<em>“A treaty is fooling all the people at the right time, an alliance is fooling the right people all the time. A war is when all the people are fools all the time.”</em>
– Prokopia Lekapene, first Hierarch of the League of Free Cities
The Carrion Lord’s spoken Chantant was wless, the First Prince grudgingly admitted. Almost entirely without ent, too, and it was the tongue the most people in the hall would speak so it’d been the canniest choice. After such an incendiary im it was no surprise that the hall fell into disarray, a hundred whispers filling the room as loudly as any ringing shout. There were many faces that Cordelia Hasenbach could have watched. The Dead King, the Enemy incarnate, was seated and still not a hundred feet from her. The ‘Firstborn’, whose unknown tongue and strange disposition married to the sudden strategic importance made increasingly important to understand. Even the Carrion Lord himself, who she <em>had</em> watched for some time as he had that terse, charged exchange with the Dread Empress in some eastern tongue. The pale man’s face had turned corpse-like halfway through, like a mask made of wax.
Malicia’s inhabited body was not so expressive, but she’d seemed shaken as well. Perhaps there truly was genuine sentiment between the two of them, Cordelia thought. It hardly mattered, with monsters like those. The First Prince’s gaze had left them before the end, though, turning to the tanned woman leaning back into her seat at the same table. Catherine Foundling’s face had not lost any of the sharp angles that meant no one would ever call her a beauty, but where before she’d seemed sullen there was now a certain… carefreeness. The ck Queen’s eyes had always been what softened her mien to something short of severe, Cordelia considered, but now instead of wild swings of emotion or utter iciness there was an unsettling candidness to what could be glimpsed in them. The First Prince had found her personable, when spoken to face-to-face, which she had not expected.
Which made it all the more chilling that the sequence of events the ck Queen had so offhandedly predictedst night wasing to pass so unerringly.
Cordelia Hasenbach was not above admitting when she had made a mistake, and her early assessments of Queen Catherine had been very much mistaken. She’d taken thepses in etiquettes, the strange asides and poorly-kept temper to mean that the ck Queen was mediocre diplomat, and in truth little more than a charismatic warlord whose grip on power was maintained by terror in blood. Considering the other woman had since wheedled support out of the Kingdom Under – the likes of which had not been seen since Triumphant’s day! – and somehow be the foremost religious figure of the drow and then leveraged this into the Everdark’s entry into the war, it would be absurd to keep believing as much. And so much of this was absurd already, Cordelia grimly thought. How could anyone have a pitched battle with the Dominion and somehowe out of the ughter in good odour with the Blood?
No, Foundling was not a mediocre diplomat. She simply disdained the usual means of diplomacy, which had seemed the same when it was through these that Cordelia interacted with her. Her Liesse ords, which admittedly she professed to be as much the work of Vivienne Dartwick and Hakram Deadhand, were also a diplomatic solutioning from a woman the First Prince had once considered a canny, dangerous thug with an army. It was necessary to reassess what she’d once thought of the ck Queen, for though she was now an ally only a fool kept both eyes on the stag when hunting with a wolf. Cordelia had known all of this, or at least thought she did. Yet looking at Catherine’s Foundling calm face, the barely-veiled sympathy she looked at the Carrion Lord with, she could not help shiver. For all that the ck Queen had yet to even address the hall, every person here had so far danced to the tune of her choice. Cordelia set aside the thoughts and the wariness, striking at the table as her majordomo loudly called for order. The noise withdrew, leaving a palpable sensation of absence in its wake.
“We recognize the words of the Carrion Lord,” the First Prince said. “Yet let it be said, and known, that this conference ims not the authority to install or depose rulers.”
Enthusiastic approval from the Dominion’s tables at that, as they’d been understandably wary of the precedents that might be set today. For all that Levant now stood strongpared to a weakened Procer and bloodied Callow, it would notst forever. None of the Blood wanted foreigners to us this conference as pretext to meddle in Dominion affairs a decade from now, when their power waned and Procer’s waxed. Cordelia waited a beat, for her partner in this intricate dance to step in. The ck Queen rose to her feet, demanding the floor, and a nod from the First Prince to her majordomo had it granted.
“The Wastnd’s affairs are its own,” Catherine Foundling said, then offered the Empress a hard smile, “at least for now. Yet it cannot be denied that the Carrion Lord speaks for the Legion-in-Exiles, and others among the Dread Empire. We may not have the right to crown him, but let us not shy from practical realities for politeness’ sake.”
And there it was. The line that would allow them to hamstring Dread Empress Malicia and bring the Carrion Lord to the table without granting her the wellspring of Praesi support that ‘foreigners attempting to ce their chosen candidate atop the Tower’ might otherwise garner. Lord Yannu Marave rose and was passed the right to speak.
“The Dominion backs the right of the Carrion Lord to speak for the Legions-in-Exile and any other whoe under his banner,” the Lord of va said, his Chantant polished and practiced.
He had been the right choice, the First Prince decided. Razin Tanja was emerging as a rival power among the Blood, and one the Grey Pilgrim was taking an interest in, but he was young and not as skilled a speaker.
“The Kingdom of Callow seconds this,” Vivienne Dartwick said, tone brisk.
A moment passed as the ck Queen raised an eyebrow at the drow.
“The Empire Ever Dark recognizes the Lord of Carrion and his rights,” General Rumena said, sounding amused.
It – Cordelia had learned that the drow eschewed sexes, and found insult in their use – was smiling most unsettlingly, the pale blue eyes that seemed universal to its kind never blinking. It was ancient, the First Prince tell that much by a simple nce. Yet it also<em> looked</em> ancient. Given that the ck Queen had once casually mentioned her attendant, the one they called the Lord of Silent Steps, had been alive before the Conquest and yet looked near boyish the princess had to wonder how long it would take for age to be so visible among one of their kind. Centuries? A thousand years?
“Why don’t you take this one, Leo,” the Tyrant of Helike said, grinning as he winked. “Did I not say that I would allow other voices than my own to be heard?”
The Basileus of Nicae, Leo Trakas, looked hesitant at the sudden offer. The young man was unfortunately not a well-known quantity to her. Until recently his ancient office had been the lesser of the powers in the city-state,rgely concerned with stewardship and ceremony while the ruling Strategos truly held the reins. Strategos Nereida Sntis had been an ally of hers, and one cultivated by half a decade of gifts and correspondence as well as fair mediation between Ashur and Nicae. She’d also died when the Tyrant took Nicae and in the chaos Leo Trakas had seized great authority, preventing the nomination of another Strategos. His victories against the Thssocracy had since ensured he was highly popr in Nicae, though his hold on rule was a great deal more fragile than one would assume at first nce.
He’d be deposed within the month, should he blunder badly enough the people turned against him. The Basileus mastered himself, after a moment, and as Kairos Theodosian had no doubt expected him to do he chose the safe path.
“The League of Free Cities abstains,” Leo Trakas said.
Which left only one vote, until Procer delivered its own.
“The Thssocracy abstains,” Sitter Ahirom said.
The man had kept hisposure, but it was visibly fraying at the seams. As it would be, Cordelia thought. Magon Hadast might have been forced to break alliances to repay a debt of gratitude and prevent the starvation of his people that might follow<em> ingratitude</em>, but keepingpany with Keter and Ater was nothing to be proud of. Much less when it was bing increasingly clear that neither the Crown nor the Tower were quite as masterful as they’d no doubt pretended to be.
“The Principate of Procer supports the motion,” Cordelia Hasenbach crisply spoke into the silence. “Four in favour and two abstentions, the motion passes. The Carrion Lord’s right to speak for the designated peoples is epted by this hall.”
In the silence that followed, the First Prince of Procer mused, one could almost hear the first spark of civil war in the Wastnd.
It had all been going smoothly, which in Vivienne Dartwick’s experience meant the other shoe was due to drop.
The ck Knight – she knew he held the Name no longer, but how could that man ever be anything but the ck Knight in her eyes? – had a seat at the table without this conference and its heart, the Grand Alliance, overreaching by attempting to enthrone him. Most importantly, the careful wording the First Prince had convinced Lord Yannu to employ had deep implications down the line. <em>And any whoe under his banner</em>, therge Levantine had said, and the wording had been upheld even if Hasenbach had been careful not to repeat it. It meant that the ck Knight could be offered terms now, lenient ones, and that those terms could then be made to apply to all of Praes should he be Dread Emperor. As Dread Empress Malicia had earned little but hate from those in this hall, any terms she might receive would be decidedly inferior. It was leverage that might tip the scales win favour of supporting the Carrion Lord among certain Praesi, though unless the Empress outright abdicated it was good as certain there’d be a civil war between their supporters.
Not necessarily a long one, given that the loyalties of the Legions of Terror might just swing in his favour hard and early, but Wastnd wars were always nasty stuff.
Another two rounds of the tables saw confirmed the recognition of Dread Empress Malicia – even the Carrion Lord voted in favour, amusingly enough, which made the vote unanimous in favour with Magister Zoe Ixioni’s assent in the name of the League – and another for the Dead King. Ashur abstained on that one, as did the ck Knight, and Nestor Ikaroi of the Secretariat voted <em>against </em>in the name of the League. Malicia was his sworn ally, however, and the Grand Alliance delegations had all been forewarned and agreed onmon action, which meant that the majority in favour carried the vote. The King of Death had his seat and his vote, at least for now. Not that the motions had much power outside the strictures of the peace conference: they were a tool to manipte the rules of this game through formality, not something that could be used to truly produce diplomatic results.
Vivienne had voiced the votes for the Kingdom of Callow both times, Catherine remaining silent. She knew well what it was Cat was doing, giving her the duty to speak for their shared home in front of every great power on Calernia. It was as tacit an endorsement of her as a sessor there could be without Vivienne being named a princess, which would be…plicated to aplish, and likely require her adoption into House Foundling. Setting aside the thoughts, Vivienne forced herself to sharpen her focus on the proceedings. Though the Dead King had yet to speak a word, little more than a grim sculpture of bones, the Empress had no shared suchpulsions. With a pleasant, sonorous voice – Vivienne wondered if the body had been picked for it – she opened her part of the dance. The Carrion Lord, a merendless rebel, had been allowed to address the hall while the rightful ruler of Praes had been denied the same right, she said, which was miscarriage of procedure.
It was not an unexpected assault. Hasenbach had named it a likely avenue, since refusing the Empress would taint the appearance of fair proceedings and epting would allow her to go on the offensive while bypassing the agreed-on order of affairs. Which would otherwise keep her contained until hours into the talks simply by speaking of very little Praes could weigh in on.
“We recognize the words of Dread Empress Malicia of Praes,” the First Prince said.
Malicia’s mangled puppet smoothly rose to her feet.
“The Dread Empire cedes its speaking right to the Thssocracy of Ashur,” she smoothly said.
<em>Ah</em>, Vivienne thought, almost grimacing. And there went the first stumble in the n. Tightening the vise on the opposition by hammering home how isted the League and the Empire were one motion after another wouldn’t work if Ashur withdrew from the Grand Alliance formally before the talks had even begun. Sitter Ahirom rose to his feet, acknowledging the First Prince’s evenly spoken recognition of his right to speak with a nod.
“I speak now the words of Magon Hadast, citizen of the second tier of the Baalite Hegemony, Sitter of the Eminent Committee,” the man said.
A heartbeat of silence passed.
“As of this day, the Thssocracy of Ashur deres its withdrawal from the Grand Alliance and all attendant treaties,” Sitter Ahirom said.
Few across the room were surprised, and those that were told much to Vivienne. The Dominion had been brought into this early and the Firstborn had only middling interest in matters unrted to the war against the Dead King, but theck of surprise dide as a surprise to Sitter Ahirom himself. It was as the First Prince had spected, then: Ashur was good as blind on the continent, and clutching at any offered driftwood that would prevent it from drowning. More interestingly, there was a great deal of surprise among the League’s delegation<em>. Not Magister Ixioni, though</em>, Vivienne thought. Helike and Stygia were traditionally kept close alliance when the League was at war, as they fielded its finest armies and typically both benefited greatly from strife. A Tyrant’s rule also meant that Below held the reins in both city-states, buoying Evil in the Free Cities for a span.
Delos and Atnte had both had no idea. The general from Bellerophon still looked lost and afraid of asking questions, but the two Penthesians were calm. Better at hiding their thoughts, or in the know?
“Penthes?” Vivienne murmured.
“Theodosian owns and informs them, I’d wager,” the ck Knight softly said. “Prodocius has an emperor’s ambition and the wits of a well-bred trout while Honorion is afflicted by that peculiar condition where onees to believe that gold makes up for any and all shorings. Scribe has theorized the Tyrant ensured they’d be thest two imants because they are singrly inept at anything but banquets and squabbling.”
“If he leans towards one we could back the other,” Hakram suggested.
“Tyrant’s too canny for that,” Cat grunted. “He’ll have them both convinced he’s secretly helping them against the other.”
“The Empire has influence there as well, through trade,” the ck Knight said. “Penthes is a dead end. Nicae might not be.”
Basileus Leo Trakas looked like someone had pped him across the face. He was a handsome one, Vivienne thought, though less so when his eyes were narrowed in surprised anger.
“He doesn’t know about the ships yet,” Vivienne quietly said. “Otherwise he’d be storming out. Trakas only thinks he’s about to get strong-armed into backing off Ashur by his own side.”
“Agreed,” Catherine said. “He’s not smooth enough to keep it in the pot if he gets knifed that hard and deep in the back.”
“Then we approach him during the recess,” Hakram said. “Weck proof beyond the Tyrant’s own words, which only a fool would take, but the groundwork can beid.”
“Hasenbach tried to use Nicae as a counterweight for Kairos and that went over about as well as pepper in a kennel,” Cat reminded them.
“If enough of the League’s armies keep withdrawing to their territory, it no longer matters that Theodosian is dominant,” the ck Knight noted. “He’ll no longer have the strength to copse Procer or invade Callow, which effectively muzzles him.”
Which would be ideal, as far as she was concerned, since acting against the madman outright was likely to see them burned. If he could instead be dragged back into the lesser squabbles of the League of Free Cities until the war against Keter was brought to an end it should be significantly less risky of a proposition. Which meant bending the individual city-states, and that would require significantly more pressure than the coalition had brought to bear so far.
“We need to strike while they’re still uncertain,” Vivienne said.
Catherine looked at her curiously.
“We out it now, Cat,” Vivienne said. “It’s out of the order, but then so was this. It ought to put them on the back foot again.”
The Queen of Callow considered it for a moment, then nodded.
“Hakram,” she said, “find me an in.”
The orc’s brow creased as he put his superb memory to work.
“This isn’t a motion, it’s an address,” the Adjutant said. “Which means we can ask for right of reply on if what we speak of is associated. If the First Prince grant it, which I’d venture to assume.”
Catherine’s lips quirked into half a smile and she turned.
“Do it.”
Vivienne started in surprise, looking at the woman that was both her ruler and her friend.
“This isn’t a vote, Cat,” she said. “It’s-”
“I know what it is,” Catherine said. “It was your notion, and a good one. Besides, you’re the one who’ll reign under it. Speak the words.”
Vivienne breathed out shallowly. But it was toote to flinch, to fear. It’d been toote since that night in Laure where she’d chosen to bet on the Squire. She rose to her feet.
“The Kingdom of Callow request right of reply,” Vivienne Dartwick said.
Cordelia Hasenbach, tall and fair and with eyes like chips of ice, considered her for a moment.
“We recognize the words of Lady Dartwick, heiress-designate to Callow,” the First Prince said.
“Pertaining the Grand Alliance, as addressed by Sitter Ahirom,” Vivienne said, “we dere now before Gods and men that the Kingdom of Callow is a member and signatory.”