Ebigail sank into her chair. Malachi could swear she’d gained more white hairs among the grey since Horden had knocked on the door. “Thank you, captain. Keep us informed. I’ll offer our condolences to the grandson. We’ll make a formal announcement later today.”

“Yes, lady.”

Horden withdrew. The heavy doors slammed behind him.

“A black day for our Republic,” said Ebigail. “One councillor dead at his own hand, and another assaulted in his home.”

Hadon grunted. “The latter, at least, we can do something about. The Crowmarket must be humbled. Only a fool would think it possible to be rid of them entirely, but they’ve become too bold.”

“And with good reason,” said Abitha. “Half the constabulary line their pockets with bribes. The other half are terrified.”

“Then we won’t use the constabulary,” said Malachi, “but our own hearthguards. Inspect every wagon and merchantman entering the city. Roust not just the docks, but the Dregmeet slums.”

Hadon laughed. “You’re a new man this morning. A blow or two to the head might have done you some good. Tell you what, I’ll see to it myself. I can’t spare more than a hundred – Viktor’s taken half of my lot off on his foolish crusade. But if we can round up another four or five, I promise you I’ll drive the vranakin back underground within the week.”

“I pray Lumestra you’re right,” said Abitha, her eyes raised heavenward.

Ebigail nodded. “I don’t think we need put this to a formal vote.”

Malachi shook his head – as much at the rare display of unity as in agreement. Despite Hadon’s confidence, he doubted much lasting impact would be had. But it was a start.

Little by little, he became aware of a soft, musical murmur, little louder than a whisper. Abitha sat with eyes closed, her fingers locked and her elbows braced on the table. Her lips worked feverishly. Now he listened closer, Malachi made out a few of the words. A prayer for the dead.

“Must you sully our ears with that nonsense?” snapped Ebigail. “You’d have done better to pray while dear Anton was alive.”

Abitha’s eyes flickered open. “But I didn’t, and now it’s too late. A lament is all I can offer.”

“Still, you’ll oblige us by doing so in your own time.”

“As it happens, I just finished.”

The women fell silent, each wearing a victorious expression.

Hadon cleared his throat. “I suppose we’d better make preparations for this grandson to take Anton’s seat. What’s his name, again?”

“It hardly matters,” said Ebigail. “The boy’s not of the blood. Dear Anton tried to keep it quiet, but I’ve no doubt it’ll come out now. There’s no loyalty among the nobility. Not any more.”

She paused, inviting the suggestion of scandal to blossom in the shocked silence.