“That it does,” said Viktor. Could they not see the disaster they invited? But that was the nature of compromise, was it not? Malachi and Josiri were likely honest in their dealings, but his father . . . ? No. To Hadon Akadra, his own son was merely the least worst option – one through which he hoped to levy influence. “I propose the position of First Councillor be given to Malachi.”

Again, the silence. The curious similarity of expression.

Viktor pressed on. “Malachi has the experience, the ability and the courage the position requires. If the Republic is to move forward, it requires a quieter form of strength than mine. It needs someone whose first instinct is to talk, not fight.”

Josiri nodded. “Viktor’s right. We need look no further for the proof than yesterday. While Viktor and I battered Ebigail to little avail, Malachi found a solution.”

Lips pinched, Malachi grasped the back of his chair and said nothing. There were secrets there, Viktor felt sure, but who was he to judge? A conversation for a calmer time.

“It occurs to me,” Viktor’s father said stiffly, “that this entire conversation may be premature.”

Josiri narrowed his eyes. “What are you proposing?”

“Only that we hold off on the elevation of a First Councillor until such time as empty chairs about this table are filled. That we prevail upon the Tarev and Marest families to embrace their responsibilities. As to the others? We can open the remaining seats to application from the Grand Council. They have, after all, been empty too long.”

Viktor sighed inwardly. “You wouldn’t be seeking to weight the balance in your favour, Father? If you consider yourself a candidate for First Councillor, you should say as much.”

He bristled. “I’ve more experience than any of you. If you refuse the honour, then I see no reason why I shouldn’t embrace it.”

“Save for your closeness with Ebigail Kiradin, of course,” Viktor replied with a studiously blank expression. “Half Tressia knows of it, and are probably wondering why you’re still free.”

“As Rother and Mannor are still free?” The first puce of outrage touched his father’s bearded cheeks. “They committed armed revolt, and you suggest I should be censured for mere association?”

“Rother and Mannor acted under duress.” Josiri drummed his fingers on the table top. “When freed of it, they made amends. Where were you, Hadon?”

“Where was I?” The reply came low and dangerous. “I shed my blood for this Republic long before you were born. Before even your wretched mother entertained her first treasonous thought . . .”

“Enough! Please!” Malachi silenced the diatribe mid-flow. “The position of First Councillor has little merit if it causes further division, and so I must remove myself from candidature.”

He reclaimed his seat – not with the dejection that he would have done but a few weeks prior, but with careful dignity. First Councillor or no, Malachi had found his heart, and his strength.