“The Republic was founded on tyranny, or have you become so addled with advancing years that you pay the Grand Council any heed? A crowd is no cleverer than the meanest dolt in its midst. No. Strong leadership is key.”

“And you believe that Viktor can restore order to the Southshires?” Makrov threw a glance at Lord Akadra. “He was always a capable student, but altogether too . . . forthright.”

Lord Akadra snorted. “You mean ‘rebellious’. We shall have to hope that he will rise to the occasion, and not pile kindling on a rising flame.”

“Or a phoenix?” said Makrov. “You’ll forgive me if that’s not enough. Katya Trelan tore this Republic in two . . .”

“Always this fascination with Katya Trelan, Arzro.” Lady Ebigail shook her head in weary disdain. “It’s not good to harbour obsession. Remember your predecessor. Years fretting over the lost sermons of Konor Belenzo sent poor Karkosa out of his wits.”

“Emil was a righteous soul,” Makrov said stiffly.

“An addled one,” rumbled Lord Akadra. “He saw Malatriant’s spirit in every shadow.”

Lady Ebigail chuckled to herself. “You remember how he prayed for Lumestra to send a serathi to shield him from the Dark? Madness.”

Makrov’s jowls tightened in irritation. “Be that as it may, Katya Trelan’s son . . .”

Lady Ebigail arched a perfect eyebrow. “Did I misread your reports, Arzro? You led me to believe that Josiri was a model puppet, eager to do as the Council instructed.”

He shifted in his chair. “I . . . regret that I may have been mistaken.”

“Well. That is unfortunate. Your assurances as to Josiri’s good character went a long way to easing our minds when permitting Viktor’s . . . escapade. Isn’t that right, Hadon?”

“Absolutely.” Lord Akadra uttered the lie deadpan. “You see how this is a situation of your own making, Arzro?”

“I have made penance for my misjudgements,” said Makrov stiffly. “But the fact remains that the situation must be rectified. Lumestra demands it.”

“Oh don’t go on so,” snapped Lady Ebigail. “You’ll burst something important, and that rug has been in my family for five generations. Lumestra demands nothing. The voice echoing about that thick skull of yours is your own pride, no more, no less. First the mother makes a fool of you, and then the son.”

To Marek’s surprise, the archimandrite didn’t back down. “And what of order? What of anarchy? Those who are unprepared for necessary deeds are soon replaced by those who are.”

Lord Akadra leaned forward, his features stony. “Is that a threat, Arzro?”

“Not one of my making. That son of yours . . .”

“Enough!” Lady Ebigail stood abruptly, her beauty stern in the glow of firestone lanterns. “This bickering gets us nowhere. There is opportunity here, if we have but the wit to seek it.”

Lord Akadra’s unblinking gaze didn’t waver from Makrov. “We’re listening, Ebigail.”