The Privy Council chamber stank of dwindling and dust. From the oversized map that proclaimed dominance of provinces long since lost, to the escutcheons of noble lines long since faded, it spoke of minds mired in a golden age more fantasy than historical fact. No wonder the Tressian Council clung so tight to tradition. It belonged more to the past than the present.

The sword in the centre of the table struck a jarring note. Melanna Saran’s blade shone brilliantly even in the gloom.

“I greet you, Josiri. But I do not welcome you.” If Ebigail Kiradin’s voice held any more warmth than her expression, it was by the barest margin. “Your mother tore this Republic in two. We need no more troublemakers at this table.”

Josiri had known Kasamor well enough to like him, and saw little of the mother in the son. She seemed perfectly in place in that chamber, a flesh and blood relic surrounded by those of wood and stone.

“I came here only to put the past behind us.” He chose his words with absolute care. “Why else would I embrace Viktor as a brother?”

Hadon Akadra snorted. “To spare yourself a cage, I’ve no doubt.”

Here at least the apple had not fallen so far from the tree. The elder Akadra was very much a greyer, worn version of the younger. He was no friendlier in manner than Ebigail, and made little attempt to conceal his dislike.

“Not so, Father.” Josiri felt a surge of wild glee as Hadon’s eyes narrowed at the unwanted – but entirely proper – form of address. “I’m sure Viktor would confirm that, were he here.”

“So I’m Father to you now, am I?” growled Hadon. “If you’d any inkling of that bond’s importance, you’d have presented yourself to me last night, and not left Sergeant Brass to bring tidings.”

Malachi shot Josiri a warning look from across the table. Even before the meeting, he’d warned that Hadon might seek grounds to annul the adoption. Such efforts were seldom invoked, but not unheard of.

“I did only as Viktor instructed, Father.” Again Josiri took silent revel in Hadon’s distaste. Being accounted an Akadra had become bearable knowing that Hadon hated the idea even more than he. “I thought it best to respect his wishes, but I’ll gladly forgo Malachi’s hospitality in favour of yours.”

Hadon drew himself up, a stiffness of his shoulders betraying fresh discomfort. “That isn’t necessary. Though I’ll of course see you quartered at Swanholt, if you wish it.”

Josiri decided not to dwell on the twin meanings of the word “quartered”. “I’d as soon not be a burden to you until I’m more familiar with my new home. Viktor assured me it wouldn’t take long.”