willingly throw away a weapon unless I thought he could turn it against me. He can’t.”
“You are so certain of this?” The Garisar said sharply.
“I am.”
“Guildmaster?”
Sigurne did not speak. Meralonne, pipe emitting tendrils of smoke, did. “She is certain,” he said, sounding bored. “If your concern is that she is capable of turning that power against you, it is not unfounded; she will be. If you kill her, she will be no threat to you.”
“No one,” The Berrilya said, “is considering such a death.”
“Yet you play petty games, Berrilya. All of you. You play games, and you waste time that should not be wasted.”
“The governance of—”
“The governance of ten Houses—even The Ten—is of little consequence if the city falls. The city is the heart of the Empire; without the city, the Empire is lost.”
“The city will not be—”
Meralonne lifted one hand—the hand that did not hold the pipe. His fingers danced in the air with practiced grace, and an image began to coalesce above the center of the table.
“APhaniel,” Sigurne said, rising. “That is enough. Our opinion has been offered; more is not desirable at this time.”
“Guildmaster,” The Kalakar said, also rising. “In your considered opinion, is The Terafin critical to the city’s survival?”
“It is the opinion of the Order of Knowledge,” the guildmaster replied, “that The Terafin poses a graver threat to the city than any we have encountered—as an Empire—in the past.”
Silence.
“But it is also the opinion of the Order that because of that threat, she is critical to our survival. She poses a risk. Some of the members of the greater Council dislike the nebulous and unknown nature of that threat; some consider the god we do not name enough of a danger that the risk is necessary.”
“But not all,” The Garisar said.
“No. Not all.”
“And the guildmaster?”
“I speak as the representative of the Order,” she replied, as if her personal opinion counted for little. “The Terafin has made clear that she has no intention of abdicating—and in this, I must agree. The heart of her power is the Terafin manse. To separate her from her seat at this time would be impossible.”
“If she chose—”
“She will not choose. The matter is not under consideration.”
The Berrilya cleared his throat. “You consider such a choice unwise.”
“Yes, Berrilya; you are perceptive. But it is entirely outside of my hands, for which I am grateful. She will face the Twin Kings as The Terafin. It is possible that the Twin Kings will demand her abdication.”
“That is not their right,” The Kalakar said stiffly.
Sigurne fell silent.
Jewel assessed the uneasy silence. Teller gestured again; this time, she nodded and drew breath. “That is the question that we face. I am Terafin. I will be summoned by the Kings. I do not know what they intend—but if they intend to demand my abdication, I will refuse. I owe loyalty to the Twin Kings and the Empire—but I owe a more binding loyalty to my House, and I will not betray it.
“If the Kings feel they have the power to force an abdication, will they not then have the power to choose who rules?”
“We are aware of the difficulty such a demand presents,” The Garisar said curtly.
“And aware, as well,” The Darias added, “of the exceptional circumstances in which such a demand might be made.” He watched Sigurne.
The Wayelyn rose. “We have been in discussion since the crack of dawn, and we have not notably moved in anything but circles. The nature of The Ten cannot be changed; The Ten cannot vote to have one House stricken from the Council. Nine of The Ten can, should they so choose, approach the Kings to offer support should the Kings choose that option—but it would have to be nine.
“Wayelyn will not be among that nine.” He smiled broadly as he met Jewel’s stony gaze and winked.
What she signed, in a brief flick of fingers, could not be said in this Council hall, not even by a servant.
His smile faded. “You understand the import of the song. Will you find it in yourself to forgive me?”
“For singing it in my garden, yes.”
“For writing it, Terafin?”
“. . . I am talent-born, as you know; I understand the ways in which our talent inexplicably drives us. If I find no favor with your song, I find no deliberate malice in the writing of it. Its spread, however, is more problematic.”
“You do not believe, as the bardmaster does, that it is necessary.”
“No, Wayelyn, I don’t. I am not, however, certain; certainty will