The first person to open the door was Reko. Soon after him came Annika, minister of agriculture; then Bailli, minister of the treasury; then Itilya, minister of the hunt; then Rafyet, the grizzled minister of fishing; and Yannush, foreign minister. The last to enter was Urso, minister of trade, who paused at the door to murmur something to his secretary. She nodded and slipped out.
I stopped myself from glancing at Eirhan. A grand duke was in control. A grand duke didn’t look to others for approval. I swallowed. “Okay.” Eight faces turned toward me. “We’re not expecting anyone else, are we?”
Reko’s sneer became more pronounced.
“No, Your Grace,” Eirhan said.
“Right.” How should I salvage this situation? I’d never been in a council meeting before. I didn’t know which ministers attended them. “I suppose we should talk about my family.”
I’d meant to brief them on Farhod’s progress. But Reko, who’d obviously been looking forward to this, jumped in. “I agree. It’s past time to talk about the Avenko line.”
Bailli groaned, rubbing his bald head. “Not this again.” He looked as exhausted as I felt.
“This again.” Reko put his hands flat on the table. “It’s obvious that we’re one bad heir away from ruination.” His eyes locked on me, and I straightened my spine in response to his hateful glare. What have I ever done to you? “We need a system to provide a fail-safe. We need a steady government that won’t fall apart when our grand duke and his son both fall… ill.” His lip curled. “We need to establish a parliament.”
“Enough with parliament, Reko,” Annika said. “Kylma Above has one ruler, not many. Both Kamen and Lyosha felt that way.”
“Our country is too small to be ruled by common government,” Bailli added. “Other countries have a surplus of politicians and more needs to be met. For us, parliament isn’t as logical.”
“It is true that we have had an unusual succession,” Eirhan said. “But an Avenko holds the bond between Above and Below. An Avenko must remain in power.”
“This is more proof than ever that we need protective measures,” Reko argued. “Ekatarina’s accession has left us with just one Avenko. What happens if she’s murdered? What happens if Sigis wins the trials? Establishing a parliament would reduce royal power and decrease their runaway ambition.”
“I’m not trying to take over the country,” I said.
Reko’s laugh was like a fox barking. “Are you saying you initiated the coronation trials by accident?”
Grand dukes didn’t do things accidentally. “I made the best decision I could at the time.”
Reko raised his hands, looking smug, as though I’d proved his point. “We can have a sixteen-year-old doing her best, or we can have an entire parliament of grown people doing their best. Which would be better for the country?”
“Please, some civility,” Urso pleaded.
Itilya tapped her long fingers on the table and tilted her head to give Reko a warning look. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. Deep circles rimmed Reko’s eyes, and his beard needed combing. None of us was getting enough rest. “Representative rule would give us a government the people want,” Itilya said.
“And what will happen to my family?” I asked. “The throne is our right.” Our curse. “We maintain the link between Above and Below. We have to be here.”
“That does not mean you need to maintain a strong political position, Your Grace,” Itilya said.
So she thought I should stand by and let someone else decide how my life—my country—would be run? “We were born for it. We’ve been trained for it. Would you support an unschooled farmer who wanted to be minister of agriculture?”
Itilya’s face registered no change, but her fingers curled into loose fists. “Not all of us were raised with wealthy tutors and political intentions, yet we manage.”
Itilya had been promoted from a hunting position to Lyosha’s bodyguard, then to minister of the hunt. She had been a commoner once. “It’s one thing for a person to be rewarded for acts of service. It’s different to open up the ministry to everyone Above,” I said.
“I agree with Her Grace,” Annika said. Their blue eyes darted nervously to me. “A parliament will only slow everything down. We can’t wait weeks to get treaties ratified, emergencies declared—what will we do if someone marches to war against us? Wait for parliament to construct a war council?” They folded their hands. “Our grand dukes may sometimes act in error, but they act.”
Bailli nodded. “Look at Khourzad. Their parliament has been in a state of flux for eighteen months. When Alhatia attacked, they couldn’t decide whether to counterattack, beg for aid, or surrender. Kamen never would have allowed even the discussion of a parliament in this room.”
“And it would be an insult to open a parliament behind his back. When he wakes up, he’ll expect things to be the way he left them,” I said.
“And what if that’s not possible, Your Grace?” Yannush leaned forward, fixing his bulging eyes on me. “If Sigis cannot win the coronation trials, he may resort to using his army. How will you maintain power?”
“Her Grace won’t be ratifying a parliament at this time. It’s not a matter for discussion, it’s a matter of fact.” Eirhan shuffled his papers. “I suggest we move on.”
We bickered about the coronation trials for the rest of the meeting. Reko was silent, watching me, and even when I met his gaze, he didn’t look away. Hatred shone from him. I’d never spoken to Reko before my coronation; did he truly loathe me just because I’d refused him a parliament?
I waited until the cabinet meeting was over to ask Eirhan about the parliament debate. “It’s a complicated subject, Your Grace,” he said.
“I once performed eye surgery on a dog. I think I can grasp it.” His eyebrows rose at my tone, but I didn’t apologize. Everyone seemed to think me a special kind of stupid.
“When your father was younger, he supported the concept of a parliament, but over time he’s become… less enthused. A parliament could reduce the collective knowledge of the ministry, and it will certainly reduce the power. Kylma has no university of its own, so politicians would either be ignorant or influenced by foreign thinking—and your father distrusts much foreign thinking.”
“And Reko… wants more of that?”
“Reko wants the influence of the people. He was a commoner, you know,” Eirhan replied. “He did your father a service, and another, and another, and Kamen thought it was only appropriate that a man of the people should be minister of the people. Your father valued his bluntness, but they agreed on almost nothing.”
“But Reko’s not the only one who wants a parliament,” I said.
“He’s the one who wants it most. Itilya and Rafyet are commoners, too. Itilya saved Lyosha’s life and was promoted in response. She is entirely Lyosha’s servant, so her interest in a parliament will surface to the extent that Lyosha supports it. Rafyet is a good fisherman and a valuable member of government, but he doesn’t have much influence. Your father put him on the council mostly as a measure of support. Yannush once believed in the autocracy, but he’s begun to waver since your father’s foreign opinions became more hostile.”