Every speech earned polite applause, although a few members of the Fire Ministry seemed more focused on the notes they were taking. Above, those in the galleries leaned toward one another, discussing each of the speakers.

The chamber was quiet, with only the shuffling of papers, faint coughs, and other small noises echoing across the gleaming space. Then Paorah rose from the chair where he’d been watching the proceedings and returned to the main floor. The crest of Anahera’s fire stood sharp and golden behind him.

“Thank you,” he said. “I appreciate your candid responses. Your support of the Mira Treaty is noted. As for the concern that we’re discussing repealing the treaty with nothing better to replace it”—he nodded at Eka—“I can assure you that I would not have brought you here without an alternative proposal.”

I held my breath. All throughout the chamber, representatives shifted in their chairs and leaned forward.

“Discussions within the Fire Ministry have been heated, you might say.” He smiled a little at his joke, but no one responded. “Is the Mira Treaty fulfilling its core functions? Can we restore the Fallen Isles to completeness once more? Or do we need to look at other options?”

Whispers slithered through the chamber, sharp and worried. I glanced at Aaru.

::Don’t like the way this sounds.:: It was all he needed to say. I felt the same way. Even Nine watched Paorah intently.

“In the decan since Idris rose, it’s become clear that the Great Abandonment is upon us. The other islands will rise. More of our people will perish. But we have the opportunity to do something. Here. Today.”

My heart pounded at the sound of those words—the deepest fears of everyone in this room.

“I’ll be honest,” he said, walking toward Nine. My chest seized, but he moved past her, took the stair up, and went behind his bench, where he could preside over the entire chamber. “I have seen this coming for some time now. And I’ve been doing what I can to prepare for the inevitable day when the Mira Treaty fails and a new treaty is needed.”

“What?” someone murmured. “What is this about?”

And: “This is most irregular.”

And also: “If you had these concerns, why didn’t you come to us before? Why wait?”

The high magistrate looked down from his bench and frowned at that final comment. “I did. I voiced my concerns seventeen years ago, when discussions about the treaty were first under way. I said I doubted that it would be enough, that we could change enough. . . .” He shook his head and sighed. “We all hoped it would work. We gave the Mira Treaty seventeen years to make a difference, but has it?”

A knot of dread grew in my stomach, tightening with every breath. Seven had said Anahera was behind the Mira Treaty.

Paorah had made—was still making—a show of opposing it to disguise its true purpose. He had also engineered it to fail.