The Last Stronghold of the Elite [1948 - 1969]

[Myroria]

"Why does Quarrovth wage House War in this day and age?" Rothis' face had a look of almost infinite sternness, and his eyes had a look of almost infinite coldness. His penthouse was elegantly designed yet bare compared to the baroque stylings of the palace; the post-modernness of his abode was particularly ugly to Fredrika's eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about, serjo. My House does not break the law, certainly not under my watch." Rothis guffawed and looked at Councilwoman Menadrith, sitting to his right. A smile came across her wrinkled lips. She croaked dryly:

"Then the rain is waging House War."

"Your House, Serja, is responsible for the demolition of the #18 levee on the eastern bank of the River Ser. The hamlets and towns upstream from this city were flooded to protect the rich. Vrotrith men and women, almost all of them, killed to save the houses of West Ivory. And if I recall correctly, Serjo Quarrovth, one of the houses saved belongs to you." Rothis looked at a bookcase. "The Social Register tells no lies."

"I, uh - " Marcica cleared his throat. "I participa - " He was interrupted by a furious Fredrika.

"Councillor Quarrovth and myself both participated in the discussions prior to the destruction of that dike. If it were not for its destruction, then Fellowmoor and possibly even the capital would have been subjected to flooding on a scale unseen for a hundred years! Our actions saved scores of people from drowning beneath the waters of the Ser. If there was property or health damage from our actions, I can take responsibility for it."

"It's not 'collateral damage', it's murder!"

"My father fought in the Great War, Rothis! I know what murder looks like!"

"I FOUGHT UNDER YOUR FATHER IN THE SAME, AND I CAN CALL YOUR ACTIONS MURDER! MURDER OF VROTRITH MEN AND WOMEN, INNOCENT MEN AND WOMEN, ALL IN THE NAME OF PROTECTING YOUR THRONE FROM PROGRESS! IN THE NAME OF CRUSHING A MYRORIAN SOCIAL DEMOCRACY!"

Fredrika rushed to her feet. At 5'7'', she was slightly tall for a Myrorian woman, but with her court shoes she approached 5'10''. Rothis too stood up, as Marcica sat awkwardly looking at Gorvas.

"Your Empeuress will not be accused of high crimes. This dinner is over, sir." Fredrika walked to the door, as Marcica fumbled up and followed. Rothis pushed the plates off the table in a rage as the door to his penthouse slammed.


The elevator doors shut much more quietly. Fredrika stood in silent rage, as Marcica ran his hands through his hair and looked away.

"'Cica, this was not one of your best ideas." He chuckled nervously. Each successive ding to signal a passing floor seemed to come more and more slowly. To Marcica, it felt like 4 o'clock in the morning by the time the doors of the elevator finally opened. Fredrika's two guards, stationed in the lobby of the building, snapped to face her.

"Bring the car to the door." The guards rushed outside, as her impatience was clear. The queen stepped forward to sit in one of the couches in lobby, but her heel caught in the crack between the elevator and the floor, and snapped.

[Eluvatar]

Lights flashed arrhythmically as the Empereur strode across the stage. Dressed formally in the elaborate uniform of a Myrorian army officer, he walked in front of a great curtain, embroidered gold on maroon. Stopping behind a gilded podium, he began to speak.

"Countrymen! Four days have passed since the river has receded, four days in which we have seen the damage. Thousands of our fellow citizens have lost their homes through no fault of their own. Instead, the towns and hamlets of that region were a chosen sacrifice to spare our capitol, this city. Even those of us who did not choose this path, we owe them much."

"We must build new homes for our compatriots made homeless by this rain. It would not be right to be extravagant, but what we build must be a model example of comfortable and efficient housing. Transportation and utilities, too, have been lost to the roiling waters. I therefore proclaim the creation of the Ser Building Authority to rebuild the east banks, to build a shining example of Myrorian workmanship. I ask the Council to fund it, I ask you the citizens to fund it. We can build tomorrow, together."

"Thank you, and good night."

[Myroria]

On the one hand, many in House Vrotrith should have supported the Ser Building Authority out of principle - they would have done exactly the same thing as the Empeurer did if they were the ones calling the shots. On the other hand, those same people knew the value of having the populace on their side - and currently the populace was gathering in bars and town squares across the nation criticizing the fascist policies of public works and income taxes. To the drunk old men sitting in pubs across Myroria, it seemed their outlander king had destroyed the homes of the poor only to force the rest to rebuild them. They didn't need to listen to the meterologists who said that the flood waters would threaten Pelagis itself. They knew deep in their hearts that the flood waters would recede as they had done that one time in 1927, or was it 1925? Everything would have turned out fine, as it always had, until the outlander king intervened.

It was this feeling that the council of House Vrotrith latched on to for their campaign to oppose the Ser Building Authority. It was never mentioned that for years the House had been proposing the exact thing they were now fighting against, and the few who seemed to notice never convinced the people. They only convinced the Council of Great Houses. The Council voted overwhelmingly to fund the Ser Building Authority with a new income tax, the first peacetime income tax in the nation's history.

The public at large was outraged. Thousands flocked to the Vrotrith banner, and the Councillors who were a laughing stock in the legislature due to their waffling were anti-fascist heroes to the people, the last defenders of freedom against the outlander Eluvataran who would have every Myrorian citizen pay every marche they ever earned to him and his court.


The court continued on its duties as usual. The Empeurer had his goons personally pay a visit to Rothis and scare him into keeping his anti-bourgeois accusations from his wife, and as a result the royal couple were actually sleeping in the same bed for the first time in years, though talking was still kept to a polite minimum. Fredrika also stopped opposing every single one of her husband's plans out of spite, and it was said her speech before the Council swayed quite a few fence-sitters to vote for the Building Authority. In fact, ignoring the infidelious screaming coming from Marcica's apartments at night, the imperial court seemed to act as a family for the first time since Fendryn.

[Myroria]

Fredrika heard the crashing of waves against the sides of her husband's yacht. You could stand outside and see only the tiniest speck of land on the horizon. Perhaps if she closed her eyes she could imagine the ocean waves were calmer ones on an Eluvataran river years ago, and she could have walked the banks with her schoolboy sweetheart when love was real and tender and meaningful and -

Glass broke outside. Chostamir, the king's Gothren, dropped his beer bottle. This was not the bank of an Eluvataran river. She was eating cereal in the galley of the royal yacht, and she was not a teenager anymore. She looked out the galley porthole, and saw Chotamir bending down to pick up the broken glass. "Don't worry about it," she heard the muffled voice of her husband. "The boy will get it."

Fredrika got up from her cereal and walked closer to the window. It was still hard to hear the conversation over the ocean waves, but she could make out bits and pieces.

"This is bad, Chostamir. He's collaborating with...

"public education isn't something any Myrorian should look upon as a luxury...

"and don't pretend he doesn't understand this, Chostamir. It's partisanship...

"opposing me out of spite...

"'elling his soul to the CCC so that he can get some monetary compensation before the next census?

"Treason.

Fredrika looked at her husband's hand. It was holding a gun. He handed it to Chostamir.

"Done this before...

"I am the judge, jury, and executioner.

"Traitor.

The Empeurer turned. He was beginning to face the galley. Fredrika whipped into a corner. She waited a time, and turned back to the porthole. Chostamir had left her husband's side. Now it was a boy sweeping up glass pieces.

[Myroria]

It had been ten years since Fredrika and Marcica last stood in the lobby of 34 East Avenue, but just like the last time they were there it was raining. The clerk at the counter didn't recognize Fredrika, which irked her immensely since the one sitting there in 1957 was very quick to spot the Empeuress Consort. The clerk was talking to Serjo Vrotrith through the crackling intercom at his desk. It was 9 o'clock at night, said Rothis, and he was ready to go to bed. Who was bothering him? The clerk turned to Marcica.

"uh, name?"

"I'm Marcica Quarrovth."

"Mr. and Mrs. Marcica Quarrovth." said the clerk. Fredrika had hardly opened her mouth by the time Rothis' voice came through, excited.

"It is always a...pleasure to see Mr. Quarrovth! Send them right up."

As soon as the elevator doors opened Rothis began with the condescending remarks.

"Mr. and Mrs. Quarrovth! I see you two have finally tied the knot, yes?" Rothis was nearing 60 but remained as sprite and sarcastic as ever. It didn't take long for the Empeurer's goons to get him to admit he lied about his service in the Great War, but the public humiliation never seemed to phase him even as he looked at the man and woman responsible for it all. Fredrika spoke first.

"We're not here for chit-chat, Rothis. In fact if you keep it up I have a mind to turn out the door without delivering my message - "

"What message?" said Rothis, intrigued.

"I'm getting to that, f'lah." At the queen's word, Marcica reached into his coat pocket and handed Rothis a note with his own address scrawled on it. At the top was the letterhead of the Imperial Residence, and in the "recipient" space was scrawled "Chostamir". It was rare that a memo would be hand-written.

"This is my address," said Rothis.

"Bravo!" said Fredrika, with sarcastic clapping. "Yes it is. And before long someone not nearly as kind as I will be coming here."

"Coming here for what?"

"To collect their due, I suppose. Collaboration with the CCC - sickening, even if my husband's punishment for you is more so. The Empeurer wants you dead. I'm warning you because of the goodness of my own heart, Rothis. Perhaps tonight, or tomorrow, or two months from now, someone will enter your penthouse with a mind to kill you. I recommend you be prepared. There isn't much else I can do for you besides warn you." Rothis stared at the paper.

"How do you know this?"

"I overheard it."

"And what is this?" he asked again, holding up the paper.

"That's a memo from my husband to his... enforcer, I suppose. I never actually heard your name beforehand - I didn't know they were going for you until I found this."

"Found this where?"

Fredrika just stared at Rothis. She thought of the rhythmic slam of her knees against her husband's desk, the tweed skirt rubbing against the small of her back, the bang of the secret panel hitting the floor and the papers flying everywhere, and Rothis' address, sitting atop the stack.

"I, well, where it came from isn't important, Rothis. What is important is that you're in danger. Do you have a gun?"

"A gun? Why would I need a gun?" Rothis said, unconsciously looking at a credenza nearby.

"Well you'd better get one." Marcica chimed in.

"Thank you, Mr. Quarrovth." Rothis said in a nervously sarcastic tone. A long pause fell over the room like a pall. "Why are you two doing this?"

"Out of the goodness of my heart, Rothis. Like I said." Fredrika assured.

"Bullshit." Fredrika frowned and stepped closer. She lowered her voice nearly to a whisper.

"I have no desire to allow my husband to murder an innocent human being. That being said. When this whole thing unravels, and he goes up for trial, and the Council chooses a new monarch... remember what I did for you." Rothis gazed at some invisible object behind Fredrika before turning her eyes back towards her.

"And when my House wants something, remember who could go to the press and talk all about the queen who didn't go to the police when she knew someone's life was in danger." Fredrika bit her tongue, and sighed.

"I suppose that sounds like a fair deal, Rothis."

"I'm glad we were able to reach an understanding, Your Highness. Or, God willing, Your Majesty."

"God willing." Fredrika was silent, but turned to Marcica as if to see if he had anything to say. Nothing. The silence of the room was only broken by a door slamming somewhere down on the street below.

"We should go," Marcica said. "We can't afford to have anyone see us here."

"Yes. We should go. Thank you for your time, Serjo Vrotrith."

"Think nothing of it."

[Myroria]

ILIUM GAZETTE

ROTHIS VROTRITH POISONED

Rothis Vrotrith, the head of the Myrorian Great House Vrotrith (A Myrorian 'Great House' is like a political party, but with more murder), was reported rushed to the hospital yesterday after being poisoned with an unnamed chemical. Vrotrith, who was the leader of the socialist House Vrotrith, was present at a dinner with other House officials when he exhibited symptoms of poisoning. Rothis, in a streak of either amazing psychic powers or amazing luck, guessed he was poisoned and no delay was apparent as he was rushed to the nearest hospital, where he was treated.

Vrotrith is expected to make a full recovery, which leads to the question of - who was responsible? Vrotrith consistently denies knowing he would be poisoned, but the Pelagis prefecture (A Myrorian prefecture is like a police force, with more racial profiling) isn't buying the comrade's story. Rumors have recently been circulating among Myrorians that Vrotrith was in collaboration with the CCC - could it be a socialist plot to kill someone who has outlived his usefulness? The Ilium Gazette will be following this story intently and reporting on details as they arrive.

Chostamir closed the newsprint pages of the tabloid and tucked it under his arm, paying the roadside vendor and walking towards a cafe. These past few days Chostamir couldn't help but feel he was being watched, but since his leave of absence and vacation back home in Eluvatar, he felt safe for the first time since he was called to move to Myroria with his employer. Chostamir bought a coffee at the cafe and sat, making sure he faced the wide glass storefront. Despite a slight reduction in his paranoia, he couldn't shake it all. You never know when a  Myrorian spy might bust through the doors and manhandle him back onto a plane.

[Eluvatar]

The Eluvataran Embassy in Fellowmoor was an imposing building. Built in a strange modern style after the previous building had been destroyed in the war, this was a massive edifice of black stone. Maurice Grovtroth gulped, and stepped inside. A crimson-robed clerk observed him grimly. "I need to speak to the Ambassador," Grovtroth uttered cautiously. The Clerk eyed the Myrorian warily as a door slid apart behind him.

A tall and imposing man stepped out, dressed formally in a tuxedo and jacket, wearing several medals on his chest. Maurice recognized Bregil Belaedari, the Eluvataran Ambassador. "I, uh, have an official message for you," Grovtroth murmured, and held forward an embossed document. The ambassador  stepped forward, snapped the well-decorated slip out of Grovtrith's hands, and looked it over. Bregil turned to the clerk and said quietly, "Code 12-256".


Chostamir looked up from his coffee as a man walked in, but looked down as he recognized Saeros, a frequent fellow patron. A moment later, he felt his hands grabbed and pulled behind his back. Spitting his coffee on his newspaper, he heard "You have the right to know you are to be detained for questioning in Myroria. You have the right to not bear witness against yourself. You have the right to counsel."  Stunned, he looked at the man he knew as Saeros. "You? A Cifund?"

The man smirked. "You know I can't tell you that."

Chostamir's shock lasted until he saw the unmarked van he'd been rapidly bundled into turn off toward the airport. "Where are you taking me?"

A woman he did not even know a pseudonym for replied, "Myroria of course. Your plane for Fellowmoor leaves in," she glanced at her watch, "twelve minutes."

Chostamir spoke again, "You planned for this!" There was no response.

[Myroria]

Chostamir sat alone in your typical interrogation room - bare of all furnishings except for a table and tape recorder, one-way mirror, and single camera pointed directly at his face. His questioners were standing outside the door; the king's enforcer had been under intense scrutiny for hours but had not said a single thing of any importance. It was in the midst of the interrogators' conversation that a man in a suit walked up. Chostamir's lawyer of course, probably funded by whoever contracted this killing. The lawyer was led into the room and the camera shut off.

"Outlander. I'm sure you can guess who I am."

"Lawyer?"

"Not exactly. That's what the people outside think. I'm from the same employer as you are, Chostamir. Very soon there will be men coming to take over the prefecture's investigation here. I'm sure you've had encounters with the Office of Investigation before, yes? Well when you're the one being investigated they're just as professional but it's not to your benefit. Here - " The man handed Chostamir a small pamphlet.

"It's not much. Common gangsters usually have them. It lists the rights that criminals sometimes forget they have. But you're no common criminal, Chostamir. I'm not insulting your familiarity with law. It's what inside the thing that counts." Chostamir unfolded the pamphlet and something fell out onto the table. He picked it up and looked at it inquisitively. "In case things start to go badly," the man said. "Take it. In five minutes you're gone. It's painless. Our employer can't offer anything more than that." The man started to stand and walk to the door but stopped when Chostmir spoke up.

"Don't I get a real lawyer?"

"Eventually, probably. Who knows. You're not in the prefecture's hands anymore. You're the OoI's problem."

Chostamir sat alone in the room again. He looked at the pill, and put it in his pocket.


It's been reported among people who have been in life-threatening situations or otherwise terrifying ordeals, like panic attacks, that a high-pitched whine, like a dog whistle, seems to permeate the action all around them, drowning out whatever else may be going on. Whether it's the result of 4 billion years of natural selection or the result of 40 years of action television isn't known for sure, but it was drowning out the words of the OoI investigators to Chostamir's ears. It took 30 minutes of silence before the dog whistle faded.

"If you tell us who your employers were," said an agent leaning against the corner of the room, "We can protect you. If you stay silent then you'll be convicted of attempted murder. The court system isn't kind to outlanders, sera. You could be in jail for the rest of your life - unless a Vrotrith lynch mob gets you first." Chostamir slowly looked to the agent. When he entered the room they frisked him for weapons but the prefecture didn't find the need to do much else. All they were told was that this was some common criminal that was extradited. Peté's enforcer reached into his coat pocked calmly as the agent's hand went to his gun. He pulled out two passports.

In Myroria, there are four categories of passports - most citizens have a standard passport, dark red in color with the crest of the Myrorian government on it. There are dark blue diplomatic passports, black emergency passports so that some poor Myrorian citizen isn't trapped in a distant land, and dark green official passports, for government employees. Chostamir had a standard one and an official one. He never told his employer he brought both to Eluvatar, though he was sure to use the standard passport for his most recent travel because our friend here is not an idiot who leaves a paper trail.

In addition to the agent standing in the corner, one was sitting across from him at the table. This is the agent Chostamir passed his passports to. Sure enough, the standard one had the visa for his last visit to Eluvatar tucked into it. The standard passport was signed by some simple bureaucrat. But the dark green one had the signature of the assistant minister of foreign affairs.

"I want my lawyer now, please."

[Myroria]

January 18, 1968

Chostamir knew who would be sitting in his audience from the very first day of the trial until its end - associates of the Ilium Mob, ensuring he said nothing that could go on to implicate their mutual employer, the Empeurer of Myroria. But Chostamir also knew that the OoI had somewhat of a grudge against the monarch after learning of his previous associations with the mob. And he knew that if he cooperated with the Office of Investigation that his own attempted murder sentence would be lessened - perhaps greatly lessened, even more than a commoner in his situation's sentence would be lessened.

This is why that during the trial, with the members of the Ilium Mob breathing down his back, he pled guilty and said he worked alone. His official passport, he said, was a forgery crafted by himself - and sure enough, the foreign ministry had no record of issuing any passport to him.

This is also why, from his jail cell following the trial, he wrote a letter to His Honor, Judge Sovor Riltrith, detailing in livid detail how he did not act independently. Chostamir knew as soon as the OoI got involved that this would be a moral test of one's self - whether he could maintain loyalty to his oldest friend and his king. This is why he did not say that the king hired him. He said that, though his official passport was a forgery, it was not made by his own hand and was instead provided to him months ago by the same employers who hired him this time. These employers, said Chostamir, were ruthless and he feared for his own safety. But he knew that he was visited by a representative of these employers when under questioning. And he knew that the building where he was being held was under CCTV surveillance.

So this is why the trial didn't end the first day. Investigation of the security tapes revealed that although the man who visited Chostamir signed in under a false name, his car's license plate was, luckily, readable, and registered to a man named Brevelayn Vrotrovth.

[Myroria]

The line was getting shorter. This was not Ilium. No Myrorian in his right mind would go to jail for years to protect another person. The trial of Chostamir dragged on for months as person after person was questioned. First there was Vrotrovth, the man in black - three months getting him to give up another name, Resdayn Quarltrith. Resdayn took only six weeks to give another name - Theremayn Priltrovth. Theremayn lasted longer than both of them before he gave the prosecutors a name - Gothren Quarrith. It was November 1968 and they finally had a person with a real position - Chamberlain to the Imperial Residence itself.

The prosecutors knew what this meant. Gothren had been an associate of the queen since the 40s. The director of the OoI was admittedly disappointed; he thought for sure this would go straight to the outlander gangster king. It was January 1969 when the prosecutors were getting ready to indict the Empeuress Consort herself. Gothren gave no indication that it wasn't her until the seventeenth of that month, when he wrote a letter, like Chostamir a year before, to Judge Riltrith. A year previously the word came down to him from the king himself. Someone had to silence Chostamir. So Gothren told Theremayn, an old associate of his, to do it. Theremayn told Resdayn, a employee of his. Resdayn didn't want to do it so he got a friend of his to do it - Brevelayn Vrotrovth. Brevelayn had no one to pass the message onto.

This was what Gothren's letter said. He denied the queen had any knowledge of anything that was going on. But the prosecutors already had a case against the Empeuress. She had a motive to kill Rothis. The press was getting ready to indict her in the public's eyes - why should they drop their case because Gothren wants to lead them on another wild goose chase?

Apparently there were two people in the world who didn't want to see someone innocent to to prison. The next day, without any urging from the prosecution or Rothis or anyone, on the anniversary of the beginning of his trial, Chostamir gave testimony that he was hired to kill Rothis directly by the king. Within the week he was convicted of perjury and attempted murder - and thanks to the OoI, got two years for the latter and a 250,000 marche fine for the former.

It didn't end there. Just because the hitman was in jail didn't mean people could still be in danger by his employer. Two separate testimonies by two separate people were reason enough for the Council. In a nearly split vote the Council decided on January 30, 1969 to open a committee to investigate the dual claims. And the next day a subpoena was delivered to His Majesty.

[Eluvatar]

The Council Chamber was a small room decorated like a vast hall. There were little frescoes in the oddest of corners, between floral trim of unabashed gilt. One particularly puzzling illustration, immediately to the left of the Chair’s head, was of a terrifyingly un-childlike infant Iesus, staring directly at the witness box with an oddly pleased expression. As though, perhaps, infant Iesus was pleased that this Eruvist was being subjected to this indignity. A quiet whispering pervaded the chamber, the source of which was impossible to discern. It was as though the walls themselves had gossiping mouths.

“Your Majesty, do you swear to tell the truth, the whole of the truth, and nothing that is not truth?” the chair intoned, his voice hardly muffled by the room’s heavy air.

“I do. In the name of God, I swear it.” his Majesty, Peté Tar-Ilium, first of his name, gruffly replied. Closing his mouth, it returned to a pained scowl.

“Your Majesty,” the chair paused, a trace of a smirk on his face, “Did you hire Chostamir Dalonmabar to murder Rothis Vrotrith?”

The Empereur stared stolidly in the same direction he had since he had sat down in the witness box. For three long seconds he was silent, then, he quietly said,“I did not hire Chostamir Dalonmabar.” Tar-Ilium continued, “I asked him to execute Rothis Vrotrith.”

The chamber was enveloped in a sudden, brief silence. Then, before most of the Council had time to react, Councillor Avon Vrotrith cried “Murderer!” A clamour picked up then, with mingling voices all about. “God’s name..” one could make out, “who does he,” “Outlander maniac,” “The man insane?”

“Order!” the chair barked, slamming his golden gavel against his desk, “Silence!” The roaring reduced in volume to a quiet stream of whispering. “Whatever do you mean?” the chair asked. After a moment, he added, “Your Majesty?”

A frowning Peté responded, “Rothis Vrotrith is a traitor to this Empire. He sold his House’s votes on the Schooling Bill for money from the Co-operative Commonwealth.” Shouting interrupted the witness again, as Avon shouted “LIES!!” followed by a dozen more raised voices, cacophanously shouting at one another. Ignoring the hubbub, Peté continued, difficult as his voice was to make out, “In this folder I have all one needs to see it, bank transfer records, an interview transcription, and a dossier on the CCC agent who arranged it.” Peté raised a thick manila folder into the air demonstratively.

“Your Majesty!” the chair interjected “But you can’t just do that, you’re not a Court, that’s illegal!” he spluttered.

“If the Empereur does it, it’s not illegal.” Peté angrily rejoined.

[Myroria]

A DECLARATION
BY THE COUNCIL OF GREAT HOUSES UNDER THE EMPEURESS
ISSUED APRIL 2, 1969

Yesterday, April 1, 1969, the Council of Great Houses Under the Empeuress voted 81-19 to pass this resolution which was presented to the Council by Serjo Avon Vrotrith, of House Vrotrith:

Resolved, that His Imperial Majesty Peté Tar-Ilium, first of his name, is hereby impeached on charges of conspiracy to commit murder. He will be brought before the High Court of Myroria to stand trial for these charges, and pending his judgment will be referred to as Peté Tar-Ilium, and will be afforded all the privileges and responsibilities of a citizen. All citizens who previously held allegiance to Peté Tar-Ilium as Empeurer are hereby freed of these bonds.

Immediately following this resolution a second resolution was passed, introduced by Serjo Marcica Quarrovth, of House Quarrovth:

Resolved, that Her Imperial Highness Fredrika Tar-Ilium, Archmistress of Great House Quarrovth, is hereby announced as Her Imperial Majesty Fredrika Tar-Ilium, Empeuress of Myroria.

God save the Empeuress.

Fredrika laid under a coffee table, running her fingers down the soft linen lining the underside of it. This was about the fifth time she had searched this table for bugs, despite Gothren’s assurances that if there were any the IIA missed she definitely wouldn’t find them. The door to Fredrika’s new office was opened by a man outside and Marcica stepped in with a bow. He was about to complete his second bow, halfway to Her Majesty, before Gothren told him to stop, simultaneously halting Marcica mid-prostration and snapping Fredrika out of her trance.

“I practiced for hours getting this down right, Gothren.”

“If it took you hours to get three bows right after all these years as a courtier I’m not sure who you’re learning from. Besides,” Gothren added, “You won’t be bowing for very long.”

“Oh come on, Gothren. There’s no way he’ll win that trial.”

“Great!” Fredrika exclaimed, scooting out from under the coffee table.

“Gothren doesn’t think my husband will be convicted, you think he does, and I go both ways. I mean - well, that is to say I’m reserving judgment. But all his talk” - Fredrika waved an arm at Gothren - “about how I’m never going to stay here is really bringing me down!”

“Have you been drinking?” Marcica asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” came the reply, as Fredrika positioned herself between a bottle of schapps on the desk and Marcica.

“Her Majesty never drinks,” Gothren said.

“The trial starts tomorrow!” Fredrika grabbed Marcica’s lapels. “And I have to be there. I trem - trem - trem, uh, shiver at the thought of being stared at with those evil eyes!” She made fists for good measure.

“I don’t know if it’s a good idea to show up at a trial with a hangover.”

“Nonsense! I may have a frail Myrorian body but I have the blood and soul of a Rykkovaan!” The queen stepped back to make claw hands and a growl but she bumped the desk and lost her balance and fell down.