The sunlight slanting in through the windows high to the right revealed a slight haze from men smoking pipes as well as the dust that the constant traffic carried into the vast room. As she marched down the blue and gold carpet and through isolated patches of sunlight from windows that had been designed to let the light penetrate down to the center runner, no one could miss Magda’s blood-soaked dress. She knew from seeing herself in mirrors that her face and hair were quite a sight as well.

Despite the relatively hushed quiet of the room, out in the world a war raged. Baraccus had confided that the fighting was horrific. Men died by the thousands in desperate battles, their bodies torn apart in the mad rush to attack or defend. The fury, the panic, the blood, the noise, the desperation were said to be beyond imagining.

In contrast, the vast room where the council went about its stately work was an ordered and dignified place where business was conducted at a measured pace. Panic, blood, and naked desperation seemed very far away.

Magda knew that it was an illusion. While everyone worked very hard to preserve the appearance that this place was the balance to the madness of the war, that war was on every mind.

As in the outer halls, people quietly discussing business fell silent as they spotted Magda marching resolutely along the long ribbon of carpeting through the center of the chamber. Most of these people knew her. Most of them had seen her standing before the flames that had consumed her husband and their beloved leader. Many had come to her to offer their condolences.

Atop the dais, the council sat at a long, ornate desk that curved around in a half circle. Staff and assistants sat at the desk beside them. Even more sat behind. People stood in the center of the dais, with that desk curving halfway around them and the audience at their back, to be heard by the council.

Magda recognized the woman standing in that spot, speaking passionately to the council. Her words trailed off as she looked over her shoulder to see Magda step up behind her.

The woman first quickly took in the length of Magda’s hair and then scowled down at her bloody clothes. “I don’t appreciate being interrupted when I am addressing the council.”

“I’m talking to them now, Vivian,” Magda said as she showed the woman a very brief smile. “You can speak to them later.”

Vivian pulled a long lock of hair forward over her shoulder. “What makes you think that you can—”

“Leave,” Magda said in a voice so calm, so quiet, so deadly that Vivian flinched.

When the woman made no move to leave, Magda leaned even closer and spoke in a confidential tone that no one else could hear.