“Might I put forward a name known to us all?” asked Jurand, with a zealous shake of his fist. “A name already at the tip of many right-thinking men’s tongues when it comes to the defence of the Union. A name synonymous with courage, loyalty and fighting spirit. None other than Citizen Brock, the Young Lion!”

Leo had expected a mixed reaction. The ex-lords and the Anglanders cheered, along with Kort and some other representatives Savine had bribed his way. There was scattered applause in the public gallery. He hadn’t lost all his charm along with his leg. But there was a low murmur of suspicion, too. There were shaken heads and sullen glances.

And then there was Judge, considering Leo with the same narrowed eyes that had just considered the ill-fated Bell. Charm against her was like a match against the ever more merciless winter outside—unlikely to make much difference. “I’d have more faith in a man who’d won a battle rather’n lost one,” she said.

“Stoffenbeck was a battle he knew he couldn’t win!” lied Jurand smoothly, clapping Leo on the shoulder. “But one he chose to fight anyway, whatever it cost him. Against the odds. Against countless royalist forces. Every Citizen can see the sacrifices he made on their behalf!”

The king’s snort of scorn could’ve been heard in the upper gallery. No doubt he remembered Stoffenbeck differently, and no doubt he wasn’t alone, but if these trials were teaching Leo anything, it’s that what really happened doesn’t matter half so much as what people want to hear. He caught Glaward’s shoulder and dragged himself to his feet, took his cane from Jurand and lurched out onto the tiles as the hall fell silent.

“Citizens!” he called. “Citizenesses! I gave up the ‘dan’ in my name. Gave it up happily, right on this spot. I gave up my Lord Governorship, my birthright, because I believe in what we’re doing here. Because I believe in the Great Change!”

He waved down shouts of support from those Representatives he’d persuaded to shout support. “Still! It’s true I was a nobleman. And the Army of the People should be led by a man of the people.” Just as Sergeant Bell had been, when they buttoned him into General Brint’s ill-fitting uniform and sent him off, armed with essays, to lose to the royalists. “I regret I cannot take up this honour.”

King Orso gave another great snort, but it was soon lost in the applause at his selflessness and sacrifice. Perhaps he’d convinced some of the doubters to cheer. Even Judge gave him a cool nod as he dropped back onto the benches.

“You turn it down?” whispered Glaward.

“Better to turn it down before they refuse to offer it,” murmured Jurand, lips carefully pursed as he gauged the feeling in the galleries. “Then we can take it up later.”

“We need a patriot!” someone was shouting.

“Enough bloody generals! Enough bloody experts!”

“We need someone who truly believes!”

Leo adjusted his useless arm in his jacket. Belief won’t stop a cannon-stone. He could’ve told them that.