Ardalt has a curious form of government, unique among the post-Gharic states. On its surface it follows the Gharic tradition precisely, giving voice to a very few wealthy men who use the government as a cudgel to control and exploit their fellows. Indeed, one might be forgiven for saying that it has maintained that tradition more faithfully than any other.

But Ardalt was never truly Gharic. They were, like us, a foreign people; they were, like us, oppressed under Ghar’s boot. But where we had our faith to sustain us, the Ardan clansmen had only a long tradition of rule through strength. He who could take something deserved it. He who could not defend his holdings deserved none.

The lesson they gained in the conquering of their homeland was therefore very different from ours.

- Saleh Taskin, On Reclamation, 687

“That was horrible,” Michael groaned, wishing for once that he could feel the winter chill on his skin; he felt as though the Assembly offices had left a clinging film on him, oily and rank, and he wanted nothing more than to bathe. The opportunity was unlikely to present itself soon, unfortunately.

Sobriquet gave him an arch look, slipping her arm through his. “I thought it went rather well,” she said. “You can’t tell me you didn’t enjoy putting that vile old man in his place.”

“Any satisfaction I derived was incidental,” Michael said. “What I was meant to be doing was convincing him to support Carolus against the Institute; now he’s all but certain to back peace talks.” He closed his eyes. “I shouldn’t have let him anger me.”

“I disagree.” Sobriquet wrinkled her nose. “Anger is a fine choice sometimes.”

Michael nudged her with his hip. “But not strategically optimal,” he noted. “I’m not saying I want to reconcile with my father or anything, but we could have gotten more from him. We could have denied Luc a path to the Assembly. Now we’re going to have to fight a more difficult battle.”

“If I’ve learned one thing working with the assorted band of disreputables and maniacs that tend to drift towards a revolution, it’s that you’ll usually regret that sort of compromise,” she said. “Relying on allies of convenience always leaves you vulnerable. Better to fight a harder battle with better men.”

“We’ve got the first part sewn up, at least,” Michael sighed. He turned down a street towards the inn, falling silent; his head echoed with his father’s voice for the rest of their walk back, replaying it in his head as the adrenaline bled off. He felt unsteady, lightheaded in the wake of their confrontation.

By the time they reached the nondescript doors of the inn, he wanted nothing so much as to sleep - though he knew that wasn’t likely to happen. Warmth and conversation buffeted him as he opened the door to their rooms, the common area crowded with men. Ricard was there, seated in the midst of the soldiers; he rose with a smile when he saw Michael.

“Milord,” he said. “Your men said you met with your father, are you-” He took a step forward, a questioning look on his face.

“It wasn’t the best conversation I’ve had,” Michael sighed. “He won’t be helping us against Luc, and will probably move to aid the Institute just to spite me.” He shook his head, then smiled. “And it’s ‘Michael’ now. If I ever had a claim to being Lord Baumgart, I doubt I shall for much longer.”

“Nonsense,” Ricard sniffed. “I’ve met more than a few lords, and very few of them were lordly. You have them all beat rather soundly - milord.”

Unai chuckled softly from his chair; the anatomens looked much-improved from his earlier state, though he was alarmingly thin and pale. “Her Radiance always used to say that stripping a good man of his title discredits the title, and changes nothing about the man. I doubt you’ll have much success convincing any of this lot to abide by your father’s wishes.”

“I doubt he’ll make it formal,” Michael said. “At least not right away; it seems he’s been borrowing my name much the same as I’ve been borrowing his. The Assembly isn’t likely to be friendly territory, though. I expect there will be procedural challenges that arise to stop me from speaking, or even from entering. I may have to rely on Carolus to present my case.” He frowned. “Speaking of which, has he been in touch? He said he’d find us later, but neglected to specify how.”

“I’ve seen nothing,” Unai said. “We’ve kept a watch posted near the front of the building, and sent out a few men; Zabala is out right now attempting to make contact with the Mendiko diplomatic offices. If your father proves to be an impediment, we may have to rely on their support to be heard.”

Michael winced. “That may be counterproductive,” he said. “If we’re seen as too close with Mendian, there will likely be an effort to paint me as a foreign agent.” He paused. “Not that much of a stretch, really, but it won’t be a good look in the current political climate. There’s quite a lot of anti-Mendiko sentiment right now, and not without reason.”

“Sentiment or not, our government will make its position known,” Unai sniffed. “I know that the Batzar has been less than impressive in its dealings with you, but you are something of an oddity.”

Sobriquet giggled; Michael gave her a flat look.

Unai continued as though nothing had happened. “A foreign power keeping the Star within their borders by force, though - that is a scenario that has ample historical precedent. You will see clear, direct language from the ambassador, followed by clear, direct action if their warnings are not heeded.”

“I think you underestimate my father’s aptitude for spite,” Michael said. “Logic is secondary to victory, or at least to being seen as victorious.”

“Perhaps,” Unai said, smiling thinly. “But we have been dealing with spiteful men for our entire history - within and without. Whoever they send to state our case will not be undone by posturing.”

Michael nodded, not reassured; he turned as the door creaked open behind him. Zabala slouched in, clad in a long winter coat that Michael had never seen before; he wore an obscuring hat that shaded his face. A small bundle of papers protruded from one of the coat’s pockets.

“Zabala?” Sobriquet asked, looking at his clothing. “Had a trip to the tailor while we were out?”

“No,” Zabala replied. “But the Mendiko embassy is in a nicer part of town, so I had to acquire better clothing.”

Michael gave him a look. “Do I want to know?”

“No,” Zabala said again. He reached into his pocket and removed the papers. “I spoke with the ambassadorial staff. The Institute delegation is in town already. They’re scheduled to speak in a special session tomorrow.” He handed them to Michael. “Your father made the arrangements the day before yesterday.”

“Ghar’s bones,” Michael swore. “He never had any intention of listening to me.” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose; a moment later he let his hand drop. “Fine. We will arrive at the session, invited or not, and we will speak, permitted or not. At the very least, our presence should serve as a deterrent against Luc murdering the Assembly wholesale.”

“Carolus thought that was unlikely,” Sobriquet pointed out.

Michael shrugged. “He thought I could convince my father to lend his help, and look how that turned out.”

“They do make themselves hard to save,” she muttered. “With any luck we’ll intercept Carolus-”

She broke off as Richter and Helene emerged from the back room, carrying a roast between them. Michael looked at it incredulously.

“I was fairly certain this suite of rooms didn’t have a kitchen,” he said.

Helene beamed at him. “It has a fireplace, milord, and we made do. I had just got this beautiful cut of beef for your father’s supper, and it pained me to see it go to waste, so I had young master Lars carry it back from the house.” She turned her smile on the Ardan captain, who flushed.

Michael laughed. “Thank you, Helene - it smells delicious, and I think knowing it was meant to be my father eating it will make it all the more so.” He looked more closely at it. “You found herbs, too?”

“She’s a bonifex of some stripe, I’d swear it,” Richter muttered. “It’s not natural. I couldn’t have made toast in that fireplace.”

“You’re a fine cook, dear,” Helene said, patting Richter on the arm. “I’ve just been doing it longer. Come, sit; eat before it gets cold, all of you. It sounds like you have quite a day planned for tomorrow…”

Michael took a seat, still smiling. The echoes of his father’s voice had not gone from his head, and perhaps they would linger for some time yet - but for now, he chose not to listen. He sat, taking his portion; Ricard began happily regaling the men with a story about the time Michael, age five, had tried to assist Helene in baking a cake. The air in the inn was warm, not bracing cold, but all the same he felt it wash the last traces of the Assembly away.

His good mood lasted until the small hours of the morning, when he woke to a dark room. It had been only a couple of hours since he had laid down; even without looking he could feel the still-warm hearth at the far end of the room. The embers resonated with his soul, their heat a constant tickle at the edge of his awareness. He focused on it for only a moment, not willing to risk suddenly illuminating the room; instead, he padded out to the room’s narrow balcony and watched the snow fall across the alley.

The city was calm; it was a marked contrast from the dread and fear that had choked every city he’d visited for some time now. It felt normal - yet it was not his normal, not anymore. The thought made him chuckle softly. “An oddity,” he murmured, to nobody in particular.

The snow fell, a light dusting that tapered off to a few scattered flakes as morning’s light began to tint the horizon. Michael made his way back inside as quietly as he could, finding a few of their number up and going about their morning tasks. Ricard was among them; the old man smiled as he walked in - then frowned.

“Milord, it’s freezing outside. Were you out there barefoot?” he asked, rushing over to brush the snow from Michael’s shoulders.

Michael smiled. “I don’t feel the cold like I used to,” he said. “It’s fine, Ricard, really. I could sleep outside in my nightclothes with no ill effects.”

The manservant pulled back to give him a reproachful look. “Be that as it may, milord, there is some value to observing the proper dress for every scenario. We do it for more than comfort and warmth; it is a practice that shapes our behavior and tells others what we are about.”

“That’s - a fair point,” Michael sighed. “I haven’t had much call for proper dress lately, and even less opportunity; I suppose my standards have slipped somewhat.”

Ricard’s brows knit together. “That will not do,” he said. “Especially not if you’re to address the assembly today. They claim a certain savvy, but in my experience they value nothing save for appearance; therefore, you must have it in abundance.” He placed a hand on Michael’s back, guiding him towards one of the suite’s side rooms. “Come. Let’s get you prepared.”

Michael was not surprised to see that Ricard had brought several of his suits, along with a shaving kit and various other items from Michael’s personal effects. Before the sun had come up properly, he found himself shaved and dressed, his hair impressed into some semblance of order, his hands for once clean of dirt and grime.

When he returned to the common area he found that Sobriquet had likewise been subject to Helene’s ministrations. Unai and Zabala stood beside her; Zabala wore his fine attire of questionable provenance, while Unai had somehow procured a respectable, undamaged suit. He looked much-improved in the clean attire, his thin, drawn appearance looking merely severe when placed above a collar.

“Let’s be about it,” Unai rasped. “I suspect they will endeavor to prevent us from entering, so we should allow extra time.”

“I wasn’t aware that you two were intent on coming,” Michael said.

Zabala sniffed. “The involvement of the Star makes this a Mendiko affair. The embassy staff will be in attendance at today’s session. Unai and I will be available to you, or them - or to the needs of the moment.”

The last words had an ominous sound in Michael’s ears, but Zabala’s expression gave nothing away. Michael sighed and nodded, turning to the others. “Lars, Charles,” he said. “There’s a potential for things to go awry today-”

“Just today?” Charles asked.

Michael gave him a tolerant look. “More so,” he said. “We may have to leave on short notice.”

“We’ll secure a ship,” Lars confirmed. “Minimum of threatening language, but I’ve discovered Charles is good for that. He has a talent for unnerving people without speaking overmuch.” He looked at the other man, who grinned; Lars nodded. “Yes, like that.”

“I appreciate it,” Michael sighed. He turned to Ricard. “Will you and Helene be all right? We may be traveling soon-”

Ricard waved him off. “Never you worry, milord,” he said. “We know what we’re about. You keep your mind on what’s to be done at the Assembly.”

Michael nodded gratefully and turned to Sobriquet. “Shall we?” he asked.

She took his arm. “Lead on, Lord Baumgart,” she said. “Let’s invite ourselves in.”

Predictably, the plaza outside of the Assembly chambers was crowded for the hour. Assemblymen were generally wealthy, powerful members of society, and as such came with a small crowd of people tasked with seeing to their needs; coachmen milled about the side of the building, butlers and manservants carried packages and bags, while couriers rushed past with slimmer cases or bare sheafs of paper.

The crowd was thickest towards the doors of the chamber itself, where a small line of people was waiting to be admitted. It was not the entrance for Assemblymen, as they had quieter, less-public avenues of entrance; anyone else who had business with Ardalt’s ruling powers was obliged to present themselves at the main steps.

Michael sighed and moved to do just that, standing in line behind a group of agitated-seeming men with attaché cases. “I suppose we’re waiting,” he said.

“Anti-climactic,” Zabala snorted. “I thought they might have security ready to turn you away, after your meeting yesterday.”

“I don’t think it’s likely that they’ll try to arrest us, but I’d be surprised if the parliamentarian lets us speak unchallenged,” Michael said. “I’m not sure, though; it’s my first time trying to barge into a legislature uninvited.”

Sobriquet nudged him with her hip. “I could always slip us inside,” she said. “The doors are open, so there’s no barrier we’d have to contend with.”

“No, let’s try to follow the rules for now,” Michael said. “I don’t want to hand them an excuse to expel us before we’ve actually earned it.” He frowned. “Although this line doesn’t appear to be moving.” He sent his sight forward towards the security checkpoint, looking at the men currently talking in strident tones to the guards-

“Ah.” Michael stepped out of the line, walking past the men in front of him until he had reached the front of the queue. The group causing the delay was sizable, eight or nine men in impeccable suits and an air of obvious pique. “Good morning,” he said, causing heads to turn his direction. One of the guards stepped towards him with a resigned look, already waving him back to his spot in the line; Michael held up a hand. “I don’t mean to interrupt, and will wait my turn, of course. I was merely hoping to say hello to an old friend.”

The man at the head of the group turned to face him.

“Why, Jaun Baumgart,” Lekubarri said. “What an absolute pleasure to cross your path on this fine winter morning. I’ve been hearing so many interesting things about your travels.”

“Jaun Lekubarri,” Michael said. “I wasn’t expecting to see a member of the Batzar here in Calmharbor. I assume you’re here in your - diplomatic capacity?”

“Quite right, although I seem to be encountering some procedural issues actually entering the Assembly hall,” Lekubarri sighed. “Which is odd, considering that I have my proper diplomatic credentials at hand. Why, if I didn’t know better I’d almost think that someone had specifically instructed the guards to deny entry to the Mendiko delegation.”

Michael gave the lead guard a lingering glance; the man paled. “That would be unfortunate indeed,” he said. “But I’m sure that’s not the case, since that would represent a rather grievous breach of diplomatic protocol.” He lifted his chin, staring at the guard. “I presume there’s no issue with their admittance?”

The guard swallowed. “Apologies, Lord Baumgart,” he said. “But due to the sensitive nature of the session’s business today, we must validate all entrants against a list of approved attendees.”

“Ah,” Michael said. “So? What is the issue? I can’t imagine that the list of approved attendees would omit the Mendiko, not with the session’s business so pertinent to their interests.”

“I couldn’t say, milord,” the guard said. “We haven’t received our copy of the list.”

“Which naturally means that you cannot admit anyone,” Michael said. “How - inconvenient.” He turned to Lekubarri. “You wouldn’t happen to have pen and paper, would you?”

Lekubarri reached into his pocket without hesitation, producing an achingly-beautiful filigreed pen alongside a leather-bound notebook. Michael gave him a thin smile, taking both items and flipping the notebook open; on the top leaf he wrote ‘Michael Baumgart & party,’ followed by ‘Lekubarri & delegation’ below. He tore the page from the notebook, managing to restrain his smile better than Lekubarri did his wince, and handed the scrap of paper to the guard.

“Milord?” the guard asked.

Michael raised his eyebrow. “Your list,” he said. “Since you lack the official copy. You may say that Lord Baumgart handed it to you personally, which should be all the authorization you need.”

The guard’s eyes flicked down worriedly to the paper. “I’m sorry, milord, but-”

“You’re a very good guard,” Michael said. “We’re all going to walk in now.” He turned to Lekubarri, motioning him forward; the batzarkidea inclined his head and made to walk past Michael. The guard made a jerky half-step to block his path.

“What are you doing?” Michael asked him. “This man is authorized to be in the building.”

“Sorry, milord,” the guard stammered, his voice high and breathy with panic. “I can’t let you - you can’t, ah-”

Michael put his hand on the guard’s shoulder, gripping just hard enough to make his soul felt; the unsouled guard shivered with fear and uncertainty. “It’s fine,” Michael said soothingly. “Nobody expects you to stop us. Report us to your captain and let him decide what to do. Tell him the truth.”

“Milord,” the guard replied, noticeably relieved; worry intruded upon his expression a moment later. “The truth?”

“That there was absolutely nothing you and your fellows could do to stop me from walking in,” Michael said. He placed no emphasis on his voice, lent it no resonant tone whatsoever; nevertheless, the man shivered once more and looked away.

The guard did not find his voice after that. He forced his eyes back to Michael, then to Lekubarri, but ultimately retreated to converse with the other gate guards in hushed whispers before running through the open doorway.

Michael turned his smile back to Lekubarri. “After you,” he said, handing the pen and pad back.

“Much appreciated,” Lekubarri laughed, following Michael through the empty door. “Tell me, was that your most infamous soul at work?”

The smile slid from Michael’s lips for a moment; he propped it back up and shook his head. “Only the weight of a name,” he said. “The guards aren’t there to turn away Ardan lords. If they meant for the guards to contend with ensouled, there would be ensouled guards.”

“Ah, quite.” Lekubarri lost some of his cheerful demeanor as well. “Sometimes I forget that we seldom see Ardans save for their ensouled, who have a rather different view of things than - the rest. It can be jarring when the difference is made apparent.”

“When our Gharic barbarity is drawn to the fore, you mean,” Michael said wryly, glancing back at Zabala. “I’ve been gifted with a running commentary on the deficiencies of the Ardan system during our stay here, so I’m painfully aware of the distinction.” He glanced at Lekubarri. “I’d say about the only thing we have in common is that both countries are run by a cabal of ruthless old men.”

Lekubarri smirked. “Oh my,” he said. “It appears your time here has wrought a rare mood upon you. I’ve been called many things, but old-” He raised an eyebrow at Michael. “I seldom hear such accurate commentary firsthand.”

“Then today will be special for several reasons,” Michael said. “Not least of which is our uncommonly well-aligned purpose in attending the session.”

The batzarkidea walked for a few steps, his shoes clicking on the immaculate marble floor of the foyer; their presence had not caused too much of a stir as of yet, but there were definitely stares. More than that, Michael felt the dull heat of Sofia’s glare pressing close, blistering around the small blind spot that Sobriquet was somewhat spitefully maintaining in her vicinity.

“We were always working with a common cause,” Lekubarri replied. “Differences in method are barely noteworthy.”

“The Daressans may disagree,” Michael noted.

Lekubarri inclined his head. “There is less room for error in that scenario than I would prefer,” he conceded. “But do remember that it is not my faction that will present a problem when the time comes to reexamine our commitments there. Mendoza represents the isolationists.”

“And I can count on you, my staunch ally in the Batzar, to uphold Mendian’s commitment to Daressa - is that it?” Michael tilted his head. “Or would you phrase it differently?”

“Even Leire and I had our disagreements,” Lekubarri said. “But as allies, we resolved those disagreements privately. It does neither side any favors to be seen making concessions.”

Michael snorted. “I expect you have some concessions in mind already,” he said.

“Naturally.” Lekubarri stopped, turning to Michael with a grave look. “But as you say, our purpose is especially aligned today. This situation with the Star must be resolved expediently, and in our favor. Help me make it so, and you will have my unreserved, unlimited aid when the matter of Daressa comes due.”

“I’m open to suggestions,” Michael said, his heart beating faster at the offer. “Carolus and his Rabenfraktion are with us already, but my father is likely opposed. My attempts to reason with him were - not successful. As things stand, we will have to sway a few of the Klingenfraktion to our side; I don’t see an obvious way to do that.”

Lekubarri nodded slowly. “I am not without contacts,” he said. “I will speak with a few of them before the session begins.” He craned his neck, looking around the room. “Lord Altenbach would have been my first, for the sake of coordination, but he’s been difficult to locate recently. I don’t suppose you have any idea where he’s at?”

“He said he’d find us,” Michael shrugged. “And never did. I figured that he was distracted, or drunk, and that we’d find him here.”

“Drunk,” Lekubarri frowned. “I knew that was formerly a vice of his; I hadn’t heard that it was a current one.”

“A recent development, I think.” Michael let his sight rove over the larger rooms, drifting into the Assembly chamber itself; he did not see Carolus there, nor his father. Only a few men were seated this early. “He implied it was necessary, that Luc and I were making it hazardous to be an auspex. What you’d call ‘singularities,’ if that means anything to you-”

Lekubarri made a soft noise; Michael pulled his sight back and saw that the slender, bald man had gone pale. “I can see that it does.”

“Leire mentioned the topic from time to time,” Lekubarri said, somewhat hoarsely. “In our more alarming conversations.” He pressed his lips together, then turned to Michael. “I will use my time as best I can. If you can find Carolus, and ensure that I have the opportunity to address the Assembly freely, that may be enough.”

His eyes flicked up and down, taking in Michael’s appearance. “It may be best if you avoid overt association with me, aside from that. I suspect my country will be portrayed in a rather unflattering light during the session.”

Michael thought back to his conversation with his father; he nodded. “I believe you’re right,” he said, extending a hand to Lekubarri. “Good luck.”

The batzarkidea shook his hand without hesitation, though his mouth bent into a wry smile. “Not luck, Jaun Baumgart. If we could rely upon that, we wouldn’t be here at all.” He stepped back, favoring Michael with one final glance, then turned and strode towards the Assembly offices.

Michael watched the other Mendiko fall into step behind him; Zabala and Unai lingered for a moment before following along with the rest.

“I’m not sure if I’m relieved to see him or not,” Sobriquet muttered. “He’s a canny bastard, for sure. And I wouldn’t trust him.”

Michael nodded. “I don’t,” he said. “But - did he lie?”

Sobriquet’s frown deepened. “Not that I could tell,” she admitted. “That almost worries me more.”

“Let’s not spend our worry on Lekubarri,” Michael said. “He may be yet another ally of convenience, but I think he’s too busy to ruin our day in particular.” He looked around the foyer, still sparsely-populated; they had thus far not been accosted by any further guards, though their intense conversation with the Mendiko had drawn a few glances. “And speaking of such allies, we should focus on finding Carolus; I have little idea how to proceed without him. I’m also not sure where his office is.”

“I’m not sure I’ll be much help there, my sight is - not good right now. Too many heavy pieces shifting around.” Sobriquet furrowed her brow, looking around them.

Michael raised an eyebrow. “You know, if you let the veil drop we could just ask-”

“No.” Sobriquet scowled, her eyes sliding across a few passers-by. They locked on one, and she was suddenly wearing a bright smile. She walked away from Michael to intercept a young man who was focused on reading a newspaper in his hand.

“Excuse me,” she said. “Might you be able to tell me where Carolus Altenbach keeps his office?”

The man paused, his concentration fracturing; he looked up with a bemused expression. “Lord Altenbach?” he mumbled. “He’s, ah-” He twisted to point down one of the side halls.

Sobriquet flashed a smile at him, then turned back to Michael, the moment her face was obscured the smile had disappeared.

He took her arm, nudging her gently. “Your sight is impressive, as ever,” he murmured.

“Shut up.” She walked briskly towards the hallway the man had indicated, pulling away; Michael laughed and jogged after her.