I don’t want to nod enthusiastically or anything, but I incline my head to show that I understand. “As long as you meet a single condition, General Belrosa.” I say her name carefully, trying to convey respect instead of impatience. “You may have heard the story of how I was arrested in East Market. An overzealous cadet was about to execute a child, and I stepped in to save her. What sort of authority do I have during these next weeks? I’m guessing that the city doesn’t suddenly stop working in the meantime.”
There’s an exchange of uneasy glances in the room.
Belrosa herself hesitates. “The crowned heir does have many of the authorities that an in-power sovereign has, with a few exceptions.”
“And those exceptions are…?” I ask.
“You cannot pass any laws that aren’t already under consideration with the judiciary,” she says, indicating the man with the pointed white beard, who has remained a silent observer—the senior judge. Belrosa continues, “Nor can you broker any new trades or treaties with other cities. And you cannot travel to any other cities as an ambassador of Seriden.”
I steeple my fingers together. “I didn’t hear any mention of not being able to issue a pardon.” I brandish a courteous smile. “I would like to issue one for the Nameless child who now sits in the prison outside Seriden’s walls.”
Now their auras feel like marshy mud, and no one is willing to speak first. They obviously don’t like my idea.
Esther speaks up. “There are a couple of complications with that, Your Highness.”
“Such as?”
Esther continues, “You cannot issue a pardon for the Nameless. They don’t have rights and therefore can’t be pardoned.”
“But they can be imprisoned,” I say. “And, apparently, they can be queen.”
Elbows shift on the tabletop and people move uncomfortably in their seats, and I can sense that another argument is about to rise. Am I Nameless? Am I queen? I breathe out slowly through my nose.
I focus on a tight sensation in my chest, and I imagine steam rising from the table. For a second I’m not sure it’s working, but then I hear the murmurs of confusion across the table. Then, as if I’m flexing a new muscle, I imagine tongues of silver fire with the strength of lightning, crackling in the air above the steam and arcing to the high ceiling above. I hear a couple of shocked gasps. Good. If they want proof I am queen, they have it.
“What are the other complications?” I ask as I let the steam and sparks dissipate.
Belrosa grimaces as though it pains her to share this with me. “For a Nameless such as yourself, there are far more restrictions than the council has discussed.”
“If I can have this tattoo on my arm,” I say, “then explain why I can’t have its power.”
“The council isn’t even sure how you acquired the tattoo,” Belrosa says, and there are several words of agreement through the room. Esther glares at me as if contemplating the best way to separate my arm from my body.
“So what can I do?” I ask. “It sounds like that is a much shorter list.”
“You can stay here in the palace,” Esther says, and though I see the welcoming smile on her face, it isn’t in her voice or her aura. “Lieutenant Glenquartz will act as your personal bodyguard and escort you to your sleeping quarters. You will enjoy every luxury the Royals have to offer…for the next five and a half weeks.”
“And at that time,” Belrosa says, “whether it is by peaceful council election or cession through a duel, that crown will find its proper home.”
“Yes,” Silver Watch says. “If the council is in consensus on who should take your place, then the Assassins’ Festival will be preempted by a short ceremony to transfer the tattoo right away, and then the rest of the day’s celebration will continue. The council may speak if they disagree, but I believe our top two contenders are the former heir apparent, Esther Fallow, daughter of the late king, and the next highest-ranked member of the council, General Belrosa Demure. All in favor of the heir apparent?”
About half the hands go up. Silver Watch then says, “All in favor of the general?” The other half of the hands go up.
Esther bristles, as though she expected this but still isn’t pleased.
I grin. “All in favor of the Nameless thief?” I put my hand up. No one joins in. Shocker. I shrug and lower my hand.
“The festival is in less than six weeks,” Silver Watch says, ignoring me. “Between now and then, anyone can sign up as a challenger for the duels, but given the split vote, I think it will probably be two duels of note: one with Esther and one with the general. The sign-up sheet will be posted outside the dining hall within the hour.”
“It seems as if the only thing you agree on is that I shouldn’t have the tattoo.” I frown pensively. “Now. It sounds like it is in your benefit for me to go along with this plan. Believe me, I want to get rid of this tattoo as well, but”—I hold up a finger—“my request stands. For my compliance until the festival, that girl will be released from prison. Now, if you, as the council, would like to be the ones to issue the pardon, then so be it. Have the moral high ground, if you want it. But I will see that girl released, or you’ll never see this tattoo again.”
After a long, tense silence, everyone turns to the general. Belrosa considers it, but Silver Watch scoffs loudly, drawing the room’s attention.
He’s obviously gearing up to speak, so I cut him off and say, “I am the heir to Seriden’s throne, like it or not. Your only question is whether I can live peacefully here in the palace or if you should stick my head on a pike outside the Royal Court.”
Esther grimaces at the gruesome image.
“Yes,” answers Silver Watch.
I didn’t expect that. I was trying to put him off, playing to his noble disposition, but his aura is as cold as his eyes.
I’m not the only one who’s surprised. Everyone is either appalled or shocked. Even Esther is nervous, as if the situation has gotten away from her. Guilt, I think. She doesn’t like me, because I have her crown, but I don’t think she actually wants me dead.
I wonder how many of my assumptions of her character are coming from what I see of her across the room—sitting in her chair, leaning forward with her fingers tense against the wooden table—and how much is from the aura that I struggle to distinguish in the swirl of auras in this room. Hers is fervent and quick, like the unnerved cicadas of high summer.
“Come now, you can’t really mean that,” Amethyst Woman objects, but he cuts her off and continues.