\hypertarget{grand}{%
\section{Grand}\label{grand}}

\begin{quote}
\emph{``The reed survives the storm, but only in the shadow of the
oak.''}

-- Proceran saying
\end{quote}

Princess Adeline's hospitality had been flawless, but it was still with
some irritation that Cordelia left the grounds of her Salian estate.
Neither the wine nor an exquisite rack of lamb had loosened the Princess
of Orne's tongue enough for her to reveal where she stood on the matter
of the provisional superintendence. The other woman had greatly risen in
influence in the east since the disgrace of House Odon of Bayeux during
the coup had ended the family's former prominence. Her position was
further strengthened by the unspoken truth that Princess Adeline was
Rozala Malanza's voice in Salia, which have her some draw over the other
members of Princess Rozala's bloc in the Highest Assembly. That she'd
been noncommittal at dinner was not promising.

Riding briskly through the darkened streets of the capital, the First
Prince of Procer mulled over the issue as her escort swept ahead to
clear the way. She had spent a great deal of goodwill forcing through
the measures that had bought the help of the Titanomachy, but not so
much that she should be seeing opposition for opposition's sake at the
moment. Considering that Rozala and her followers were usually broadly
in support of motions that would secure further funding for the war
effort -- as granting the office of First Prince the right to appointed
superintendents to temporarily supervise the princely collection of
taxes doubtlessly would -- the hesitation must be coming from the
perspective that having such a right would grant Cordelia herself too
much power.

Perhaps a compromise could be arranged, the fair-haired prince mused.
One of Malanza's supporters appointed to the head of that newly founded
office, and a motion in the Highest Assembly legally binding the measure
to the end of the war against Keter? There was some shouting ahead and
Cordelia spurred on her mare, only good manners keeping a frown away
from her face. Four of her personal guards were arguing with what looked
like an officer of the Salian city guard, tones rising. The First Prince
approached, dismissing the young guard who tried to argue that it was
all being handled, and reined in her mount just in time to hear the
source of the argument.

``- coming back from a ceremony under House auspices, I can't let you
disperse them,'' the Salian officer was heatedly saying. ``You'll have
to go around.''

``Do you quite understand exactly \emph{who} it is you're speaking to?''
Captain Anton flatly replied.

It would be good for her reputation to give way to the commons if
nothing else, Cordelia thought, and painted a soft smile on her face as
-- the only warning was the glint of torchlight on steel, behind the
shutters. Without a single word of warning the three shutters on the
house to her left were torn down, clearing the way for crossbows that
promptly fired. She threw herself back, so that her horse might take the
bolts instead, but her reaction had been too slow and\ldots{} A pale red
blade carved through the air with a whistle, the Swaggering Duellist
cutting down the projectiles with impossible swiftness. Landing poorly
on her elbow, Cordelia still had enough of her wits about her to keep
her voice calm as she gave her orders.

``Catch them,'' the First Prince of Procer said. ``Alive.''

Agnes had been right, Cordelia Hasenbach grimly thought. They had
finally learned to get around her foresight.

---

``Two of them swallowed poison,'' Louis de Sartrons, head of the Circle
of Thorns, calmly said. ``The third man knew little, even when put to
sharp question, but we confirmed his identity. His husband was arrested,
we will see if there is more to be learned.''

Cordelia slowly nodded, sipping at her lemon water. Uncle Klaus would
have teased her for not even reaching for a proper bottle after a brush
with death, if he still spoke to her at all.

``Praes?'' she simply asked.

``It was a sloppy operation, by the standards of the Eyes, but I will
not dismiss the notion,'' the skeletal old man said. ``We gutted their
ability to operate in the Principate after the coup, it could be a
reflection of that diminished ability.''

The Prince of Rhenia prided herself in her ability to read others, and
though Louis de Sartrons had always been a difficult one -- as was only
befitting of one of three great spymasters of Procer -- in this
particular instance his thoughts were not deeply hidden.

``You do not believe that,'' Cordelia said.

``It might have been Praesi crossbows used, but the Silver Letters got
their hands on some stock after the Black Knight was captured,'' the
older man said. ``Some leftover rebellious elements seem a more likely
culprit to me, though they will have a backer.''

A Proceran backer, he left unsaid, and that meant a crown. The finest of
her spymasters believed that someone in the Highest Assembly was trying
to kill her. The blonde Lycaonese hid her dismay by sipping at her lemon
water once more. Even now? Gods, \emph{even now}? She snuffed out the
anger that rose before it could turn into something uglier, something
dangerous. Cordelia set down the cup, mistress of her own mood once
more.

``Keep me informed,'' the First Prince said. ``That aside, the original
reason for this meeting still applies. You have word from the League?''

Louis de Sartrons, thin as a stick and balding, spent a moment watching
her before finally his lips quirked.

``Indeed,'' he said. ``The Magisterium of Stygia is reaching out to us
through informal means. They are interested in the Grand Alliance, and
Procer in particular, brokering peace in the region.''

\emph{Of course there are}, Cordelia thought. Were she a less courteous
woman, she would allowed herself a nasty little smile. General Basilia,
fresh off her success in installing \emph{Princess} Zenobia as ruler of
Nicae, had negotiated a truce with the rulers of Atalante and with her
northern flank clear had begun to march into Stygian territory. She'd
not even waited for the Magisterium to declare war on her, catching them
by surprise, and several of the small cities that Stygia and Nicae
regularly fought to rule over had immediately rebelled at the news. The
chaos had the magisters unnerved, and rumor had it that Delos was not
only disinclined to help but looking at snatching a few border
territories for itself.

The Secretariat, for all its scholarly reputation, was just as
opportunistically cutthroat as the other rulers of the Free Cities.

``Allow me to guess,'' Cordelia airily said. ``We must help them, lest
wicked Basilia take all of the Free Cities, and they will offer a few
concessions to sweeten the bargain.''

``They offer to break ties with Dread Empress Malicia,'' Louis de
Sartrons replied, sounding faintly amused. ``And not to make offensive
war for twenty-five years following the peace, save for the four
thousand soldiers they would lend to the Grand Alliance for war against
Keter. The usual bribes and gifts were added, of course, as it their
way.''

In other words, the Magisterium wanted to hide behind a treaty for a
quarter century as its rivals returned to warring against each other and
wanted to buy this at the cheap price of abandoning an ailing ally and
sending the oldest of their slave phalanx to die up north instead of
disposing of the aging soldiers themselves.

``Put them off,'' Cordelia ordered.

It was tempting to try to make a bargain while the alliance they backed
-- Basilia and Zenobia -- was on the rise and before it dissolved into
backstabbing as most Free Cities alliances did, but it would be a
mistake. If Stygia lost a battle or two on the field as well as a deeper
cut of territory, it would offer much better terms. Besides, the First
Prince would not intervene too deeply in the region without first
holding council with the Queen of Callow. General Basilia was under
Catherine Foundling's patronage, containing her without the Black
Queen's assent would be\ldots{} indelicate.

``I will see to it, Your Most Serene Highness,'' the spymaster replied.
``As for Mercantis, we have confirmed that Merchant Prince Mauricius is
taking bribes from the Tower.''

Cordelia's teeth clenched, though she hid it. Bribes, so that he might
help along the end of the world? The utter selfish madness of that was
infuriating. What good would gold do when the Dead King was at the gates
of Mercantis? Did Mauritius believe he'd be able to buy a peace with
death?

``He is not their man, however,'' Louis de Sartrons noted. ``We
intercepted some communications of the Eyes, and it seems that Malicia
is rather displeased that he is taking the coin without delivering on
what is asked. Though the man remains untrustworthy, Your Highness, I
believe that his intent is to play us against Praes and enrich himself
as much as possible in the process.''

Which, while morally repellent in every war, was something that the
First Prince could work with. Procer was already deeply in debt, but
Cordelia had been gathering resources for this very eventuality.
Artworks, artefacts, ancient treasures that her predecessors had filled
palaces with. There would be talk in the Highest Assembly at a Lycaonese
like her `pawning off' the wonders of her southern precursors, but let
them talk. If it kept the Principate afloat, she was not above allowing
the edges of her reputation to be tarred.

``Find out the price,'' the First Prince of Procer evenly said. ``But
pass word along to the Painted Knife: she now has free rein to hunt
Praesi agents in Mercantis as she wishes.''

The City of Bought and Sold could do with a reminder that the Grand
Alliance had teeth of its own. Cordelia drank the last of her lemon
water, slowly so that the angle of her arm would never be boorish, and
allowed herself a long breath as she set the cup down. Tired as she was,
there was more yet to do.

There was always more to do.

---

It was embarrassing for Cordelia to be forced to mediate in the matter,
not because her authority had been called on but rather because the
dispute involved one of her closest allies.

Prince Renato Braganzo of Salamans, who had followed his brother into
being one of her partisans and bared sword in her defence during the
botched coup. The mustachioed Prince of Salamans had been painstakingly
polite since he had been invited to sit but could not quite his anger
for the man across the table. Prince Salazar Arazola of Valencis, eldest
child of Princess Leonor and her successor since her abdication at the
Princes' Graveyard. The young man was more aggressive than his mother
had been -- Leonor had been careful never too lean too closely the way
of the First Prince or her opposition -- but he'd also signaled an open
mind to aligning himself more closely to Cordelia's politics than she'd
been willing to entertain.

Which made it all the more unfortunate that the two princes were one the
edge of open war.

``There isn't a noble south of Cantal that doesn't know the \emph{Bonito
Finales} are in the service of the Arazola,'' Prince Renato bit out.

``The crown of Valencis holds no such contract, as I have told you more
than once,'' Prince Salazar evenly replied. ``Further accusations,
Prince Renato, would be a matter of honour.''

Renato was a seven-sun duellist, from what Cordelia recalled, but while
Salazar might still be on his fourth sun he was a reputation as a sharp
sword and his lesser rank was rumoured to come largely from his lack of
formal matches. The First Prince had been following the dispute long
before it reached her seat of power, the Silver Letters -- temporarily
under the authority of Louis de Sartrons, making him the most powerful
spymaster in the history of the Principate -- having tried to ferret out
the truth of the claims made on each side. Prince Renato was
understandably furious because a dozen towns in western Salamans had
been extorted by a fantassin company, the Bonito Finales, who had even
dared to sack a town when it refused to `pay extraordinary taxes'.

Said company had been in the pay of the House of Arazola for decades but
never formally, as it was used largely for strikes at its Valencis'
neighbours that the princes of Valencis did not want publicly tied to
them. It was an open secret in Arlesite lands who the Bonito Finales
answered to, however, which meant that though difficult to prove by
legal means Prince Renato's anger was well-founded.

The trouble was that, according to the Silver Letters, Prince Salazar
had not ordered the mercenaries to attack Salamans. The fantassins had
not been paid in six months, which Cordelia's agents believed to be the
reason they'd taken to extorting towns. Prince Salazar, however, could
not admit as much without also admitting to House Arazola having
attacked its neighbours for decades with the Bonito Finales. With the
younger man's hold on his throne still shaky and his treasury near
empty, admitting to that was the kind of mistake that would see him
overthrown by an ambitious cadet branch of the Arazola. Worse, Prince
Renato had sent some of his horse too unseasoned to campaigned against
the dead at the border of the principalities and done some provocative
forays into northeastern Valencis as a sharp warning. No skirmished had
ensued for now, but Cordelia knew it was only a matter of time if this
kept up.

``I am sure His Grace only meant to express frustration at the raiding
on his lands, Prince Salazar, not to impugn your honour,'' the First
Prince warmly smiled. ``No doubt you would be just as incensed had a
Valencian town been sacked, as any worthy prince would.''

The young man eyed her warily but slowly nodded. Good, Cordelia thought.
So long as Salazar recognized that extorted tribute could be repaid but
a sacked town was a much starker offence, this could be salvaged. People
had died, but the First Prince must ensure than this conversation would
not end in a way that made the number swell.

``These\ldots{} animals came from the south,'' Prince Renato said.
``From Valencis. Do you deny that too, \emph{Your Grace}?''

``These are troubled times,'' the Prince of Valencis replied. ``Neither
roads nor countryside are settled. If bandits passed through my lands I
offer my apologies, but who is to say if this is true? They could have
come through Aequitan instead. Princess Rozala took much of her soldiery
north, her holdings have grown turbulent.''

So had everyone else's, Cordelia knew. With so few armed men remaining
in the southern principalities and such heavy burdens being forced onto
the people, an increasing amount of commoners preferred to riot or turn
bandit rather than let themselves be squeezed any further. And though
Salazar might think himself clever, trying to push the blame onto
Princess Rozala -- a common adversary to Cordelia and Prince Renato --
he had blundered. The Prince of Salamans reddened at the sight of what
would seem to him the younger royal trying to slither out of paying for
his crimes, and the First Prince simply could not allow one of her
finest generals to be troubled over a matter to which she had no real
relation.

Besides, the backdraft in the people's opinion should Rozala be recalled
or condemned over something like this would be\ldots{} severe. Her
popularity had only risen since her stunning victory at Trifelin.

``One cannot bring such an issue to trial before the Assembly without
evidence,'' Cordelia said, her tone a warning to the furious Renato.
``Though I expect, Prince Salazar, that you understand hosting such
reprobates \emph{would} be worthy of censure.''

It would not be treason, not even under the terms of Cordelia's
yet-to-be-repealed crusade authorities, but it would represent a failure
of a prince's sworn duty to ensure the safety of the lands he ruled
over. To depose a prince over something of this sort was not a precedent
anyone would want to set, given that every principality deal with
banditry to some extent, but censure would pass without trouble given
that it was a largely symbolic measure. Or would be, the First Prince
knew, were Prince Salazar's hold on his throne secure. A censure would
do just as well as a confession of misdeeds, for the ambitious cousins
of the Prince of Valencis seeking a pretext for overthrow.

``Of course,'' the young man replied, bowing his head. ``I would not
tolerate the presence of murderers in Valencis.''

Cordelia smiled pleasantly, knowing she'd led him to stand where she
needed him to. Should the Silver Letters come through, as Louis de
Sartons believed they soon would, then this could be settled neatly.
Presently, however, Prince Renato looked on the verge of speaking in
ager. Best to end this before he could. The First Prince elegantly
wielded her precedence over the two in etiquette to prevent them from
directly addressing each other until she called the conversation to an
end, hinting at Salazar that he should depart first. Perhaps sensing he
had made a misstep, the young prince followed the unspoken suggestion
and left her to speak with Prince Renato a little longer. The older man
calmed, after being offered a second cup of tea, but the anger was still
in him.

``I will not let almost a hundred deaths go unanswered, Your Most Serene
Highness,'' the Prince of Salamans told her. ``Justice must be had.''

``And it will be, rest assured of that,'' Cordelia calmly replied.
``War, however, would be disastrous.''

``I dare not recall my riders until those mercenaries are hanging from
gallows,'' Prince Renato replied, a tad coldly.

``I would ask no such thing,'' Cordelia smiled. ``It seems unwise,
however, for them to continue their forays into Valencis. They only
serve to warn the bandits of their arrival, making the coming hunt more
difficult.''

The mustachioed prince, for all that in some ways he was more openly
emotional than most Arlesite royalty, was no fool. He grasped the
message she had sent: that there would, in fact, be a hunt.

``Perhaps there is truth to what you say,'' the Prince of Salamans
reluctantly said, then sighed. ``You have been a true friend to the
House of Bragzanzo, Your Highness, and so I will take you to your word.
The order will be sent.''

``You have my thanks,'' the First Prince said, inclining her head. ``I
understand the trust that has been extended.''

The older man looked faintly rueful.

``Then allow me to offer words on wisdom as well, Your Highness,''
Prince Renato said. ``The opposition to the matter of provisional
superintendence you mean to bring to a vote in the Assembly runs perhaps
deeper than you know.''

Cordelia maintained her calm with great effort, face betraying nothing.
Her silence invited elaboration.

``I have been approached,'' the Prince of Salamans said, ``by other
sitters of the Highest Assembly. Concerns were expressed as to the power
such a measure, even if temporary, would concentrate in the office of
First Prince.''

The fair-haired prince did not bother to note that the measure could be
enshrined by law as limited in length, knowing the objection went
deeper: it was the precedent that her fellow princes were uncomfortable
with. They saw it, she suspected, as the first step towards making her
office as a queenship over Procer. Power granted in a crisis could be
granted anew, with lesser pretexts, or simply never set down at all. The
worst of them would be the most scared, she thought. Those who had been
underreporting the taxes due to high throne for years, if not decades,
and were now afraid that their crimes would come back to haunt them.

As if Cordelia wanted to start a civil war in the middle of a struggle
for the Principate's very existence, as if she did not simply want the
princes and princess of Procer to simply \emph{obey the laws they had
agreed to}. The surge of fury kept her from speaking for a few long
moments, revealing more than she would have wished. The other prince
looked, she thought, almost sympathetic.

``No doubt there is truth to what you say,'' Cordelia Hasenbach echoed,
her smile a careful artifice.

---

Once she knew the right questions to ask, answers came in battalions.

It was a conspiracy, but not the kind that Cordelia was used to
breaking. It was not the old politics of the Highest Assembly, the
tiresome but predictable factionalism that came of jostling for
prominence in that hall, but an altogether older game. It was fear not
of the implacable for in the distant north but of the very high throne
she sat, of what it meant. Her reforms, though passed into law by vote
after vote, had stoked that fear to new heights and it had spread like a
sickness to even people she had considered close allies. Princess
Isabelle of Tenerife, a steady supporter since her ascension, had turned
on her. So had Sophie's younger brother in Lyonis, even as he swore by
letters to follow his abdicated sister's old friendships.

Orense, Arans, Bayeux -- so much for Arsene Odon returning the mercy
she'd shown him in the wake of the coup -- Segovia, Cleves and finally
Orne, the very same Princess Adeline who'd hosted her on the night where
assassins had struck. Adeline was, her spymaster believed, if not the
leader of the conspiracy then at the very least its most influential
member.

``It is a large bloc,'' Louis de Sartrons said, ``but not large enough
to defeat a motion in the Assembly you might put forward.''

``It is,'' Cordelia replied, shaking her head. ``While I have patronized
most of the fresh sitters in the Assembly, they will not remain under my
guidance forever. When an opposition bloc this large is unveiled, it is
certain to draw in some of them.''

If nothing else, some of the crowns in her debt would seek to free
themselves of her influence by aligning with her opponents. Worse, the
moment she no longer had a clear majority in votes several of her looser
allies would reconsider lending their own. The Lycaonese vote was solid,
as were Brus and Salamans, but aside from that perhaps the only one she
could rely on if hard-pressed was the Princess of Creusens.

``You are certain that Rozala Malanza has no role in this?'' Cordelia
asked, indulging in a rare instance of repeating a question already
asked.

``We have personal letters of Princess Adeline specifying that she was
not to be informed,'' the spymaster said. ``It appears to be the
Princess of Orne's own initiative, and she believes that Malanza would
not react amenably.''

Cordelia dismissed the older man, needing to be alone with her thoughts.
The nights of Salia had warmed, allowing her to have her windows opened
for the breeze to whisper through, and the First Prince of Procer leaned
against the windowsill as she looked out at the city below. When had
Princess Isabella turned, she wondered? Had it been forcing Gaspard
Langevin to abdicate for scheming to betray their allies in the middle
of a war that had done it? Or perhaps evern earlier, the decree that'd
obligated every prince to make the sum of their debts and the identity
of their debtors known -- a necessity, if Cordelia was to bargain with
Mercantis for the realm. It could have been the Principate-wide
restrictions on exported metals, the ordained sale of all grain reserves
beyond a certain amount to the high throne, the tax of on the sale of
any warhorses sold outside the war effort or even the repeal of the
ancient ban on silver from the Dominion being allowed into legal
Proceran coinage.

Necessary measures, Cordelia had argued before the Assembly, and always
they had agreed.

And now nearly a third of that same Assembly was scheming to defeat her
proposal for superintendence, even now reaching out for support among
her own allies. It was not a negotiation that Princess Adeline was
attempting, that much was clear: the numbers she'd already gathered
would have been enough for Cordelia to take her seriously, for a genuine
attempt at a compromise over terms to be made. The Princess of Orne
wanted her to lose a formal vote on the floor of the Highest Assembly
for the first time since the failed coup, a stinging and public rebuke.

``Was I truly so much of a tyrant, Adeline Sauveterre, that you could
not even attempt words?'' Cordelia murmured.

And she had been careful, so very careful, not to step on toes beyond
what survival demanded. For every decree passed Cordelia Hasenbach had
set three aside, never brought them to light out of a desire to avoid
being seen as taking advantage of the crisis to push through her
reforms. Many would have helped, cut away some of the many tumorous
growths the Principate had accrued over centuries of venality and
corruption, but the First Prince had chosen to use her influence only
sparingly. Gods Above, she had fought the White Knight and bargained
with the Black Queen to preserve the rights of the same royals now
sharpening knives for her back. Had she truly been so domineering that
this should be seen as earned, as courted?

Cordelia placed a hand over her heart, where the last words her cousin
would every write her stayed with her. How many of her kin, of her
people, had she sacrificed for the preservation of the Principate of
Procer?

\emph{Enough}, Cordelia Hasenbach thought.

The First Prince sent for the same spymaster she had dismissed, as she
had orders to give.

---

Prince Salazar was smiling, expectant. He had reached out through
intermediaries to inform the Silver Letters of the same conspiracy that
Prince Renato had told her of days ago, adding that it had approached
him. No doubt he expected his support was about to be bought with a
resolution of the dispute in his favour. Cordelia instead had her
attendant -- Léonie, today -- present him with three parchment sheaths.

``A gift, Your Highness?'' the Prince of Valencis gamely asked.

``In a manner of speaking,'' Cordelia replied. ``Two of these are
transcriptions of letters your mother exchanged with Captain Raoul of
the Bonito Finales, regarding raids into Aequitan and Salamans that were
undertaken at her explicit order.''

The young prince went very, very still.

``Fakes,'' Prince Salazar hotly said.

``The signature is an assumed name, but the handwriting is hers,''
Cordelia said. ``Your cousin, Lady Francisca, has attested to this by
oath sworn under the auspices of the House of Light.''

``A transparent plot to ruin my good name, surely Your Highness can see
this,'' the Prince of Valencis tensely replied.

``The third,'' Cordelia said, ``is a letter you will receive by noon
from a captain in your service, reporting that he has found the same
company holed up in the town of Salanera. Near the border with Aequitan,
I believe. They appear to be in collusion the ruling lord, having bought
his friendship with a cut of the loot from Salamans.''

The young prince paled. This was, they now both understood, not a
negotiation. It never had been.

``Your principality troops will join those of Prince Renato in capturing
these bandits,'' Cordelia said. ``The crown of Valencis will offer
appropriate reparations to the crown of Salamans for the extortion and
the sacked town, which took place due to its negligence. It will also
send the ruling lord of Salanera to Prince Renato so that he might be
tried in the royal court as accomplice to all these deeds.''

Prince Salazar's brow creased ever so slightly as the younger ruler
grasped that he was not going to be personally being attainted for any
of this. That no mention of his mother's letters had been made. Cordelia
pleasantly smiled.

``I understand you were approached for an alliance by interested
parties,'' the First Prince said.

``I have, it seems, already chosen my side,'' Prince Salazar said, a tad
drily.

``So you have,'' Cordelia evenly replied. ``Accept it regardless.''

The Prince of Salamans was no Arnaud Brogloise, monstrously ruthless in
the service of the greater good of the Principate, but he would serve
her purposes regardless.

``What a lark that will be,'' the prince sighed, accepting the brisk
turn of the Ebb with some grace. ``And what I am to uncover your behalf,
Your Highness?''

``Do you know, Your Grace, what the legal definition of warfare is
according to our laws?'' Cordelia asked.

Prince Salazar cocked an eyebrow. It was elementary knowledge, to a
prince.

``Action undertaken on behalf of a crown that meets the requirements of
violence, trespass and righteousness,'' he said.

``Indeed,'' the First Prince said. ``That is, at least, one of them.''

``I do not follow your meaning,'' Prince Salazar admitted.

``This definition came after the reforms that followed the teachings of
Sister Salienta,'' Cordelia said. ``The powers granted to the office of
First Prince in time of crusade were determined much earlier in the
history of the Principate, and so function under an earlier legal
definition of warfare.''

Proving this beyond dispute had been difficult, but then the First
Prince did have a particularly skilled Librarian at hand. The
fair-haired princess amiably smiled.

``You are to find me treason, Prince Salazar,'' she said, ``that does
not know what it is.''

---

``Prince Florimont Langevin,'' Louis de Sartons said.

The name echoed in the silence of the parlour. The Prince of Cleves, it
seemed, had not forgiven the forced abdication of his father. That it
had been made necessary by a nearly disastrous bout of stupidity that
had not only embarrassed the Principate and burned goodwill with some of
its most important allies but also nearly drawn in Chosen into Proceran
territorial disputes was evidently of little importance. It must be,
else why else would the son of Gaspard Langevin not only join Princess
Adeline's alliance but go even a step further and even attempt
Cordelia's assassination?

``He was approached by the last vestiges of the rebellious Silver
Letters, not the other way around, but he appears to have embraced the
opportunity eagerly,'' the spymaster continued.

Prince Florimont had been busier than Cordelia ever knew, it seemed. She
had wondered at his lingering in the capital even after the Highest
Assembly confirmed him as Prince of Cleves, but believed it to be mere
courting of a place as one of Rozala Malanza's followers through
Princess Adeline. What an ambitious young man he had turned out to be.

``Do we have proof?'' Cordelia asked.

``Enough to stain his reputation, should we release it,'' the skeletal
old man said. ``Nothing that would sway the Highest Assembly, however.
It is all circumstantial, or lesser proof.''

Nothing material and evident, the last meant, or testimony only by
individuals who could not take an oath under House auspices -- because
of past criminal offences, contradicting oaths or possession of magic.
It was a dark irony, Cordelia considered, that the last of these three
was an injustice she had several times restrained herself from undoing
because she'd believed it would have caused too strong a resentment in
the Highest Assembly. Neither just nor unjust, she had instead straddled
the line and reaped only the worst of what she had sown. A lesson, the
First Prince of Procer thought, that was worth learning.

``Reputation is not enough,'' Cordelia said.

``I assure you, what we have is suggestive enough the House of Langevin
would be made into pariahs,'' Louis de Sartons said. ``They would be
stripped of all allies.''

``Arsene Odon was without allies, after the coup,'' Cordelia said. ``And
now here he is again, dogging my footsteps as part of the conspiracy of
Princess Adeline.''

``You spared Clotilde of Aisne as well, and she has held true,'' the
spymaster noted.

\emph{Ah}, Cordelia thought, \emph{but for how long will she hold?}

``Florimont Langevin is not cut of the same cloth as she,'' Cordelia
said. ``You know this to be true. To corner him and let him stew in his
resentment would be recklessly neglectful.''

Louis de Sartrons studied her for a long moment, eyes shadowed.

``A decision of sone weight,'' the spymaster said.

``It can be done?'' Cordelia asked.

``It can,'' the old man said. ``Should it?''

She met his gaze, unblinking.

``If you remain of the same mind on the morrow,'' he finally said,
``then I will obey. Yet I request, humbly, that you reflect on this. It
is not an order that should lightly be given.''

He took his leave soon after, leaving her to her thoughts. Cordelia had
duties she ought to see to, her hours never empty, but instead she had
her maids fetch her a shawl and headed for the garden. It was a pleasant
enough night out, though not so warm that the First Prince would have
gone without the shawl, but that mattered little to Agnes Hasenbach. She
wore a long pale dress, already stained from grass and dirt, and the
sensible shoes that Cordelia had gotten her last winter solstice. She
was also seemingly lost in thought, seated on her favourite bench and
looking up at the stars. Cordelia sat by her cousin's side, letting the
silence stretch out.

It was almost restful, to be with someone who required nothing of her.

The Augur emerged from her thoughts after a long while, that short bob
of blond hair turning in startlement when she realized she had company.
Agnes' eyes -- Hasenbach blue, cold and clear -- were confused for a few
heartbeats, until her mind returned to the here and the now.

``It is taking longer than it once did,'' Cordelia quietly said.

Her cousin sighed.

``Snow falls, rivers flow,'' Agnes Hasenbach simply said.

An old saying of their people, warning that rage against the inevitable
was wasted breath.

``I have favours that could be called on,'' Cordelia murmured, ``among
Chosen and Damned alike.''

And those that she had not traded with, she could be introduced to.
Neither the White Knight nor the Black Queen would be the kind to refuse
her this sort of boon.

``It avails us nothing,'' Agnes said, sounding surprised they'd not
already had that conversation. ``It only\ldots{} ah, it is not winter
yet?''

``No,'' Cordelia gently said. ``It is not.''

``I was following far threads,'' Agnes said. ``In the south. They grow
clearer now, fates are precipitating.''

There was a beat of silence.

``Did you come to ask about Hainaut?'' her cousin asked. ``It is only
light, Cordelia. Blinding. It does not change.''

The First Prince of Procer smiled, the first time today the gesture felt
genuine.

``I had though to ask you for advice, in truth,'' Cordelia admitted.

``Owls are gossips,'' Agnes helpfully replied, ``but you can trust a
pigeon, so long as it is well-fed. Those of Salia are very nosy, but
they do not spread the secrets.''

It was unfortunate that only Agnes seemed able to speak with birds in
such a manner, as the blonde princess suspected that pigeons would be
staggeringly successful spies should they be put to work. Some of
Cordelia's peers seemed to favour friendships with martial Chosen and
Damned, but to her this was frank stupidity: the most useful of such
souls in her service was the Forgetful Librarian, who while barely able
to use cutlery instead brought to the table the ability to see through
ever single correspondence cipher under the sun. Her own spymaster had
broached the subject of permanent employment there, and she was inclined
to agree.

``There is a choice that must be made,'' Cordelia told her cousin. ``And
I do not know the face of the right answer, should there even be one.''

Agnes studied her a moment.

``This is not a question for the Augur,'' she finally said.

``No,'' Cordelia quietly agreed.

It was a question for one of the last people in this world she could
trust with her thoughts.

``I do not know of Ebb and Flow,'' Agnes hesitantly said. ``We never
learned, any of us. There was always you for it. It was a relief, that
it could all be entrusted to you.''

``I sometimes wonder how much I truly learned, Agnes,'' Cordelia said.
``Every mercy I give is repaid with treachery, every striving for reform
met with sullen resentment. It is not that I am unskilled at this game,
I know better than that. I simply seems\ldots{}''

She bit her lip.

``As if, sometimes, I am the only one in that hall that sees Procer as
in need of mending,'' Cordelia said.

``The Assembly changes too quickly,'' Agnes muttered. ``Gives me
headaches.''

Even odds, the Prince of Rhenia mused, whether she meant their futures
or simply their names.

``But when I make choices,'' Agnes quietly continued, ``I have a rite.''

Cordelia's smiled eased, and she met her cousin's eyes seriously. Agnes
nodded, satisfied.

``I make myself remember who I am,'' the Augur said. ``Where I am, when.
And then I ask myself what it is I want.''

And Cordelia's heart broke a little bit for the cousin she'd known since
they were both but girls, for the way her expression wavered when she
admitted she so often forgot all these things. But she would take it
seriously, the First Prince told herself. She closed her eyes, breathing
out. She knew who she was, for it might as well have been branded into
her soul Cordelia Hasenbach, First Prince of Procer, Princess of Salia
and Prince of Rhenia, Warden of the West and Protector of the Realms of
Man. She sat here in Salia, the heart of the Principate, as the realm
faced the coming of the end times. Knowing all this, embracing it, what
did she want? Survival, for Procer and for herself, but that was not a
want so much as a need. She dug deeper.

``I want to make Procer what it should be,'' Cordelia Hasenbach quietly
said. ``What we promise the world it is, only to so utterly fail.''

Agnes nodded, eyes already half-gone.

``Then you know,'' the Augur said, ``the choice you must make.''

She turned to look at the sky again, going silent, and Cordelia breathed
out shallowly.

So she did.

---

The timing had to be particular so that the proper effect would be
achieved. The session for the vote on the provisory superintendence was
called at the end of the month, as had been announced, but in the few
hours that preceded the royals or the representatives setting foot in
the Chamber of Assembly a few events took place in quick succession.

First, as she participated in the charitable distribution of bread to
the impoverished people of the Silenin neighbourhood the First Prince of
Procer was shot by a crossbow in broad daylight.

Second, Prince Florimont Langevin of Cleves took a crossbow bolt through
the back of the head as returned from a visit to an upscale brothel.

Before the hour had passed Salia was a city-wide riot. The Dread Empire
was blamed, but there was talk of there being traitors in the Highest
Assembly that had helped the easterners. ``Too Many Cooks'' was heard
sung in the streets shortly before cobblestones and rotten fruit were
thrown at the mansion belonging to the Prince of Bayeux, though Arsene
Odon was far from the capital.

Third, formal messengers were sent to every royal and \emph{assermenté}
in the city to confirm that the First Prince lived and the session of
the Assembly would still be held.

Fourth, a mere hour before the session was to be held every member of
Princess Adeline's conspiracy save the princess herself received two
scrolls. One held evidence for the dealings of Florimont Langevin
relating to an assassination attempt. The other laid out the legal case
for treason committed by Adeline Sauveterre.

Fifth, the Pilfering Dicer was tasked with stealing the luck of one
woman in particular until misfortune plagued her like fleas might a dog.

And so when the First Prince of Procer entered the Chamber of Assembly,
her torso bandaged more for effect than out of need, it was to silence.
Every whisper had died the moment she came into the hall. There was
still one of them missing, for Princess Adeline of Orne had been
unfortunately delayed after she was thrown by her horse, but the session
began without her.

``As First Prince of Procer,'' Cordelia Hasenbach said, ``I declare that
every vote held this evening will be entered into the formal public
record.''

It was the Alamans here who first understood the threat, not her own
countrymen or the Arlesites. It had always been the people of the lakes,
of the heartlands of Procer, who best understood the weight the opinions
of the people carried. It fell into place, after that, one stroke at a
time. Prince Salazar of Valencis brought forth the accusation of treason
against Princess Adeline, making the faces of more than a few
conspirators pale in dread. Evidence was brought out, mere
technicalities -- movement of troops through the territory of another
prince without explicit permission, an act of war under ancient laws,
and the hiring away of fantassins already in the service of another
without reparations being offered -- but enough that the legal
requirements were met.

These were, every soul in this room understood, almost laughable
charges. Only a First Prince with unshakable support in the Highest
Assembly, with power and influence at their zenith, might feasibly
attempt such a transparent ploy without being run out of the Chamber.
And still, after the evidence was laid out, only silence followed. And
in that silence the howls of the people echoed loudly, the riots that
had yet to end. Cordelia Hasenbach watched the Highest Assembly with
cold eyes. \emph{Which of you}, she asked them silently, \emph{wants to
be known to the mob as the traitor that helped shelter treason? Which of
you wants to be known on every whisper as the Praesi hireling, as the
turncoat that bickered with the First Prince of Procer while her breast
was still bloodied?}

Princess Adeline of Orne stormed into the Chamber but moments later,
unannounced by heralds, but before she could so much as speak a word
Cordelia Hasenbach addressed the Highest Assembly.

``I now call for the vote on the charges of treason laid against Adeline
Sauveterre, Princess of Orne,'' the First Prince calmly said, voice
echoing across the hall.

One after another the votes came, and Adeline went from mocking to
defiant to deflated and finally to \emph{shaking}. Falling on her knees.
She was condemned unanimously.

``See her out,'' Cordelia ordered the guards.

She called the vote on the provisional superintendence, then, and after
not a word of debate it passed unanimously. She saw then in their eyes
the belief that it was done, that they were free of this drumming.
Cordelia Hasenbach did not free them. Instead she called for a vote on
the repeal of the law preventing magicians from taking oaths under the
auspices of the House of Light.

By midnight, she had passed every single reform she had ever wanted to
pass.

They would unseat her for this, in time, but what of it?

Cordelia Hasenbach knew exactly who she was, and what it was she wanted.
