Lady Kiradin sighed. “Then Abitha Marest is doubly a fool. Her husband’s not dead, did you know that? He’s sequestered in a reeve’s manor a league from the border. I’m told he finds equal pleasure in the ministrations of impressionable farm-girls and the knowledge that his beloved wife believes him slain. Now that’s a reunion I’d like to witness. Why should I care for the opinion of a blind old baggage?”

With effort that almost left him breathless, Viktor forced the shadow back into his soul. The warmth of the room returned. More than returned, for his anger had not abated.

“And Kasamor?” he demanded. “I know his mind, and his heart. If the Hadari come to Eskavord, he’ll fight. What if he dies because we do nothing?”

“Then he dies.” Lady Kiradin met his gaze every bit as proudly as the Tyrant Queen Malatriant must have faced Konor Belenzo on the steps of her pyre. “And I will mourn him. But I must think of his sister, and the world Sevaka will come into after my passing.”

Viktor turned his gaze upon his father. “And you, Father?”

Lord Akadra stared into his brandy glass. His eyes rose briefly before settling on the tawny liquid once again. “I’m sorry, Viktor. Ebigail has the right of this.”

“This isn’t justice.” Viktor spat the words. “If the Hadari come, thousands will die.”

“And if we fight a war on two fronts, the cost will be higher still. And that levy will fall on our own people. Good, loyal citizens of the Republic. I will not chance their sacrifice for those who offered only drawn swords in exchange for our generosity and friendship.”

And with that, they’d lost him to fear. Fear that mistakes sown in the past would yield a bitter harvest in the present. Or perhaps fear of the price of crossing Ebigail Kiradin. It almost didn’t matter. The arithmetic hadn’t changed. Lord Tarev had refused to hear them out, and Malachi’s vote was not enough, even with Lady Marest’s pious support. Fear was paramount. It overwhelmed greed. Extinguished pride. The only thing that conquered fear was courage, or else a grander, blacker dread.

And in that moment, Viktor knew what he had to do.

“Might I speak with you alone, Father?”

Viktor followed his father into the dining room. The remains of the evening meal had long since been cleared away, and the servants scurried to their garrets. All save for Marek, of course. He remained on station in the drawing room, in case his mistress had need of his service.

Lord Akadra set the door to and folded his arms behind his back. “Say what you have to say, Viktor. But my decision is made.”

“Is it?”

Gritting his teeth, Viktor let his shadow flow free.