Surprises, Viktor’s mother had once told him, are to be cherished as gifts from Lumestra. For Alika Akadra, relegated to the custodianship of Swanholt at her husband’s insistence, even small changes in routine were welcome. Viktor preferred predictability to surprise. Surprises got folk killed.

He breathed deep and steepled his fingers. “I’m honoured to have the Council’s confidence, but I must decline.”

Malachi, Josiri and Viktor’s own father shared curiously alike expressions. The parted lips. The furrowed brows. Men suffering through an unexpected veer in the road.

Predictably, Malachi recovered first. He rose and set his back to the Council chamber’s great gilded map. A clever bit of presentation, lending the Republic’s weight to his words.

“Please reconsider,” said Malachi. “The Republic needs better leadership. The position of First Councillor will provide that leadership while keeping the foundation of our Republic intact.”

“I don’t disagree,” said Viktor. “It’s your choice of candidate with which I take issue.”

His father stirred. “You’re the unanimous choice, Viktor. Have a little civility. Accept.”

“Then perhaps the Council will have the civility to explain. As has been pointed out several times in this very chamber, I’ve little experience of politics. And now you’d have me govern our nation?”

“Lead,” said Malachi, “not govern. Both councils will remain, but you’ll have authority over both.”

“None of which answers why it should be me.”

“It’s simple,” said Josiri. “You’re the only one we all trust.”

He leaned forward in his chair. Viktor knew the Southshires were calling him home. He too felt the pull. Calenne had been his touchstone throughout his torture. In victory, comfort had turned to unease, and unease to guilt. He had to know what had become of her.

“Even you?”

“Even me.”

How far they’d come. If only it hadn’t cost so much. “I must still refuse.”

His father scowled. “I raised you better than to turn your back on duty.”

In fact, Hadon Akadra had barely raised his son at all, but Viktor elected against saying as much. “Duty aside, how do you suppose the Grand Council will react to the Republic being handed over to a witch?”

“Those accusations are done with,” said Malachi. “Between Ebigail’s actions and Rosa withdrawing her charges, there’s no longer any case to answer. This council has already acknowledged Provost Hargo as one of Ebigail’s conspirators . . .”

“And was he?” interrupted Viktor.

His father gave a bark of laughter. “It hardly matters.”

“. . . and High Proctor Ilnarov has been granted our full support for retrieving you from the provosts’ vaults,” Malachi continued. “There’s nothing left to offend the Grand Council’s sensibilities.”

“Except for the truth,” said Viktor. “The fact remains that I am a witch. Were I to accept, and that knowledge became public . . . ?”

Viktor’s father thumped the table, setting decanter and glasses rattling. “The Republic needs leadership.”