“Before he started experimenting—with the explosive weapon?”
“That’s my guess.”
“So, he was supposed to wait for the zilfium vote to start making the weapons. But he didn’t. And that—ah,” said Lovisa, understanding. “This explains a piece I hadn’t fathomed before. Namely, how my mother ever imagined they could develop a zilfium weapon without breaking any laws. But she believed they could have done so, once zilfium use was legalized in Winterkeep. And she was planning to throw her vote,” said Lovisa, remembering another piece she’d forgotten. “I heard her tell my father, ‘I was going to give you your zilfium vote.’ She was planning to go against her party with the tie-breaking vote to help the Industrialists legalize zilfium use.”
“Yes.”
“Does Erita understand it?”
“I don’t think so. But it’s hard to tell.”
Erita was the boy who seemed to be coping best with all that was happening. Every time he mentioned some memory that piqued the interest of his sister or his uncle, he swelled with pride for being helpful. He didn’t seem concerned with what any of his memories meant.
In contrast, Vikti, the oldest, seemed to shrink at Erita’s announcements. He was so quiet. Too quiet, with something shuttered behind his eyes that made Lovisa’s heart rise in her throat. She wished she could see in there, figure out what he needed.
Viri, the youngest, asked questions constantly. Details he wanted clarified about the night of the fire, the night she’d found the queen in the attic, or the days she’d spent in the north before they’d joined her. It choked her with tears, over and over, when Viri kept coming to the conclusion that she’d been a hero. She hadn’t. She’d abandoned him. He kept asking, “Are you going to leave again, Lovisa?” And Vikti’s eyes would rise to her face, watching her carefully while she answered.
“I can’t promise you I’m never going to go anywhere ever,” she would say, because she would not lie to them. “In our long lives, we’re all going to visit lots of places. But I’m not going to disappear again, and I’m always going to be where you can find me, all right? I promise.”
Now, before the fire, Katu was watching her.
“As much as I want a clearer idea of what my parents did,” Lovisa said, “I hope for his own sake that Erita doesn’t have too many more secrets to share.”
Katu was silent for a moment, staring soberly into the fire. “I don’t think it would be quite right to say that I ever understood my sister,” he said. “But I saw her adolescence, and what my father subjected her to. I might be able to help you understand where some of her wrong ideas came from, Lovisa.”
Lovisa considered that. She already knew a lot of those stories. “No, thank you,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“If I have children someday,” said Lovisa, “I won’t expect them to blame my parents for the wrongs I do to them. They get to blame me.”
Katu studied her, a smile playing around his lips. “You’re a good kid, Lovisa,” he said. “Have you considered a career as a judge?”
Lovisa snorted. “Parliament appoints judges. Have you noticed the kind of person who gets elected to Parliament?”
“Become a judge,” he said, “then throw Parliament in prison.”
Snorting again, Lovisa stood. “Come play City?”
“Between you and me,” said Katu, “I don’t think we have a choice.”
* * *
—
The boys couldn’t convince Katu to stay for dinner, because Katu had a date.
“A date!” Viri squealed. “Who do you have a date with, Katu?”
“A lovely woman who happens to be one of my doctors,” Katu said.
“Can’t you bring her here for your date?” said Viri, a suggestion that sent Lovisa into a fit of coughing at the notion of Katu trying to romance someone over dinner at the Devrets’ house, in the company of three constantly interrupting little boys.
So Katu went away, but Lovisa stayed. She was shy around Mari’s parents at dinner. She didn’t want their eyes or their questions; but then she always found herself watching them curiously, trying to listen in on their conversation with each other, because they actually enjoyed each other’s company. They never minded if the boys amused themselves with an increasingly loud conversation of their own.
Mara, who was an Industry rep in Parliament, announced tonight that the zilfium vote, originally scheduled for December, was being pushed to late spring.
“What?” said Lovisa. “Why?”
“Now that a military use has been found for zilfium, we all need more time to research and debate,” Mara said. “It’s one thing to open Winterkeep to trains and faster boats. Explosive weapons is a whole other matter.”
“But aren’t the weapons going to be destroyed?” said Lovisa, who knew the rumors. “Didn’t the blueprints burn in a fire at the queen’s hotel?”
“Even so, what was invented once can be invented again,” said Mara.
“Well then,” said Lovisa, “is it safe to ban a weapon in Winterkeep if the other nations in Torla are likely to be developing that weapon for themselves? And anyway, shouldn’t Queen Bitterblue be part of the conversation, since she has so much zilfium?”
Mara considered her approvingly. “Have you chosen a party, Lovisa?”
The old familiar impatience rose in Lovisa at this tiresome question. “Doesn’t that choice generally come down to where one’s self-interest falls?”
Mara’s eyebrows rose. “At what cost?” she said. “Arni’s bank would flourish beyond our wildest dreams if war came to Torla. War is expensive. Nations and people go into massive debt. Debt creates loans, and loans make banks rich. You understand, Lovisa? But if the day comes when you see me voting yes on any measure that’s a step on the path to war, I hope you’ll take me to the doctor to have my head checked.”
She turned to her husband, took his hand. “Promise you’ll have me removed from office,” she said to him.
“I promise,” he said. Then he leaned forward and kissed her mouth, right in front of everyone.
* * *
—
As dinner was ending, the son of the house came home.
“Ah,” said Mari, entering the dining room, tall and cheerful, bending down to kiss first his father’s cheek, then his mother’s. “I wondered if you were here, Lovisa, when you didn’t show up at dinner in the dormitory.”