She stopped near the doors leading to the Conclave bowl and looked down at the altar with its blackened top. Suppose Mahnouki became vojenta mahaut. They’d be bound by law to support Felix, but that support could be as weak as withholding recognition of Terence as King of Tremontane. It was a qualified victory, because what they needed was troops, something to protect Felix while he rallied the Counts and Barons behind him. But could Eskandel even do that, send their own military into a foreign country? That struck Willow as being aggressive and potentially a declaration of war.
She sighed, and began making her way back to her seat. This was all still premature. But she resolved, if Mahnouki became vojenta mahaut, she wouldn’t wait around to see what kind of lukewarm support they’d give Felix. Disappearing was still an option.
“What are you thinking?” Imara said, startling Willow, who hadn’t heard her approach.
“Wondering what I’m going to tell Felix. It almost would have been easier if they’d rejected the question.”
“Hope is not lost,” Imara said, but she didn’t sound very certain.
Kerish joined them, and the three returned to their seats. “Did Mother explain about the voting for the vojenta mahaut?”
“She said it wasn’t like voting on the adjeni, where each question just needs a simple majority of votes to win. The new vojenta mahaut has to win more than two-thirds of the vote in order to be elected. Which by tradition is three hundred and thirty-five votes.”
“That’s right. And only a few principalities are eligible. Some years, it takes only one round of voting. This isn’t one of those years.”
“Who’s eligible?”
“Serjian and Mahnouki, obviously. Abakian, Sahaki, Jamighian, Takjashi, Hajimhi, Najarhian. Maybe a few others. I have no idea where their support lies.”
“Jamighian doesn’t want it.”
“How do you know?” Imara said.
“I…just do.” Willow remembered Jamighian Vijenci’s bright eyes, Issobela’s smile when she spoke of their son. “They’ve pledged their support to Serjian for this as well as the question. They won’t accept others’ votes for them.”
“I’m not sure it works that way,” said Kerish.
“I don’t know how it works. I just know what I know.”
“All right. What about Takjashi?”
“If their ties to Tremontane are as strong as Catrela said, they’re weakened with regard to the vojenta mahaut because of having to support Felix’s claim over Terence. I think it’s unlikely they’ll get many votes.”
“When did you become such an expert on Eskandelic politics?”
“I’m not. I didn’t. This is all just me thinking out loud.” Anything she knew about politics, she’d learned from watching Rufus Black and his fellow dukes of crime. It simply made sense to her. “And I think Sahaki might not have distanced itself sufficiently from Mahnouki.”
Kerish closed his hand over Willow’s knee. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
Streams of white-clad men and women filed back into the bowl, taking their seats in near-silence. The voleni waited for everyone to return, then spoke at length, gesturing with her hammer. “She’s instructing them on how to vote,” Kerish whispered, “following their consciences and not being moved by fear, things like that. They all have slips of paper the Princes will write the name of their choice on. Then they’re collected and counted twice, and then, if there’s no winner, the voleni will read the names who received votes and how many votes each got. Then they repeat the process until someone gets the magic number.”
“That could take forever.”
“It does, sometimes. If there’s no vojenta mahaut by sunset, they continue in the morning.”
“I don’t think I’ll survive that long.”
“That hasn’t happened in over forty years. Of course, this is the kind of year where I could see it happening again.”
The boxes were passing along the rows again. This time, every Prince took part. “No parjeni for this,” Kerish said. Willow caught herself leaning forward, as if she could read the papers from where she sat. She straightened and watched Salveri, whose expression was perfectly composed. Were they allowed to vote for themselves? Probably, or they’d take steps to prevent it.
The rain on the roof still pattered away, but quietly, like mice on a bare stone floor. It was still enough to drown out the sound of shuffling papers as the voleni’s assistants sorted the names into piles. Willow craned her neck. Four—no, five little piles, some of them substantially bigger than the others. More assistants were counting the piles, once, twice. They spoke to the voleni, who held a wooden tablet on which lay a sheet of paper. She wrote down whatever they told her—or maybe she makes it up, she’s got tremendous power, no wonder they want her to be unshakably honest.
Finally, the voleni returned to the lectern and began speaking. Names spilled out into the Conclave bowl, and a sigh passed through the room. “No winner,” Kerish said. “Mahnouki two hundred and one, Serjian one hundred seventy-eight, Jamighian eighty-two, Sahaki thirty, Abakian six.”
“Mahnouki’s ahead.”
“For now.”
Willow watched Jamighian Vijenci, who sat perfectly erect in his chair and glared at his peers. She could practically hear him warning them off—no more votes for Jamighian. Salveri still looked impassive, but he had his pen in hand and was tapping it on the desk in front of him. She wished she could see Janida’s face, but at that distance she couldn’t even sense her golden bracelets to know which of the white-veiled figures was the Serjian vojenta.
The assistants distributed fresh paper. The Princes wrote. The boxes traveled along the rows. Willow fidgeted. Now she was grateful there wasn’t any Device you could carry with you to tell time, because she’d wear it out from looking at it all the time. The rain stopped, and watery sunlight trickled down through the lens, not bright enough to mark a spot on the floor.
The voleni stepped forward. “No winner,” Kerish said. “Mahnouki two hundred and five, Serjian two hundred and two, Sahaki fifty, Jamighian forty.”
That put Abakian out of the running. Willow doubted they’d ever had a chance, given their assassination attempts. And Serjian had gained on Mahnouki. Vijenci now looked nearly apoplectic in his silent fury. Take a hint, Willow thought. The room was so quiet she could hear clearly the rustling of fabric when Imara shifted her position, could hear the dry shuffling of paper at the table below. The voleni took her place again.
“No winner. Serjian two hundred thirty-three—”
Willow gasped and clutched Kerish’s hand.
“It’s not over yet. Mahnouki one hundred ninety-eight, Sahaki sixty-six.”
A murmur passed over the assembled crowd, and the voleni didn’t bother stopping it, just motioned to her assistants to proceed. The sky was darkening, this time from the approaching sunset rather than the storm. If sunset came before this was finished…Willow had no doubt Janida would spend the night gathering support, but so would Adorinda, and she had a sudden terrible feeling that if the vote didn’t go their way in the next few minutes, they would lose in the morning.
The voleni struck the lectern with her hammer. “No winner. Serjian three hundred and six, Mahnouki one hundred seventy-one, Sahaki twenty.”
The murmur was louder this time, and now the voleni did silence the crowd, speaking to them at length. “This is the final one tonight, she says,” Kerish whispered. “Last chance.”
Willow gazed out over the assembled Conclave. How much did this matter to them? Another year, and they’d have a chance to change whatever decision they made that night. How powerful a government could they have with such instability, really? She thought of Felix, waiting back at the Residence for her to return. He was just a little boy, when you stripped away all the nonsense about Kings and ruling and inheritance, and he didn’t deserve to have his fate held by strangers, even if they were well-meaning ones like the Serjians. She felt stretched taut, like a fiddle st
ring, with someone turning the knob to tighten her further until she must surely snap under the pressure.
There were only two piles of papers on the table now. One was significantly larger than the other, but all that mattered was that Mahnouki keep Serjian from reaching that magic number, and with enough support, this battle could go on forever. Willow watched the hands sorting through the piles and tried to count with them, but gave up when the number got too high. Any moment now…
The voleni once again took her place at the lectern, paper in hand. She swept her gaze across the crowd, not just the principalities but the observers above. Willow thought she hesitated when she came to Willow, but the pause was so tiny she decided she’d imagined it.
The voleni spoke. A cheer rattled the lens and shook the walls. Kerish threw his arms around Willow and kissed her. “It’s over. We won,” he said.
***
They waited, hands clasped, for the furor to die down and most of the other observers to leave the Jauderish. “The swearing-in ceremony happens tomorrow,” Kerish said. “This is just for our supporters to congratulate Father. It can take a while.”
“I don’t mind,” Willow said, though in truth, now that Serjian was vojenta mahaut and the tremendous pressure was gone, she’d started to feel hungry, and her eyes ached from staring at the voting table for so long.
She watched the Serjian Principality, the harem seated and quiet in their anonymous robes, Salveri accepting congratulations from his peers. Salveri still looked impassive, as if this weren’t a victory they’d all been working toward for nearly a month. It made him look more gracious than Mahnouki Ghanetan, who’d left his seat practically before the voleni had finished speaking. Mahnouki would probably never stop being a problem for Serjian, but for today, at least, they were no longer a threat.
“Felix will be so happy,” Willow said. “I still can’t quite believe it. I…probably shouldn’t admit this, but I didn’t have a plan for this outcome.”
“That’s all right. I’m familiar with your endless optimism.” Kerish kissed her again.
“I thought we weren’t supposed to let anyone know Serjian had a personal interest in this fight.”
“We’ve won. We can do anything we like.” He put his arm around her and drew her close. “Tell me something. Did your plan for losing involve leaving me behind?”
“Kerish…”
“Because I’d just have followed you.”
“I meant to talk to you about it, but…everything was so unsettled.”
“I believe you.” He didn’t sound angry, or upset, just amused. “And now it doesn’t matter, but I find myself curious about what you meant to say.”
She turned in the curve of his arm to look at him. “I don’t—Kerish, I—”
“We should leave now,” Salveri said. The big man moved too silently for someone of his size. “Supper waiting is.”
Willow rose, trying not to feel relieved at his interruption. She still didn’t know what she’d have asked of Kerish. What she’d had in mind required stealth, concealment, disguising herself, and a Deviser couldn’t do those things and still find work. And she’d asked him to give up his magic once before, with disastrous results—she wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. But leaving him behind…even now that it wasn’t necessary, the idea made her stomach hurt from more than hunger.
Alondra talked cheerfully the whole way back to the Residence. Giara was more subdued, but what little she said sounded more hopeful than Willow had ever heard from her. Willow clasped Kerish’s hand in hers and tried to make new plans, but her mind felt fuzzy, incapable of planning past food and a warm, soft bed. But first, she had to see Felix.
The bodyguards standing sentinel at the door to her rooms gave her the once-over before allowing her into her own suite. Good. The sitting room was unoccupied, though the chairs and sofas had been pushed back against the walls to leave a big empty space in the center of the room. Felix and Ernest must have been playing again. “Felix?”
His bedroom door banged open, and Felix, dressed in his nightshirt—thank you, Caira—came running out. “Willow, it’s so late! What happened?”
Willow picked him up and spun around with him. “We won, Felix! They’re going to help you regain the Crown!”
Felix stiffened. “No!” he screamed, and burst into tears.
Willow was so startled she nearly dropped him. She managed to set him down gently and tried to put her arms around him. “Felix—”
He shoved her away. “You’re lying because you think it will make me feel better. It’s not true!”
“Felix! I never lie to you. Serjian Principality is vojenta mahaut and they’re going to help us defeat Terence.”
“I don’t want to! I want us to run away!”
She could barely understand his words through his tears. She reached out to him again, but he wrenched away from her and ran into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him and shutting Ernest out. The puppy whined and scratched at the door, looking at Willow with his big pleading eyes. Willow bent to rub Ernest’s head. “That’s not what I expected,” she told the dog, who whimpered.
The apartment door opened. “Willow, are you coming? Supper’s ready,” Kerish said.
“Ah…I need to spend some time with Felix. Would you make my apologies, and I’ll get something later if I’m not there in time.”
“Is everything all right?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
Kerish looked skeptical, but nodded and shut the door. He always knew when to leave her alone. She loved him so much. She let out a deep breath and opened the door to Felix’s bedroom, letting Ernest scamper in ahead of her and leap onto the bed beside Felix.
Felix was curled up, sobbing, with his face buried in the pillow. Willow sat next to him and laid a hand on his head. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked. Felix shook his head vigorously. “Then we’ll just sit here together and you can cry it out, whatever it is, until you’re ready.”
She stroked his hair while he cried and Ernest snuffled at his face, licking whatever parts he could reach. Eventually Felix calmed enough to put his arms around the dog and hug him. Willow folded her hands in her lap and waited for the tears to stop. She felt as if she were under tension again, a fiddle string drawn tight, but this time she felt emptiness at her core, cold and hollow and waiting to be filled.
“Can you talk now?” she finally said when the sniffling had stopped.
“I don’t want to,” Felix said, his voice muffled by the pillow.
“Then why don’t I talk, and you can tell me if I’m right.” Felix nodded. “You thought we were going to lose, didn’t you?” Another nod. “And you’ve been mentally preparing yourself for what would happen when we did. You let yourself believe you weren’t going to be King and…I think you liked the idea.”
Felix nodded again. “Well, you don’t have to be afraid,” Willow said.
“I’m not afraid. I don’t want to be King.”
“I know right now, all you can see is—”
“I don’t want to be King!” Felix shouted. “I want to take care of animals and be your little boy and never go back to Tremontane! That was my wish, Willow, and I want it to come true!”
Willow sat with her hand halfway to Felix’s shoulder, unable to move. She blinked away unexpected tears. “Felix, that can’t happen.”
“I don’t care about Tremontane. Uncle Terence can be King. Please, Willow, let’s just go like you said! Kerish can come with us and we can be a family. A real family. Please.”
“Felix—” She took hold of his shoulder and pulled him close, put her arms around him and hugged him. “I don’t blame you for wanting those things. If I could, I’d give you that. But you have—” She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t tell this gentle, wonderful boy he had a duty that would probably tear him apart no matter what she did to protect him. “What did Hilarion teach you about the responsibilities of a King?�
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“I don’t care a damn about Hilarion. He said a lot of stupid things.”
“It’s ‘give a damn,’ sweetheart. If you’re going to swear, do it properly. And Hilarion was very wise about the important things. He taught you to be a good King, and you’re going to…you’re going to rule, and I’m going to help you. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“We all have to do things we don’t want to. And sometimes, when we do them, they make us happy. I didn’t want to go with you and Kerish to Eskandel, not at first, but now I’m so glad I did, because I love you and I want to take care of you.”
Felix wiped his eyes. “Do we have to leave tomorrow?”
“I don’t think so. There are a lot of plans to make, and I’ll talk to Janida about it. It’s probably going to be a few weeks, maybe a lot of weeks. So you can go to the scholia as much as you want, and we’ll go to the ocean, and everything will be all right.”
“And you’re not going to leave?”
“I’ll be with you for as long as you need me.”
“Which is always.”
“Then I’ll be with you always.”
She helped him lie down, then tucked him in, kissed his forehead, and turned out the light, not even bothering to shoo Ernest off the bed. In the sitting room, she stood with her eyes closed and practiced breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth, until her tears stopped flowing. Then she washed her face and left the room, counting each step as she walked down the stairs.
The meal was almost over by the time she reached the dining room, and she ate rapidly, without noticing what she put on her plate. Kerish put his hand on her knee when she took her place beside him, but said nothing, and she wondered what her face might look like that it dissuaded him from conversation.
Despite the excitement of the day, supper was as quiet a meal as it ever was, with most of the talk centered on requests for a particular dish, which suited Willow. She felt drained, as if she’d turned Kerish’s Device on herself again and sucked every ounce of source out of her. She turned down the offer of dessert, but remained seated until Janida rose. Then she said, “I need to speak to you alone, please.”
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