Rule

by Rowenna Miller

  “Alone? Viola, that sounds—” I bit back my suspicions before they could tumble out. Viola knew the dangers of intrigue and politics, perhaps, in an academic sense, but no one had tried to assassinate her recently, either.

  “Equatorial conventions. Women on social or business calls meet with the ladies of the house first.” Viola’s smile crooked into a grin. “You should see what she thought appropriate to wear to Galitha in winter.” I followed her to the formal receiving parlor, where our guests waited.

  Dira arranged her skirts around her ankles, the voluminous cotton poorly suited to the cold parlor. The man beside her, a Pellian in outdated Galatine clothing, inched closer toward the fireplace, where a weak fire played on a few half-burned logs.

  I tended first to the fire, coaxing the coals into a full blaze, before turning back to Dira. “I am not entirely sure it’s me you want to discuss your business with,” I said. “And not Kristos or Theodor.”

  A smile played on her lips. “But why should we not, Sophie Balstrade, discuss matters of state? It is not our gowns that concerns you, is it?” She paused. “I would be willing to change into a suit if you’ve any lying about.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. Dira was fully capable of representing her interests, and, I squared myself with a confidence I didn’t feel, I had to represent ours.

  “I come with a proposal,” she said. “It concerns alliance.”

  I gaped. “But the Allied States—they have only ever supported Galitha in maintaining peace, in neutrality.”

  “That is true,” Dira replied. “But the Allied States are not interested in a military alliance. Not with the Reformists, not with the Royalists.”

  “Then I’m afraid I don’t understand,” I said, glancing from Dira to the Pellian man and back again.

  “I should make introductions,” Dira said, as though it were an afterthought, but she was too meticulous for that. “This is Artur Hysso, chancellor of the Pellian Chamber of Delegates.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I said, beginning to rise. He stood and bowed, holding a hand to indicate I should remain seated. Unsure of proper social protocol with foreign dignitaries, I complied.

  “The chancellor is the position in government most akin to heading the Council of Nobles,” Dira explained. “Except that he is elected and does not report to any king.”

  “Oh,” I said, suddenly feeling I’d committed a terrible breach of etiquette allowing him to bow to me, if he was, in effect, the most powerful man in his government.

  “We are come to persuade you in considering alliance,” Hysso said, confident in the concepts but stumbling a bit on the pronunciation.

  “We—we sent letters,” I said. “Months ago. Inquiring as to your… disposition. Yet at that time you were not inclined to help us.”

  “In that time,” Dira supplied, “there have been some rather drastic changes in the state of Pellian affairs. One of the princes of the Allied States, in an effort to secure his own island’s and family’s fortunes in these… shifting times, has attempted a partial annex of Pellia.”

  “Annexation of Pellia?” I asked. “Do you mean—that he’s conquered part of a foreign country?”

  “Not in name. He has not attempted to change the governance or the title of the place, if that matters. But he has assumed control over certain… resources. Resources of a magical nature that it seems are becoming quite valuable, as the Galatine Civil War has revealed to us. The Pellians are not able to offer much resistance,” Dira added coolly.

  I glanced at Artur Hysso, who did not react to this assessment of his nation. “Resources? Do you mean Pellian citizens?”

  “I mean precisely that.”

  “But the Allied States,” I pressed. “They’re permitting this?”

  “They are willing to let Lairn Ani-Fyn make this gamble for them. They see the turning of the tide. For centuries—millennia!—magic is a superstition, a rumor. At best, an uncertain aid. And then this summer, it blazes like a meteor, like a comet portending disruption, alteration, rebirth even. Everything has changed.”

  “Because of what I’ve done?” I asked, cold despite the roaring fire.

  “Don’t oversell yourself. The Serafans have been influencing policy all along. What the Serafans did was possible for them only through secrecy. Without their secret?” She bit her lips into a thin line. “They have clearly decided that the better gamble now is to engage the full range of possibility in their magic. It is quite clear to us now that the Serafans’ casting can influence military engagements. Then we heard rumors that your gifts were not as… rudimentary and frail as we had been given to understand of casting.”

  “Everything has changed.” Our war had fractured more than Galitha. It had shaken the foundations of every nation on the map.

  “Yes. And also, no.” She leaned forward. “It is the changes we have not yet seen that we know might be the most influential. This may be only the beginning of what casting might do. The first man who honed a knife didn’t envision a line company in a bayonet charge.”

  “The Equatorials came to Pellia. They first offered alliance, but the terms—” Hysso shook his head. “We will not allow our people to be so used. Not for another’s wars. But the Equatorials, they are more powerful than we. They did not need to ask. They are powerful enough, they can take.” His face drew taut. “And so they did.”

  I began to understand, slowly, horrified. “This—this prince took Pellian people? To the Allied States? Without their consent?”

  Dira’s mouth constricted as though she had tasted something sour. “He will not admit it. But there is no indication that they left Pellia willingly.” She swallowed. “Bondage is against all our traditions and ethics. Which is why the country looks the other way. But it feels necessary to match this new weapon of our potential enemies. Which is why the country allows it to continue.”

  “But what does he expect the Pellians to do?” I asked. “They know traditional methods, traditional casting only—which is what you understood, a simple boost in fortune. One clay tablet at a time. Not the methods the Serafans use. Not what I’ve done.”

  Dira watched me a long moment. “I wonder if any of us knows, to the full extent, what you have done,” she mused. I didn’t reply. “Ani-Fyn believes even the most rudimentary of casting is worth investing in. But he also believes, I am sure, that they can be trained to match the Serafans’ prowess.”

  “If this continues,” Hysso added, “it will not be long before the Allied States simply conquer all of Pellia. We cannot stand against it alone.”

  We couldn’t defend Pellia, I thought with silent desperation. Even if incursion by the Allied States was wrong, if they had engaged in slavery, an abomination of all our ethics. “I am not sure that we have the ability to offer what you need,” I began, readying myself for Hysso’s disappointment.

  Dira smiled. “I think you have the ability to accept precisely what Pellia would like to offer. A conquered nation has no rights, can be made slaves. But a nation who willingly joins another?”

  Hysso held up a hand. “We are independent, in the face of great nations like Galitha, like Serafe, for centuries. We are small, but we are proud. Yet a new Galitha—a democratic Galitha—could be a home for us. And in exchange, we will provide troops to serve in your army.”

  I exhaled, thin and shaky. We needed men, needed them more than ever. And what better way to protect the Pellians from incursion by other, newly magic-hungry neighbors than by bringing them under our wing? Pellia could be a Galatine province, equal to the other Galatine provinces. With their men, we could pursue victory in Galitha City. With our influence, they could ward off new threats. The negotiations could begin immediately.

  I had learned enough to ask one more question first. I turned to Dira. “Why are you brokering this alliance?”

  Her eyes glinted with amusement. “Ah, you’ve learned much,” she said. “Everyone has their reasons, do they not?”

&nbs
p; “And what are yours?” I tried to keep my voice light, calm like hers, but I worried, mired in a game I only half understood.

  “If Lairn Ani-Fyn is favored, and given positions of accolade for such action, my own family will be out of favor, and the only way to regain favor will be, it seems, ethically unsavory methods. I would rather maintain our position the way my family always have.”

  “Which is?”

  She grinned. “Forming alliances with our neighbors. If we aid Galitha’s Reformists in their time of need, I am sure you will remember us. And if the Allied States are in dire need, disadvantaged without magic of our own, there will be a nation now doubly strong in charm and curse, willing to aid us. And the Mbtai-Joro family will be your connection.”

  “Very well.” I stood, firm resolve in my motion hiding my panic at what I was doing, acting on behalf of a nation that existed only on paper and on a battlefield. “We have the beginnings of an agreement.”

  47

  I BURST IN ON THE OFFICERS’ MEETING, MET BY ANNOYANCE THAT turned quickly to excitement as I explained the turn of events. Kristos immediately convened the council to review the charter for any possible problems, Sianh cornered Hysso to discuss his troop strength and promise of additional recruits, and Theodor formally presented himself to Dira. The council found no objections to the proposal, and entered into negotiations with Hysso, with the aim of adding Pellia as a member equal to the rest of the Republic of Galitha, with equal voice in the Council of Country.

  Theodor, Kristos, and I oversaw the vote, overwhelmingly in favor of the unification. A few voices protested, loudly, that Pellian inclusion was anathema to Galatine history and culture, but pragmatism outweighed these concerns. Many of our council members, in truth, had worked alongside Pellians in the fishing and shipping trade, and two pragmatic southerners were Pellian immigrants themselves. “Fools act like they’ve never met a Pellian,” a council member from the southern coast muttered near me. He glanced at me and blushed, but I nodded in agreement with him.

  Pellian troops began arriving just as the first flurries supplanted autumn’s rain. Pellia’s army was not large, but they dedicated most of it to our efforts—with the understanding that we would meet and excel that commitment once the war was won, were Pellia threatened. Better, they had been a standing army, and were trained, meticulous, and needed little instruction to adapt to Galatine methods. New Galatine recruits arrived, as well, many of whom were fishermen who filled out Annette’s ranks of sailors.

  “By winter’s end we will have a full army again,” Sianh said, reviewing the troops maneuvering on the parade ground of the school. With the exception of the Pellian marine units, who were Pellia’s version of elite forces and badly needed on Annette’s ships, he had combined and reworked the regiments yet again so that the troops were fully integrated. Cohesion on the field, he said, could only be achieved through discomfort in drill—and discomfort he served in droves. Unfamiliar comrades, increased maneuvers, longer sessions of bayonet and firing drills, all with winter bearing hard on Rock’s Ford.

  “And by day’s end we’ll have a redrawn map of Galatine electoral districts with representation fairly distributed to include Pellia.” Theodor heaved a contented sigh, smoothing his mussed hair before putting his hat back on. It sat perfectly askance over his brow, giving him a dashing military bearing. “Hysso knows his business, and Dira has proven a keen arbiter.”

  “Any word from Niko?” I asked.

  “Nothing. The electoral districts fairly include Galitha City. They can elect representatives like the rest of the country, and we’ll sort it out then.” Theodor’s grim monotone told me he anticipated it wouldn’t be so easy.

  “I am, as always, grateful to be your military advisor and not involved in your politics,” Sianh said with a shake of his head, never taking his eyes from marching maneuvers.

  “Politics! Remember when that meant a talk about a Melchoir essay in the salon, Theo?” Viola sailed toward us, a silk quilted petticoat bouncing in an icy wind.

  “Yes, before Reform Bills turned into bayonet charges,” Theodor said.

  “It turns out a cabal of women gossiping in parlors can effect great things.” Viola laughed, winking at me. “They haven’t changed much for us, have they?”

  Theodor tensed. “That can come later. Once the structure of governance is in place, the laws themselves will be subject to constant reevaluation. And change.”

  “You’ll tell us ‘later’ until we’re all doddering and gray,” Viola said. “I’ll confess, it rankles me, this part of ‘progress.’ As a noblewoman, I at least had some agency, some power. And now I must lose it all—more than the men because they at least still have the right to vote.”

  “Vivi, be patient,” Theodor began.

  “Honestly, Theodor, I think we’ve all been rather patient,” I countered. “You have women sewing your shirts and tending your wounded and doing your laundry not because this army pays well—it doesn’t—but because they believe in this cause as much as the soldiers do.”

  “As I said,” Sianh murmured, “I am very grateful I am not involved in your politics.”

  Before Viola could snap at Sianh, Fig dashed up to us. My stomach lurched—usually when the diminutive messenger was out of breath, he was the bearer of bad news.

  “Penny! She’s had the baby,” he panted. “Kristos’s there now but wanted Miss Sophie to come, too—”

  “She’s had the baby?” Viola’s eyebrow angled upward. “I think you must be mistaken, she was at breakfast not six hours ago, and these things take time.”

  “No, ma’am, she was in a hurry to be born, Dr. Oglethorpe said.”

  “She!” I caught Theodor’s hand. “A girl.”

  Kristos and Penny and a tiny bundle wrapped in soft white linen were safely ensconced in their room in Westland Hall by the time I tumbled through the door. Penny had the tired yet triumphant look of a boxer who, despite taking a few knocks, had won the bout by a mile, while Kristos looked proud and happy and thoroughly dazed.

  Penny grinned and beckoned me over. “Here, hold her. Isn’t she pretty?”

  I took the bundle in my arms. She was red and wrinkled with a shock of dark hair, and her tiny eyes squished themselves shut against the bright afternoon light. “She’s beautiful,” I said. It was the truth. My little niece—my brother’s baby, my blood, new little citizen of a new Republic of Galitha—was beautiful.

  “And you’re all right?” Theodor asked, blushing. “That is—childbirth is—I mean…”

  “She’s a rare one, to be so quick with the first and do so well,” Hamish said gruffly despite his broad smile. “But she is fine as fine can be. She could like as not use a nap, though.”

  “Is it all right?” I whispered, still holding the baby. Penny nodded, and we stepped out of the room.

  “I’ll let the others know Fig isn’t telling tall tales,” Theodor said. “Say, does she have a name?”

  Kristos started. “A name? No, not yet—we hadn’t decided on one,” he replied, dazed.

  Theodor nodded and trotted off. “Penny is doing well,” I said, “and this little button is grand as anything, but what about you?”

  Kristos’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “Me? I hardly know what to do with myself. She’s—she’s real.”

  I laughed quietly. The motion jostled the baby and she stirred, then fell asleep again. “Babies do tend to be real, Kristos.”

  “I mean, I knew she was coming and I knew she was going to be—real—but…” He sank onto a delicate bench upholstered in pink silk. “But she’s real. And this is real, and I’m a father now. A real father.”

  “You’ll be a fine father,” I said.

  “I’ve no idea what to do, what to expect.”

  “Did you know how to lead a revolution?” I joked. I traced the tiny fingers gripping the edges of her wrapping. There were fingernails—perfect little ovals. Why hadn’t I thought to realize she would have fingernails? I w
ondered.

  “But this is a person, a little human with needs and—oh, hell, someday she’ll have hopes and ideas and dreams—”

  “Every man and woman who followed the Red Cap movement did, too,” I said quietly. “And every man and woman out there encamped in the cold. They’re all people and you led all of them. Surely you can be a good father, too.”

  “I think that might be what scares me,” Kristos said. “I—I could look at the Red Caps and then the Reformist army and still see the ideas, the concepts, the new ethical government writ large before all of them. I can’t look at her and see that. I just see—her. Her perfect little mouth and—that’s Penny’s chin. I think she’s got your hands, sort of long and square.”

  “She has your ears,” I said quietly. “It’s not a bad thing, Kristos, to see people first, before ideas. To love before you think.”

  “I know. I—I see that now.” He tucked a loose end of the linen swaddle back in place, but it came undone, and the baby began to cry. “Have you any idea how to wrap one of these?”

  “None,” I said. “But I think we can figure it out together.”

  48

  “A NEW BABY! I THINK THIS DESERVES SOME SORT OF CELEBRATION, don’t you?” Viola said as we gathered on the cold portico of Westland Hall, watching the troops march back to their quarters after evening inspection.

  Sianh eyed the petite Galatine noblewoman suspiciously. “A celebration? In the midst of war?”

  “Just a simple supper party! We held them all the time during the winter social season in Galitha City. Dinner and polite conversation and maybe a punch if we can manage it.” She paused. “Not too much punch. I know how army officers can be.”

  “Trust Viola to think of a party at a time like this,” laughed Theodor. “But I confess I agree. We have welcomed Pellia, rebuilt an army and—sweet mercy!—we finalized a country charter, all without a proper celebration. And now we’ve a new arrival—and everyone will want to know, have they settled on a name yet?”