Six council members nod in agreement.
“You must renounce your ties to the Nameless,” Belrosa insists. “You must do so with the speech. The people need to hear from you to know the city isn’t going to fall apart on your watch, that it isn’t going to crash like a sinking ship, as you said. I think you must go out as soon as possible to address them. Tomorrow. Today, even!”
Esther frowns. “Come, now. When my father gave speeches, they were never less than three days after the announcement.”
The woman bejeweled with amethysts—Ariel—weighs in with a kind voice. “I believe the matter is much more urgent than those of your father’s days.”
“Then two days,” Esther says, speaking as though the decision is final. “That’s enough time to write a speech, I think, and get it approved by the council.”
“With the city how it is,” Belrosa says, “the sooner the better.”
As they talk about the speech, my chest is slowly tightening like a constrictor knot. Glenquartz watches me, knowing something is off. I feel my face heating up, and I rise to my feet.
“Then it’s agreed,” I say. “I will see you at the speech.”
A few of them murmur in assent, but most of their auras flicker with nerves and fear.
“Now that we’ve resolved the course of action for the matter of the execution,” I say, “I have another issue to present to you. Nameless are disappearing off the streets. I need you to help me find out what’s happening and stop it.”
Silence reigns through the room.
“If these were Legals going missing, or Royals, you wouldn’t hesitate to start an inquiry,” I scoff. “You let something as silly as a name be enough to change your conscience. Seriden can have its treaty that protects magic and stops the cities from declaring war on one another, but that doesn’t mean anything if you won’t actually protect everyone who calls Seriden their home. As much as you don’t want to think about it or admit it, the Nameless are as much a part of Seriden as the Legals and Royals. Am I not proof of that?”
What I sense from them is worse than fear and worse than anger: it’s discomfort. Fear and anger drive people to act. Discomfort drives people to nothing except avoidance. And all of them feel the same unease, except for one. Esther.
From her I sense something like pride.
“Now, I’m perfectly content,” I add, “to give this speech you want. I only ask that you listen to my request and give it due consideration.”
“The Nameless go missing frequently,” says Belrosa. “It would be irresponsible of us to assign resources for this inquiry when there is such turmoil present in the city, when everything is so politically charged and fragile.”
“Where is your evidence?” Esther asks.
I’m startled to hear her speak with a harsh conviction and criticism in her voice that don’t match her aura at all.
“Pardon?” I say, buying myself time.
“You say the Nameless disappear at a frequency and quantity they haven’t before. I simply wonder how you know this and how you can confirm its accuracy before you ask us to act. As we know, actions without basis are directionless and, sadly, a waste. I have no doubt that people go missing occasionally. But offer us proof.”
I twist my hands into angry knots beneath the table.
“I’ve heard personal testimony from several Nameless,” I say.
Esther listens with a serene expression that gives nothing away. Her aura is soothing.
“Given that the city doesn’t track the Nameless the way it tracks Legals and Royals for taxes,” I say, “this is the only proof I can offer.”
“Perhaps when you bring us evidence,” Esther says delicately, “of where these Nameless are going, then we would have a solid foundation for action.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “You’re telling me that if I want the Royal Guard to assist in finding out what’s happening to the Nameless, I first have to find out what’s happening to the Nameless?” I do little to conceal my frustration, and Belrosa’s aura dances with amusement.
Most of the remaining council members are firm in their refusal to help now that they’ve been given a voice of reason to hide behind. Their auras close in on me, closer than the tight walls of an alley, and they feed into me like water collecting in a drain. My frustration grows.
Belrosa chimes in. “The Royal Guard is not a search party, unfortunately. They are here to protect and police Seriden under my command. Regrettably, Your Highness, I can offer no assistance.”
I close my eyes for a moment, remembering my first encounter with this woman. I crave another confrontation, but every moment I’m here is a con. I have to play my part. I open my eyes and give a firm nod.
“Understood,” I say. “Thank you for hearing me.”
Belrosa’s smug aura is like a foul scent from a trash bin.
I reach out to sense Esther’s aura. While I expect to find a similar sense wafting outward, I find an insistent regret, as if she’s pushing an apology at me. I look at her, and there’s a brief flicker of a remorseful frown. I seethe silently, trying to stay calm. I don’t want an apology. I want an explanation.
The rest of the Royal Council meeting goes by quickly. I’ve lost a lot of my fire. My energy wanes. They only barely mention the fact that Esther still hasn’t added her name to the list of challengers, but even if they unanimously voted that Belrosa should get the tattoo peacefully, it sounds like they want me to lose the duel in front of everyone. That way, the Nameless are reminded of their place and I am dethroned in defeat instead of peace. As the meeting wraps up, I tuck the empty fruit bowl under my arm like a stack of papers, and I push away from the table.
Esther stares at me while I head for the door. She could only advertise her intent better if she shouted it. She wants to talk to me, and she’s trying to get my attention. Rookie.
I hurry from the room, angry and disheartened as the Royals start to discuss dinner plans and tax collections and preparations for the Assassins’ Festival. Esther is five steps behind me as I walk the corridor, which gives her ample time to see me enter a room four doors down. She pokes her head in experimentally. I’m sitting on a desk across the room, my feet on the chair.
“What was all that about?” I demand. “You’re the one who told me I had to care about the city. And when I try to put a foot forward to care for the Nameless, you shoot me down like that? Explain! I can sense your guilt all over you.”
Esther gently closes the door behind her. We’re in some kind of postage room. I have to push aside three different-colored inkwells to sit on the desk, and I’m not anywhere near certain that I’m not actively getting ink stains on my clothes.