone. Lord Tarev, he was sure, did not.