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“Well enough?” Quicksilver asks hotly. “Who the hell made you arbiter? Not enough you’re blocking my acquisition of Ventris Communications and curtailing the mechanization of mines, now you want to define when a man, who built a business and a resistance army with his own two hands, has done well enough. I had less trouble making Tinos than getting a bill through your quibbling Senate.”

“Monopolies are bad for the people….”

“Government is bad for the people.” Quicksilver makes a disgusted sound. “More regulations are bad for the people. You raise taxes, I have to raise prices, little people get crushed.”

“Regulus ag Sun, defier of tyranny, guardian of the…little people,” Niobe says. “How noble you are.”

I pull out a bit of duck liver that I carry with me as a lure for Sophocles. He stares on at me and lowers his head willfully to drink out of Kavax’s mug. Damn fox. He best not make me come get him. I’ll die if they notice me. Some already have. I’ve been too long in the room.

“I say we kill Dancer,” the pregnant woman says. “I’ve ten men that can make it look like an accident. Ten thousand that can make it look like an example.”

The old Pink looks at the servants bringing them drinks. “Really, Victra? Some digression.”

“I’ll buy a holobillboard above Hero Center. I don’t care—and don’t act like they aren’t your creatures.”

“You don’t mean that, Victra,” Niobe says.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s murder, and he’s a hero of the Republic. Akin to Darrow and Ragnar.” She grimaces. “Maybe more so these days. You can’t kill him. He’s the voice of Red. If he’s murdered, the mob will storm the Citadel. We’ll have an uprising, and not just here. Mars would disintegrate.”

“The Ash Lord would have a laugh at that,” Kavax says.

“Father is right. Might be his intention,” Daxo adds. “Darrow certainly thought so.”

“Ridiculous,” the pregnant woman says. I’ve just realized who she is. Victra au Barca. “Politics is such a bore without a little murder. Honestly, I don’t know how you people sit in the Senate listening to blowhard softbodies yammer on about universal welfare at a time of war. I’d cut my gorydamn ears off.”

“Dancer is going to take the Senate,” the woman at the window says. My heart skips a beat. I know the voice. Virginia the Lionheart turns around. My heart rushes under my sternum. Years of anger, resentment, now compromised by the subtle beauty of her, by the rolling power of her calm voice. The muted magnetism strikes me dumb, even as I realize she is barefoot. “He will take the Senate when we vote next week,” she repeats. “It’s not a matter of if. It’s only a matter of when. Caraval will fold. He’s just drawing this out to get a deal for his people.”

“And the Obsidians?” Niobe asks.

“Sefi will not meet with me.”

“What does that mean?” Victra asks.

“I don’t know. But we must assume it means we don’t have their votes; so Dancer will have the majority needed to ratify the peace accord. Seven blocs to six. Then I’ll veto it. No senator will sit across the negotiating table with that Bellona. It will pit the executive against the legislative….I’m afraid Darrow was right, this is a ploy by the Ash Lord to distract us. But Dancer will have to keep his flock of senators from straying, while I just have to mind myself. Who do you think will cave first? Me or a few senators?” They laugh. “His momentum will run upon the mountain and founder. Dancer is smart enough to know this. So the question that keeps me up at night is: where’s the twist? How will he break the impasse?”

Her eyes settle on me and I feel their massive weight, knowing I look like I’m eavesdropping. The others follow her gaze and suddenly all are staring at me. “Lyria…” Kavax says, rising. He brings me Sophocles, who claws as he’s handed over. “This little man needs to go piddly. Go on now, lass.” My cheeks are aflame. The most powerful people in the Republic staring down a ruster of Lagalos.

“Now can we please talk about who the hell stole my ship?” Quicksilver rumbles. I finally let out the breath I’d been holding. I grab Sophocles by the collar and rush out of the room. My blood is pumping so loud in my ears I can hear no more of the conversation. The door shuts behind me. Directed by the valet, I follow a trail of golden footprints that appear on the floor toward the garden and mull over what I heard.

Sophocles suddenly growls, his hackles rising as a small chrome globe no larger than my fists held together floats toward us in the center of the quiet hall. One of Quicksilver’s drone sentries. Sophocles snarls at it as it draws closer. The drone floats politely upward to wait for me to pass.

“Good day, Lyria of Lagalos,” it says.

“Good day,” I reply with a laugh. Sophocles sniffs the air, less impressed, and then squats and takes a piss right in the center of the floor. A light on the drone glows red through its silver carapace.

“Bad,” it says, and shoots a thin line of rancid liquid onto Sophocles. He yelps and darts down the hall. I’m pulled right along with him.

“Have a splendid day, citizen,” the drone says.

“Damn robot,” I curse as I catch up to Sophocles.

In the garden, I free the fox. He sniffs under bushes searching for the perfect spot. I sit down, still thinking of the Sovereign. I’ve seen her from afar, but never been seen by her. Under her gaze I felt she could hear all my evil thoughts. All my ang

er toward her and the Republic. She may have been larger than life on the HC. Brilliant, perfect. But never once did I think about her as flesh and bone.

She was tall, beautiful. But that’s not the impression she left on me. No, the Sovereign is tired. What would it be like, I begin to wonder, to be responsible for so many lives? Is that what you felt, Ava, when your children ran with you in the mud?