“Maybe.” Viktor knew it wasn’t that simple. The divisions between north and south went back far further than Katya Trelan. Old hatreds and rumours of witchcraft were the least of it. “But we can offer one of our own. All I’ve heard in the last fifteen years is how we’re better than the southwealders. Let’s prove it. Let’s put the past where it belongs.”

Elzar had recommended he find a way to counter the Council’s fears. Over the course of a long afternoon, Viktor and Malachi had agreed a broader strategy. Fear was part of it, but so was pride. Pride would suffer far less if freedom were granted to the Southshires than if it were reclaimed through insurrection. And then there was greed. A free Southshires would trade with the rest of the Republic, rather than simply having its resources requisitioned. Many of the crowns that currently spilled into the Council’s coffers would instead flow into private purses.

“Katya’s whelp will demand a seat on the Council,” said Lady Kiradin. “Your seat.”

Of course. Even with two of the nine sitting empty with no hope of being warmed. “I’ll survive the loss.”

“No doubt you will.” She rapped a fist against the arm of her chair. “And who’ll lead this army? Josiri Trelan?”

Viktor almost smiled at the bare-faced trap.

“We thought Governor Yanda,” said Malachi. “She’s familiar with the land and the local dignitaries. And she’s loyal.”

Viktor’s father grunted. “She did well enough under my command.”

“She did?” Even to Viktor, Malachi’s surprise sounded genuine. They’d spent part of the afternoon assessing candidates too. It had to be someone the elder Akadra trusted, and that was a very short list. The grim reality was that few front-line soldiers made old bones, and only the best officers fought from the front. “I didn’t know.”

Viktor’s father levied a rare note of respect. “She commanded the 10th at Tarvallion, years back. She’s shrewd, and she knows her business.”

He was thinking like a soldier again. For the first time since entering the room, Viktor allowed himself to hope that maybe – just maybe – his father could be convinced.

“What if the young duke doesn’t cooperate?” Lady Kiradin asked icily.

Viktor’s throat tightened with annoyance. Josiri was no more the “young duke” than Viktor was “young Viktor”. Another of Lady Kiradin’s subtle reminders of her age and wisdom. “He has much to gain. For his people, and for himself. Freedom, most of all.”

“If his line was well known for wisdom, we’d have no need of this conversation.”

“I’ll convince him.”

“The man who killed his mother? I don’t envy your chances.”