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“TheSentinel of Truth,” she said. “I… kind of love those…” She seemed embarrassed, but she needn’t be. Those were good stories. Super dumb, of course, but sometimes you needed cheap storytelling with your cheap booze. Didn’t make no sense to read literature while drinking outta a paper sack.

“Sentinel of Truth…” Wax said. “Do you know the address of their offices?”

“I can look it up,” Kim said, digging out one of her volumes of city addresses.

Wayne took off the hat and held it lightly. The poor fellow, Tobal Copper,wasdead. He hadn’t let the Set push him around or force him to work for them. They’dcome here to learn what he knew about them and their plans, and they hadn’t left him alive. But maybe he’dtold someone. Someone the Set hadn’t been able to find—because letting go of information, to them, would be inconceivable.

“I’ve got it,” Kim said. “Publishing offices of theSentinelcan be found at…” She looked up. “Seventh Street. Office 42–13. Nights! The same numbers you found on the bottom of the envelope.”

Wax squeezed him on the arm. “Nice work, Wayne.”

He shrugged. “It’s easy enough when you have a lot to work with.”

“That was a lot?” Kim asked, curious.

“Sure,” Wayne said, tucking the hat away. “A man’s whole life.”

31

Steris took a long, deep breath. It was the sort of thing she’dread about for calming nerves. She’dseen Marasi do it during stressful situations. Did it work? Steris wasn’t certain. But the act was very normal, wasn’t it?

She took another deep breath in case she’ddone it wrong, letting it out slowly. Then she stepped into the Senate’s main assembly hall to be assaulted by noise and chaos. The two were so often partners.

Senators shouted across the chamber at each other. Aides fluttered about, delivering afternoon broadsheets and private reports to their senators. She’dbeen able to acquire a few of these—not actual broadsheets from Bilming, but local reprints or summaries received via telegraph. Emergency editions were common with big stories, each paper rushing to capitalize.

They wouldn’t be the most accurate stories. But they could certainly start fires. She glanced at a few as she walked past.

CONSTABLES DEAD!BOTCHED ELENDEL OPERATION LEADS TO BILMING TRAGEDY!

SECRET ELENDEL CONSTABLE FORCE UNDERMINES LOCAL POLICING EFFORTS!

EARLY ACT OF WAR PLACES ELENDEL FORCES IN DIRECT OPPOSITION TO BILMING LAW ENFORCEMENT!SHOTS FIRED!SEVENTEEN DEAD!

The spins were different, but the flavors were similar. Waxillium had drawn attention as usual, and she had no doubt that most of the casualties were members of the Set. That wasn’t a nuance for headlines. Still, she had sent her children out of the city with Kath. She prayed to the Survivor that they were safe in their grandfather’s estate to the south.

For now, Steris pushed through the cacophony, steeling herself against the fluttering of pages, the tumult of words, and made her way to the vice governor’s seat. There Steris delivered the proper authorization form for her to take her husband’s position in the Senate.

Adawathwyn said nothing about the dire letter Steris had sent earlier, detailing the threat to the city. Why? Did they dismiss her that easily?

People never wanted to listen to Steris. They preferred to nod along and think about other things. She made her way to Wax’s seat—her seat. Wax was correct; standing for House Ladrian was her right. Indeed, it was one of the main reasons they’dinitially explored a union. Her fortune; his authority. Together they could do great things.

If she could keep her nerve. Yes, she’dtaken his spot before, but never for something so vital. So, she stood at the small desk, surrounded by chaos. She’dprepared for this. She’dwritten down what it would be like. She’deven taken two deep breaths. Yes, her heart thundered in her chest, insisting she was nervous, but what did her heart know? It had spent years insisting she’dnever fall in love, and it had been so very wrong. Her heart was no expert in what she couldn’t do. It only knew what she had and hadn’t done.

As she’dhoped, people noticed her there, standing silently, and some of the arguments dropped off. This allowed Adawathwyn to shout for quiet in the room—and finally be heard. Her forceful tone, unusual for a Terriswoman, brought order at last. Like a teakettle moved from the burner, senators stopped boiling, but remained hot—settling in their seats and muttering softly.

“The governor,” Adawathwyn said, “requests an explanation from the acting senator of House Ladrian.”

Every eye in the room turned to Steris. Well, she was accustomed to that. People did tend to stare at her. Or glare. Or glower. It depended on how wrong they were, and what level of annoyed they were at hearing her point it out.

“My husband,” she said to the room, “has been called back to his duties as a lawman because of a particularly dangerous situation in Bilming. His operation was fully approved by the constables-general,under the authority of the governor himself. Your Grace, everything my husband has done has been strictly legal and documented.”

“Sometimes,” the governor said, “it doesn’t matter if the permissions are in place and the documents prepared. An act can still be improper.”

What?How dare he!That was the verydefinitionof proper! Steris forced down her anger. Some people… just thought that way.

She covertly glanced at her note card. She had determined, after deliberating all morning, that she’dneed to get the governor into a small-group setting. She didn’t want to panic the city, and didn’t yet know how urgent the timing was.

She still needed to get a plan in place for evacuating the city. Always plan for the worst. So: get the governor into a more private conversation. In the proper circumstances, he could authorize an evacuation of the city without a Senate vote.