Chapter 8 (Part IV): Regret

I used to believe there was no such thing as a bad king or a bad queen. I thought there were only bad people or good people, who happened to have become a king or a queen. I have learned, though, that a bad king can be a good person, and I think that, perhaps, a bad person can be a good king. That is why I always try to judge my predecessor’s actions, rather than their characters. I didn’t know the men and women who came before me; I cannot understand all of the challenges which they faced, or the doubts and fears they harbored within their hearts. It is not for me to say if he or she was a good person or a bad person. All I can hope is that the consequences of my actions will be regarded favorably by those who reap their rewards and carry their burdens.

-          Queen Azraea I, in a public address on Monarchy Day

The next morning, Azraea stood in the street outside the mansion, the hood of her cloak pulled up to offer some measure of concealment from the guards and fanatics now roaming the streets. She looked at the charred remains decorating the scorched and buckled iron fences and thought about who must have been in the mansion when it burned. She hummed a mournful dirge. She wanted to show some respect, but being too loud about it could get a woman killed right now.

“I don’t believe we ever met,” a voice said.

Azraea turned to find an apparition with a familiar face.

“They used to call me the ‘Lead King’ because my face was on every lead coin in the country. I thought it was a bit depressing, but at least it was novel. Now they’re just calling me the ‘Dead King’, as if it’s clever because it rhymes. It’s not clever, though, it’s just descriptive. I am a king that’s dead. Well, I suppose actually, now I’m just dead.”

“I’m afraid I’m the one that killed you,” Azraea said sadly.

“Really?” Hylas’s apparition asked, “I must say, you looked much taller and scalier last night.”

“No,” Azraea said, “I mean, I had a run in with Syliva a while back and I insulted her, and that’s why she went after you. Why she did all of this.”

“Oh,” the ghost said, “I see. Well, I wish I’d been there to see what you said to that old suitcase. It must have been good to get that sort of a reaction out of her.”

“I don’t know what I was thinking,” Azraea said, “We were working a plan to get rid of her and she had us in a corner, so I just started talking. At first I was just trying to stall so we could find a way to escape, but then I saw a gap in her armor and I just went after it as hard as I could. I bated her into turning on you without giving any thought to your life, let alone the lives of all the people here with you.”

Hylas’s ghost nodded, and beckoned for Azraea to follow him into the scorched courtyard, away from people who might be listening to their one-sided conversation.

“I was not a good king,” he said, “I was raised to understand that the real power in the kingdom was up there in that castle. That dragon and her hoard of gold. And I was raised to believe that if we played along and did as we were told then the dragon would ensure we were provided for. We would keep our big house, our nice clothes, our lavish meals, and our decadent parties. In the entirety of my life, I never questioned this, and more importantly, I never questioned whether, as king, I had responsibilities beyond keeping my family in a big house, wearing nice clothes, eating lavish meals, and enjoying decadent parties.

“I never questioned that until last night when I saw those guards burning, one-by-one on the fences I climbed as a child. I knew then that I had had a responsibility to them. I had always thought it was the other way around but no. I had a duty to protect their welfare, the welfare of this whole kingdom, but I shirked that duty my entire life so that I could raise a family in the lap of luxury. This is how it was for my entire line and this terrible ending was the inevitable result. If it hadn’t been me on that balcony begging the dragon for mercy it would have been my son or my son’s son.

“I’m not happy to be dead,” Hylas’s ghost said, “Please don’t mistake my demeanor for one of contentment. Even though they are finally reunited with their mother, and I will join them soon to beg their forgiveness for my failings as a father, I grieve the loss of my children. Their last moments were so terrible and they were robbed of so much, being taken from this world so young.” 

Azraea felt that like a punch to the gut, “I’m so sorry…”

“A part of me appreciates that, because a part of me wants to blame you for setting the dragon on this course. But you should think carefully about what you’re saying. You are sorry because you chose to enrage the dragon, which then chose to murder me and my family. But Syliva, I believe, does have free will, just as you or I do, so does it really make sense for you to apologize to me for what she did? In doing so, aren’t you accepting responsibility for her choices? Even abrogating Syliva’s responsibility for her own actions?”

Azraea looked at the ghost and blinked in disbelief.

“You aren’t the only one who went to college,” the ghost said, “But I apologize if I’ve wandered. I’m feeling a bit ungrounded.”

“I don’t think I understand,” Azraea said, “You were chastising yourself for not taking responsibility for the harm the dragon was doing to our country and yet, now you are chastising me for taking responsibility for the harm the dragon did to your family.”

“Because I was the king,” he said, “And you were simply a woman in a market. In a moment you will have to make a choice. An ordinary person is responsible only for their own actions, their own welfare and, if they have them, perhaps the welfare of their children. But a king, regardless of who he was before the crown passed to him, is responsible for the lives of all those under his rule, be they young or old, man or woman, short or tall, white or black. Or even green. He should be an advocate for the people, and do everything within his power to protect the people, often from each other, and sometimes from themselves.

“What you need to decide is whether you’re prepared to shoulder that responsibility, to endure that burden. A woman could walk away from this carnage,” the ghost gestured to the blackened corpses, “and live her life knowing she was in no way responsible for this tragedy. A queen, however, will walk away from this place, knowing this is only the first tragedy she will be responsible for.”

“I don’t believe anyone is responsible only for themselves, regardless of what their title may be,” Azraea said, “Every person is responsible for the welfare of their neighbors. I am responsible for the people of this kingdom, simply because I live in it.”

“Well then,” Hylas’s ghost said, “Might I suggest that, if the crown fits, you should wear it.”

“You’re telling me I should claim your throne?”

“If you would claim it for yourself, no,” the apparition answered, “But if you would take the throne for the sake of the people, then yes.” He began to fade from Azraea’s sight, “One last piece of advice: in the halls of the king no soul rests well.”
Azraea was still contemplating his words when she heard shouting back out in the street. Armed men were dragging people out of a nice coffee shop across from the courtyard. There were two men in full guard gear, painted black with the red details of the dragon’s hired security force, and three more in civilian clothes decorated with ostentatious red and orange sashes, armed with clubs. The professionals stood watch, while the ‘volunteer militia’ handled the violence, dragging people out into the street with their hands bound and pushing them down onto the cobblestone.

“What’d you expect?” One of the volunteers said loudly, “They hang out here, right next to the king’s mansion? They musta been buddies,” The man kicked a pregnant woman he’d thrown to the ground, “How about it homely girl, whose baby is that you’re carrying? You one of the king’s syphilitic lovers? Or just a groupie?” She rolled onto her side and spat on his boot.

“Oh, assaulting a citizen volunteer of the Firebrands, then is it?” He looked at the others, “You all saw that right?” The black armored men nodded and laughed, and the angry man began beating the pregnant woman with his club. There was no indication he was going to stop until she was dead.

Azraea felt herself moving forward, but then thought about the math. Five on one. Kaira might be able to do it, but Azraea wasn’t Kaira, was she? The woman screamed in pain, but the man stomped on her face and broke her jaw to silence her. Azraea’s stomach churned, and she thought about what she’d said to the king’s ghost. She was responsible for everyone, just because she was here.

She clenched her fists and marched towards the fracas. Some of the people lying on the ground saw her coming, but every one of the thugs had their backs turned to her. She had an advantage in that, but she’d have to be fast. Take out the professionals, first. That’s what Kaira would do.

Azraea walked behind one of the armored men, dropped her blade into her hand, and ducked as she passed behind him to slash the unprotected ligaments behind his knees. She’d seen enough corpses to know what that would do. He screamed and toppled to the ground, his armor clattering against the cobblestone. The ruckus grabbed everyone’s attention. The second armored man turned to see Azraea, but she was already in his face – literally. His armor and padding protected him well from the front, but off-brand rent-a-cops like these didn’t wear enclosed helmets. Azraea grabbed his face with her free hand and cast the fireball spell she’d been relentlessly practicing since they left Defiance. He screamed and started to fight back, but his brain cooked quickly as the temperature in his skull climbed. He was effectively dead well before his head burst into flames.

Azraea grabbed the burning guard’s sword as she casually allowed his body to fall aside. The man who’d been beating the pregnant woman had stopped, and now stared back at her in terror – it was ‘Jake,’ her attacker from the marketplace. His two friends came running out of the coffee shop and were baffled by the situation. One of their backup team was flopping on the ground screaming like a tortured mermaid, and the other one was face down on the cobblestone, burning like an overturned candle.

When they registered that Azraea was their opponent, they charged forward. One of the people on the ground, a very tall dark-haired man shot his long legs out and tangled them around the feet of one of the thugs. The second guard was distracted for an instant, which was enough for Azraea to light his ridiculous sash on fire with a thrown fireball. He dropped his club and tried to get the sash off, but the fire spread quickly to the rest of his clothes. He began to panic and thrash about wildly, but running on adrenaline, Azraea hefted the sword in her hand and skewered the man with it. It wasn’t a graceful move, given she had absolutely no training with the weapon, but it was enough.

Azraea twisted the blade, and pulled it away as his body dropped to the side and continued burning. She started another fire spell, but this time she started it in the tang of the sword she held and moved it up the blade, focusing the heat there. The other man finally got up from the ground and away from his prisoner, and ran towards Azraea. Her blade glowed red hot as the fire spell reached full power, and the blood on the blade burst into flames. Azraea swung the blade up at the man as he got in arm’s length of her and sliced through his left hip and up into his gut with a smoking sizzle. He screamed, and rather than attack her he instinctively dropped his club and grabbed for the sword, trying to prevent her from doing more damage. It was too late for him, though, in a matter of heartbeats, he was dead where he stood. She let him fall to the ground with the sword still in him, and ignited a green fireball in each hand.

Jake started backing away, “Who… who are you?”

“A woman who’s showing you mercy,” Azraea said, “Don’t squander the opportunity.” Jake dropped his club and ran, shrieking.

The dark haired man had gotten back up onto his knees despite his wrists being bound and watched the man run away. He turned back to Azraea as she snuffed out her fire spells.

“I don’t suppose you’re also a woman who unties knots?” he asked in a deep voice.

Azraea tried not to laugh as she picked up her razor sharp little knife and flicked the blood off the blade, “Thanks for the help there.”

“Oh, no thanks necessary,” he said, “You’re not exactly a damsel in distress.”

Azraea smiled, “Don’t move.” She cut the ropes off the man’s wrists, and he helped her free the others, starting with the pregnant woman.

“Why did they come here?” She asked, “Did you do something?”

The tall man picked up the woman with the broken jaw, who was trying not to cry from the pain, “She ran into my shop to get away from the mob last night,” he said, “so I let her sleep on one of the couches rather than send her back out. Apparently, she’s an enemy of the state.”

The woman tried to talk, and made a sound like it was an apology. She broke into tears.

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, “You didn’t smash your way into my shop with a weapon drawn. We need to get you to a doctor.”

“I know where we can get her a healing potion,” a balding man said, “but we’ll need to find someone to set the bone. Follow me, son.”

Another one of the customers went with them and most others simply scrambled to get away from the scene of the violence, but one man, an elf, stopped to talk to Azraea.

“You, you’re a hero,” the blonde man said, “Thank you, thank you! I promise you, me and my friends, we won’t forget this!” The elf took off running.

Azraea smiled. That felt good. But she’d like to avoid going into a fight like that alone in the future. She’d have to ask Vinny if he wanted to go out and play hero with her tonight.

Chapter 8 (Part III): Regicide

Syliva lifted her head high to catch the breeze over the castle wall, “You know, sometimes it makes me sad that your senses are so much less developed than my own,” she said to What’s-her-name.

“Madam?” the young woman was confused by the deviation.

“What’s art to you people? Painting, yes? Yes, painting. I can smell the anger of your fellow people scurrying about below us,” she said as she flicked a tongue into the breeze, “But you didn’t even know that emotions have a smell, did you? Imagine being the world’s most fantastic painter, but everyone around you is color blind.”

“That would be tragic, ma’am,” What’s-her-name said.

“Hm. Yes, it’s true, only I can truly appreciate my own work. It’s sad,” Syliva suddenly returned to the topic at hand, “The king’s fate is sealed. Even my enemies want him removed from the throne. A plan I had originally expected to take months, has come together in a matter of days.”

“Truly an astounding feat, ma’am.”

“Yes, yes it is. I’ve been chief counselor to the king for no more than a week, and I’m already in position to take the next step,” she hissed, “outright challenging Hylas’s supposed sovereignty.”

“Perhaps it would be wise to wait?” What’s-her-name tentatively said.

“WAIT?!”

“Well… I mean… you’re … well, you’re going to be around a long time, so why rush, right? Why not just let things unfold naturally and just sort of… slide into the crown when the opportunity presents itself?”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Syliva rolled her eyes, the nictitating membranes sliding across them in a patronizing expression unique to her kind.

“It’s an interesting suggestion,” Baryd said objectively, “But probably not wise. If we look at this as a long term thing, I have to be honest: I see a lot of growth potential for the Neo-Monarchists. Allowed to continue, I’m sure the country will end up being polarized between them and the Nationalists.”

“Ma’am, many Nationalists are favorable towards you, and their opposition increasingly believes themselves to be in the minority,” What’s-her-name said, “But you don’t fit the demographic qualities that most Nationalists are looking for in a new leader, if you act now, someone else may well be put on the throne, and that person will be harder to remove than Hylas.”
Baryd looked annoyed at the woman but she had a good point. "What exactly do the Nationalists want at this point?” Syliva asked.

“In short…? An uneducated white human male who has pulled himself up by his bootstraps and somehow made large sums of tax-free money through hard work and unwavering devotion to his god and country. And preferably, specifically to the god Golon.”

“Baryd…” Syliva hissed, “I asked you to make the Nationalists love me.”

“I did!” Baryd said, “They do!”

“Then why does their ideal leader sound MUCH MORE LIKE YOU THAN LIKE ME?”

Baryd, usually cool as stone, now seemed somewhat concerned, “It’s a process. Look, you don't want to look like the obvious choice from the get-go, it'll make it too obvious you've been aiming for the throne. And yeah, the Nationalists say they want someone who looks like me, but that's not really what they care about. What they care about is bringing an end to what they see as a corrupt regime, and in that context, we've made you a political outsider. You’re too wealthy to be bought and too dangerous to be threatened. True, you’re both physically and morally a monster by most peoples’ standards, but we've made sure your supporters see you as sort of a… antihero. No, you're not a white human male, but your also not a dwarf woman or an Arbarii man. And no one expects to get everything they want - they ask for a lot and settle for a little. So we give them you. You might not be the ruler they think they deserve right now, but you'll be the one they need."
"I feel like there was an insult buried in there somewhere, but I appreciate your subtlety enough to let it slide, Mikhail. What I gather from this, though, is that I am chiefly supported by the most pliable and easily led group of people in the kingdom."
"Well I wouldn't tell them that, ma'am..." What's-her-name said.
"No, indeed not. But the reality is that many of my followers are weak-willed simpletons. Their support could disappear more easily than it has been won. The ‘moderate’ Nationalists could easily turn against me – maybe join the Monarchists if they dig up some bastard descendant of Caelus that meets their criteria, or the Neo-Monarchists if they redefine their goals. My least enthusiastic supporters now could easily become my enemies down the road.”
"Strike while the iron is hot, ay?" Baryd said, "Probably the wise course, especially given our other development..."
"What 'other development'?"

What’s-her-name hesitantly brought out an unfamiliar document, saying that it probably wasn’t something to be concerned about, but that it might be worth checking into. What was immediately obvious was the letterhead of the underground paper that had been published at the university before Syliva razed it to the ground. That irritated her right away, but the large sheet of paper was too small and delicate for the dragon to hold, so she knocked the woman to the ground, and put one of her fore-claws down on the paper to hold it in place while she examined it closely with one eye.

It was a small poster - or large handbill, depending on your standards - which told the tale of a brave orc warrior who’d taken over leadership of the town of Defiance far to the East, and was threatening secession from the kingdom if Syliva was not brought to justice. The story detailed how the town had been despotically ruled by the orc’s father, a man so cruel and vile he’d imprisoned his own son when he stood up for the people of the town. It explained that the orc’s father had only attained and kept that power under Syliva’s protection, and that the orc now held her personally responsible for the misery that had been heaped upon his town for years.

“Well, that explains why Tharkrada’s payment is late,” Syliva said dryly, “How many other payors are delinquent in the east?”

What’s-her-name got back to her feet, “Many. All of them are at least a day late. The Kerwyns missed their payment and they’ve been on time every time since I started working for you.”

“That’s problematic.”

“Ah, you can knock them in line,” Baryd said.

“I can’t burn a third of the country,” Syliva said, “Where did this come from?”

“The fliers are everywhere, ma’am,” the aide said, “Some have even turned up outside of the city.”

“Who is printing them?”

“Well, anyone could have reproduced the university letterhead, but there was an odd bit of business with one of your heralds. One of the printers that contracted with Broad Beard Press reported that a lot of his materials just went missing, but when the guard investigated, they found evidence he’d been involved in some shady business.”

“And where is he now?”

“He fled the city days ago, ma’am. The guards have been searching for him, but haven’t found any trace. He was last seen headed south.”

“I see.” This “Thrakaduhl” the pamphlet was making out to be some folk hero was problematic.

Baryd saw the same problem as well, “He would be a perfect rallying figure for the Neo-Monarchists, and might inspire many of the Monarchists to abandon their search for a blood relation.”

“He is an orc, though,” What’s-her-name said, “would people accept an orc as their ruler?”

“Orcs aren’t immigrants,” Syliva said, “No more than elves are, anyway. The orcs and elves had already taken this land away from the dwarves before Caelus IV’s ancestor raised an army – in large part consisting of freed orcs – and conquered it from them.”

“I didn’t know that, ma’am,” What’s-her-name said, “did you… were you there?”

“In a way,” Syliva paced, her tail writhing with agitation, “Some people even claimed Caelus I’s father was an orc. The point is, orcs are quite unlike elves, or dwarves, or halflings. As far as many of your kind are concerned, an orc ranks higher than most colors of human.”

“Orcs historically have bad blood with the Gnomans, too,” Baryd said, “Given the narrative we’ve built around Gnoman involvement in the alchemists’ conspiracy that could be an asset to him. Plus… humble rural background and rebellious image, from a town called 'Defiance' no less?”

“He’s a good fit for the Nationalists’ ideals, even,” Syliva said, “he’s a better fit than me anyway. I need to eliminate him as competition.”

“Can you just… fly across the country and… you know,” Baryd said, “Discretely ‘off’ him?”

“On a dark night, if I use the clouds and smoke to my advantage, I can burn down a town without being seen clearly – or a university as the case may be – but that doesn’t seem like it would go over well right now.”

“Could you just track him down and eat him? You know, personally?” Baryd asked.

“Not having ever smelled him before, no. And that seems like it would go over worse than burning his home to the ground.”

What was it the girl in the market had said? I can’t get away with murdering him, Syliva thought, I need to execute him.

“The conclusion is clear; I need to make my move for the throne now, to try and gain the Nationalists’ complete support while I can, and then solidify my hold by legally moving against the Neo-Monarchists and any others who stand in my way.”

Syliva didn’t wait for Baryd or What’s-her-name to offer any more opinions. She clambered to the top of the castle and launched off the edge like an alligator sliding off a river bank. Her wings flapped twice to wheel her around in the air and she glided down to the mob gathered down the road. Ordinarily, this was the nicest part of town, the last buildings before the road began its winding path up from the city to the castle. Here, many of Caelia's wealthiest families had small homes built on lavish estates maintained by the city's few notable land-owners. They used the homes seasonally for visits to the city, or sent their children to stay in them while attending the university, and a small economy of shops and businesses had sprung up in the intermingled streets to cater to them. The crowd now filled those streets like water in a river, surrounding the largest estate - the King's manor - like an island. The tide of human protesters was held back by a ten foot wrought iron fence capped with spikes. A number of the king’s personal guards were stationed in the mansion’s courtyard, thrusting pikes through the iron bars. This line of defense was now all that held back a crowd that was now throwing bottles and rocks while chanting, calling for the king’s arrest.
Syliva landed on top of the buildings directly across from the mansion's courtyard, and roared dramatically, spreading her wings and releasing a cloud of fire into the air. The crowd fell silent and all eyes turned to her. 
Excellent, she thought. The iron was hot, and the time to strike was certainly now.

“My people,” Syliva thundered, “You have been wronged! You have invested your lives in this kingdom, and you have been betrayed!” The crowd remained quiet, people barely breathing, possibly trying to decide whether to run away from her. “I have worked desperately to do my part to restore this economy and to protect you from the threat of foreign conspiracy, but at every turn I have been thwarted by those who are friends of the throne and enemies of the people! My farmers labor to bring you affordable food, but deviants in our country would rather burn their own crops than see your children fed! My private security forces risk their lives to keep the roads and towns of our kingdom safe and secure while the highway guard spend your tax money in inns and brothels. And now, one of my closest friends, the orc chieftain Tharkrada, who’d wisely governed and valiantly protected the town of Defiance for decades, has been murdered and defamed by agents of a foreign power bent on looting our country, enslaving our children, and eradicating our way of life! The same foreign power that corrupted the once noble college that sat at the center of this very town, the soul of this town, and turned the men and women there against the common people they should have served!” 
The Nationalists had begun screaming in anger; not at Sylvia, but rather, with her.

“I have said too little for too long,” Syliva said, “I have witnessed injustice and suffered it silently, but no more! I have waited for the king to change, but now I say, we must change the king!” The Nationalists cheered angrily. Syliva had told them what they wanted to hear, and now she’d give them what they really wanted, something no man or orc could give them as well as she could; brutal, horrifying violence.

Syliva reached forward with her wings and pushed back the crowd so that she could hop down to the road without crushing anyone.

“Brothers! Sisters!” Syliva shouted, “We are born of different blood, but tonight, if it be necessary, we bleed together!” Syliva roared as terrifyingly as possible, and then marched towards the gate, the crowd parting before her. When Syliva casually spat fire, it came out as a stream of burning, sticky fluid. It was deadly, but the agonized screams and smell of cooking meat might shock this crowd out of their present furor, and this occasion did call for something with more flare. 
Syliva decided to show what she was truly capable of. She took several huffs of air as quickly as possible, oxygenating the potent bile in her gullet, and then unleashed it as a narrow jet of blue white flame. She flapped her wings, fanning the burning lance with gale force wind. The air before her ignited, the entire area between her and the gate burning hotter than any blast furnace. The wrought iron gates glowed red, then white hot and began to sag. The guards behind the gates didn't have time to scream as they boiled inside their armor. Fluids bursting from the seams in the white hot metal and ignited as little jets of flame. Their melted armor folded under its own weight, collapsing into a heap of slag metal, swirled with burning blood and crumbling bones.
Syliva charged forward and smashed into the sagging gates, throwing bent rods of red hot metal into the courtyard that started small fires in the gardens around the mansion. The surviving guards ran about in a panic, completely confused by this turn of events and desperately trying to figure out where to escape to. Syliva thought it might do her ‘people’ some good to feel involved, though and began grabbing the guards and tossing them back into the mob.

“Punish them!” she shouted, “Punish the traitors that protect their false king!” The mob swallowed the men in heaves of violence.

“STOP!” a man shouted from the mansion’s upper balcony. King Hylas, still in his night clothing, had come to beg, quite a reversal from his posturing in the House of Lords. “Please! Do not harm these men! They are not traitors! They are pulled from the ranks of the cityguard; they are just ordinary men, like all of you!” Hylas shouted to the mob, but it was too late – the guards bodies were being lashed to the wrought iron fences, one by one, and people were clearing away from them. Syliva chuckled as she got the idea - evidently the crowd was even more blood thirsty than she'd imagined. One by one, she carefully spat gobs of flame at the strung up guards, lighting them on fire. The men screamed in terror as their flesh cracked and the fat oozed from their bodies.

Hylas, horrified by the sight, turned to run but Syliva caught him with her long scaly tail and lifted him off the balcony, holding the squirming, struggling little man over the rioting crowd that begged her to drop him. Syliva was about to do so when a new wave of chanting broke out. People had been shouting, “End the king! End the king!” but now they’d begun shouting, “End the king! End the line!”

“No, no!” Hylas begged, “Please no!”

Syliva smiled and turned back to the mansion. She aimed low and released a steady stream of fire at the lowest level, strafing slowly from one side of the building to the other. Hot gas burst through the windows and doors of the first floor, igniting carpet and wood. A dozen screams came from the house as the fire worked its way up.  

Syliva tossed the weeping man at the feet of the raging crowd. “End the line!” She roared. The crowd surged forward and grabbed the man, dragging him to his doom.

Chapter 8 (Part II): Review

If the general rhetoric that dominated social clubs and public spaces favored by the Nationalists was any indication, the people of Caelia suddenly expected King Hylas to be a paragon of virtue, descended from a legacy of the same. Syliva's allegations were treated as much more startling than they should have been, and became a talking point anytime she was criticized by the Nationalists' opposition. When people pointed out that she had stolen most of the kingdom's wealth and murdered thousands of people when she arrived two thousand years ago, her supporters would simply ask, "What about Flaedin's betrayal?" or "what about" any number of scandals that were entirely unrelated to Syliva's faults. Pragmatic voices like Vaerla's were generally ignored.

The Vulpine Post ensured the information about Hylas's family spread everywhere while glossing over Syliva’s own involvement in all of it. Broad Beard Press picked up and ‘reported’ on every ridiculous rumor that got started on the city streets, claiming that Hylas's family had been involved in things like sex trafficking, and had a secret police force silencing any whistle blowers (except Syliva, obviously, who was too powerful to be silenced by the king’s "henchmen"). Both heralds most persistently advanced the idea that King Hylas was in the pocket of the Gnoman Empire, even printing letters to the editor that suggested Hylas was actually born in the Gnoman Empire, with the Broad Beard’s writers going so far as to claim that Hylas was a Gnoman himself, somehow passing as a human. One contributor even claimed he wasn’t passing that convincingly – the king simply used forced perspective and custom made furniture to appear larger when in public.

Despite the absurdity of some of the claims, the xenophobic and anti-intellectual Nationalists turned against Syliva's final target. First they had haraseed the students and faculty at the university, then the ethnic minorities within the city, followed by the upper middle and upper class residents of Kingstown. Now, finally, they turned on the government itself. A massive crowd was gathered outside the king’s manor, while just up the road, on the walls of the castle, Syliva conferred with her favorite minion, Baryd. 

"Although your supporters only constitute a portion of the Nationalist Party, I’ve back-channeled with many of the movers-and-shakers among the Nationalists as you asked me to, and convinced them that they should be concerned about maintaining group cohesion, and that they should start supporting you lest they be usurped by your followers.”

“And that’s working? I have enough followers for them to take me seriously now?”

"Well," Baryd pressed his hands together, pleased with himself, “thanks to yours truly and the support of your heralds, I think we pretty thoroughly convinced everyone opposed to your supporters that they are in the minority at this point.”

“Really?” Syliva looked to What’s-her-name for confirmation.

“It’s true, ma’am. We polled in the streets yesterday asking people their leanings, and people’s actual leanings are very different from how they estimate their neighbor’s political leanings. Across the board, people overestimate the prevalence of extreme Nationalists in the city by twelve percent or more. We think it's reasonable to assume the disparity is much greater outside the city.”

“Your supporters are very vocal,” Baryd said, “They’re very good at making themselves appear more numerous than they are, and The Vulpine Post is very good at inflating those numbers further.”

“Oh, that must be demoralizing…” Syliva smiled.

“Without The Kingston Herald around to provide any resistance to the idea, it might even be enough to effectively silence your opponents,” Baryd said, “At least for a while. Having the support of the people might be less important right now than having the people believe you have their support." 

"Still, if I'd wanted a cult-following, I would have started a cult. I need enough supporters to overthrow a centuries old monarchy. I can't do that with support from... what? Three percent of the people?"

"It's a process. The Nationalist leaders in the House of Lords will say nice things about you to hang onto your followers, and that persuades other Nationalists to… you know, not hate you. The final challenge is transforming that absence of antipathy into genuine support for what you plan to do. We'll need to broaden your appeal beyond the extreme hard-liners among the Nationalists. The hard-liners want to see the whole system torn down, which works well enough for you, but most Nationalists are more moderate. They don't want the monarchy destroyed, they just want Caelia’s king replaced with someone outside of the royal line,” Baryd explained, "We just need to convince them that you are that person, and that if some people have to die, it's just a matter of omelettes and eggs." 

“Persuading your 'moderates' to support that seems like a considerable challenge,” Syliva said skeptically. Regime changes among the soft-skinned primates were often effected the same way they were among sabretooth prides, terror bird murders, or firecat hives. The ruler was struck down, and all of his or her potential heirs - be they cubs, hatchlings, pups, or children - were put to death. Syliva's impression from talking to What's-her-name was that most of the kingdom's people lacked the ruthlessness for that.

“Oh, it's always easier to convince a moderate person to suffer extremism, than to convince an extremist to accept moderacy. Few people hold a moderate position on anything because they've weighed the options and found the middle of the road the best choice; most just lack the spine to take a side, and those people will ultimately follow the herd whichever direction it shifts."

"If that's true, it seems that madam would be currying favor with a fickle base." 

Syliva was surprised that What's-her-name had interrupted Baryd, but she did agree with her, "I need more than passive spectators who will drift with the wind, Mikhail. At least for the time being. Once I've secured ownership of the King's lands, it will matter little, but to do that, I need support."

Baryd defended his plan, "It may not be possible to persuade the moderate Nationalists to support a coup before the fact, but I guarantee you they will support it afterwards."

"How?"

"Ever heard the phrase, 'in for a penny, in for a pound'?" Baryd asked, "People like to be consistent. It gives themselves a sense of internal coherency. A person needs to feel like they have principles, drives, and believe that they follow those drives, or else their identity unravels. Conflict between attitudes and actions become insufferable, and people will do whatever they have to to resolve that sort of dissonance."

"Mikhail, I remain unclear about the answer to my problem, and find my time - my very, valuable time - slipping away as you speak.

"Commitment and consistency," Baryd explained, "Right now the weak voices among the Nationalists are allowing the more extreme members to do as they please. The Broad Beard's latest initiative has been reinforcing the idea that silence is support. We're telling the extremists, the hard-liners that the silence of the majority of their party represents their endorsement, encouraging them to keep at it, while convincing those who've been silent that, if they haven't been willing to stand up and speak out against the rest of their fellows by now, then they must be all for it. The Broad Beard came up with a catchphrase, ‘Fresh blood on the throne, one way or another.’"

Syliva chuckled; Baryd’s approach to marketing was delightfully morbid. "Amusing, but how does that help?" she asked. 

"Our repeated use of that phrase has been preparing people for the grimmest possible outcome. When it all, inevitably, comes to that point, most people won't be able to say they didn't know what they were in for, and they'll have to support it after the fact to be consistent with their silent commitment before." 

"This is more of your bardic magic, isn't it?"

"Actually, it's called psychology..." Baryd said.

"Same thing: hocus pocus," Syliva said. She swung her massive head around to look at What's-her-name, "How close are we to finishing this? How many people would be upset if the king died?"

What's-her-name shifted uncomfortably, as if she didn't want to answer the question. Syliva glared at her until the woman started talking, “Well, the truth is... King Hylas doesn’t have many supporters anymore, ma’am. While the people of Kingstown are clearly divided on the issue, they have little impact on the House of Lords so, as you've said before, they don't really matter. The dwarven cities continue to be relatively uninterested in most of the kingdom's political matters. And many of the Lords and representatives from the countryside have swung vocally against King Hylas. As you know, the primary opposition to the Nationalists was coming from the Monarchists, Caelians devoutly loyal to the crown, but among the politically active public, most of those who initially opposed the Nationalists, have now withdrawn their support for King Hylas.”

“So the monarchists no longer support their monarch?” Syliva smiled.

“No ma’am. Based on your testimony before the House of Lords, the leaders of the Monarchists have formally disavowed King Hylas’s legitimacy.”

“I assume they're unlikely to shift their support to me, though?”

“No ma'am. They want to restore the rightful bloodline to the throne," the small woman explained, "to find a descendant of Caelus IV to replace Hylas.”

“Well, that doesn’t help me much, does it?”

“The important part is they won’t be supporting Hylas,” Baryd said, "They may not be putting a knife in your hands, but they certainly aren't tying them any longer." 

"But," What's-her-name said, "There are still the Neo-Monarchists to be concerned with.”

“Neo…?" Syliva looked irritated, "Where are these groups coming from?!”

Baryd waved a hand as if it was nothing to be concerned with, “They’ve all been around a long time; they just didn’t start giving themselves names until we made the Nationalists into a legitimate political party. Now they think they’re all legitimate.”

“Well what do these 'Neo-Monarchists' want?”

“Your death, ma'am,” What's-her-name said bluntly.

“A lot of people want that,” Syliva said, “That’s hardly a basis for a group identity, is it?”

“Well, they formally want you dead as a matter of policy," Baryd said, "Like the Nationalists they want to replace Hylas with someone from outside the bloodline, but they’re looking for a spiritual successor to Caelus IV – and basically, whoever kills you gets the job.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Syliva commented with slight aggravation.

“You can’t argue that they don’t have high expectations, though,” Baryd said.

Syliva glared at Baryd’s irreverence, and what’s-her-name tried to ease the tension, “If they want someone like Caelus IV, it should be someone that madam has killed, shouldn’t it? Maybe they should get a necromancer to dig up a spiritual successor, right?”

Syliva looked at the small woman with an oddly unsettled glance.

“Well, I mean not really... obviously," the woman stammered nervously, "I was just joking. But I mean, you killed Caelus, not the other way around. Getting killed by you is his legacy, so someone who’s really like him in the ways that count should be dead." The woman laughed nervously, trying to explain the points of her convoluted attempt at humor, "I mean… satirically... right?”

Baryd ignored the woman's anxious babbling and eyed Syliva's reaction suspiciously, “You did kill Caelus IV, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“Your tongue flicked across your left nostril when she mentioned it,” Baryd said, “It’s one of your tells.”

“Tells?” Syliva said, “I don’t have tells.”

Baryd looked slightly annoyed by his employer’s uncooperativeness, “I mean ‘tell’ in the sense that it’s… it’s a little thing you do whenever you want to subtly invite someone to ask you more about yourself.”

Syliva tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at Baryd's weak attempt at diplomacy, “If that’s the best you’ve got I’m working you too hard, Mikhail.”

“Oh come on!” Baryd smiled, “I know there’s a story here you want to tell! Maybe we can use it somehow!”

“I don’t see how you possibly could,” Syliva examined her claws.

“You hired me to see opportunities where you don’t – at least tell me.”

Syliva glared at What’s-her-name, “Do I need to spend five minutes threatening you or do you understand the consequences of indiscretion?”

“No ma’am, I understand. I won’t say a word.”

“Very well. The truth is that I did kill Caelus IV. And as far as I know he is still dead.”

“There’s a margin of error there?” Baryd was honestly surprised, “I assumed you… ate him.”

“When Caelus and his knights confronted me in my castle I killed them all. Eleven men and two women, all killed inside the castle. I didn’t eat them, because I thought the corpses might somehow make for a nice display at some point. I mean, it didn’t work out. Most of the bodies were burned beyond recognition anyway, and by the time I found a taxidermist willing to assemble and preserve the pieces of the knights that I dismembered, they were long past saving. I had to settle for having their armors mounted for display. Well, that and a nice ivory necklace I had made for myself.”

“But?”

“But I curled up and went to sleep, as one does after killing a dozen or so of you people, and when I woke up, one of the corpses was missing.”

“Missing? As in it just walked off while you were asleep?”

“I don’t know Baryd. I was asleep.”

“Was it Caelus’s corpse?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t really tell them apart before I ripped them apart and lit them on fire, and it was certainly more difficult afterwards.”

“So…" Baryd struggled to process this new insight into Caelian history, "Are you saying there’s a one in thirteen chance that Caelus IV is wandering the depths of the castle as a member of the vengeful undead?”

Syliva shrugged, “I thought I’d killed him once before in an earlier battle, but somehow he popped up again. That was likely just an oversight on my part, and the missing corpse is likely of no consequence at all. I do roll around in my sleep sometimes, so it’s entirely possible the missing body is just smeared under part of the treasure hoard.”

“Well I imagine there would have been a smell if you’d just lost the body…”

“There are always smells,” Syliva said, “It’s not as if I’ve ever had the throne room fumigated.”

“I could arrange that ma’am…” What’s-her-name said hopefully.

Syliva glared at her, “I like it the way it is.”

“Right, well, let’s not run that as a story right now,” Baryd nodded. 

Chapter 8 (Part I): Rhetoric

{I'm fighting a lot of deadlines right now, and had some major rewrites for this part of the book, so I apologize if the copy editing this week is a bit dodgy.}

Do you know why dragons like to kill things with fire? It ain’t because they like their food cooked – most of them eat their meat raw. They do it because it takes longer, it hurts more. A full grown dragon can snap a man like a twig, crush him like an egg, or pop him like a grape. A dragon has about a half dozen different ways to kill a man instantly. A dragon’s fire though, it’s not fast, not usually. Magisters will tell you, a man stops feeling pain after his skin crumbles off, before the fat starts melting and running out of him. They’ll tell you the heat or the lack of oxygen will incapacitate him before that happens. But I’ve heard men scream as they burned alive, and I tell you, they scream until their head comes off.

-          Anonymous; from an unpublished letter to the editor of The Vulpine Post

While Kaira and Thrakaduhl were taking up arms in the countryside, Syliva had thrown things for a loop in Kingstown. Power in the House of Lords was based on land ownership, with the monarchy holding the largest single share, followed by some companies and old families of elves, Syliva, and then the dwarven cities, which owned a portion of the land above their underground cities. Although Syliva did not directly hold the most power in the House of Lords, she owned, controlled, or held significant influence over multiple land owning companies, giving her a significant amount of indirect influence on the House. Seizing control of the ruling family's assets would give her enough land to effectively control the House of Lords, but until then she needed to gain the favor of the countless representatives elected to the House by Caelians who owned too little property to get a seat in the House. A representative's individual influence was pitiful, but collectively the elected members of the House held significant power. For many of these individuals, swaying them meant swaying a significant portion of the landowners who elected them. That had been the point of co-opting and redesigning the Nationalist movement - voters had a cohesive group identity to latch onto, and Syliva's heralds had given her significant influence over that group.

Emboldened by support from the Nationalists, Syliva decided to accelerate her plans considerably, and convened a special meeting of the House of Lords, attended by every herald (except The Kingstown Herald, which had been formally disbanded).  

The House of Lords had originally operated entirely within a large state building in the south end of Kingstown. Being too small for someone Syliva's size to enter, about two decades ago she had persuaded the House to relocate its proceedings to an outdoor amphitheater on land she owned north of Kingstown. Even back then, it had won her some favor with the rural Caelians, who saw it as a move to "free Caelia's government from the shackles of urban interests." 

Syliva had had the amphitheater altered to remove a large portion of the seating on the north end in favor of a large platform for her to lounge upon, directly opposite the box of seats reserved for the king and his retinue on the south side of the amphitheater. Ostensibly, it had simply been a matter of necessity, but Syliva had always intended for it to convey a message of power. It emphasized her physical power, and set her apart from the representatives and lords seated on the other side of the structure. It also meant that everyone making a presentation before the House had to choose between addressing her and addressing the king, and few people had the nerve to perform oratory with their back to a dragon.

But now she was the one speaking before the House, and with heralds and a surprisingly large number of spectators filling ordinarily vacant seats, she was almost entirely encircled by the chattering bipeds. Syliva feared very little, but she was grateful that her own seat left an empty space behind her, as the high walls filled with small, swarming people prodded an instinctive dread. Another dragon had fallen centuries ago in a Gnoman amphitheater very similar to this one. Syliva always took him for a fool walking into a trap like that, but now here she was, braving a very similar situation. 

The worm of uncertainty was the weakest of parasites in Syliva's rotten mind though, far eclipsed by her ambition and self-importance. She reared up on her back legs and spoke without betraying a hint of hesitation or concern.

"Esteemed Lords and Honored Representatives of Caelia, thank you for making time for this special session. I am glad to see so many were able to attend on such short notice; it's a testament to the dedication of this body to the welfare of Caelia. I am also glad to see so many citizens in attendance today, taking an active interest in their country's government - in spite of this infernal heat!" 
Syliva actually enjoyed Caelia's warm and humid summers, but What's-her-name had said the sentiment would 'humanize' her. The spectators laughed, and Syliva flapped her wings gently to create a slight breeze for them, soliciting some sighs of relief and light applause.

Syliva shifted her tone from ingratiating to world-weary, "Unfortunately, what I have to say today will likely be difficult for many to hear. When I first immigrated to Caelia two hundred years ago, I arrived in a kingdom beset with problems. Many remember Caelus IV fondly, and while I still have a great deal of respect for the rapport he had with his people, the truth is Caelia was on a bad path. As you know, Caelus IV's ancestors liberated this land from elf conquerors from the other side of the world, yet Caelus IV betrayed the commitment Caelia's forefathers made to the kingdom's independence. He opened Caelia's borders to the Arbarii - also from the other side of the world - and entertained negotiations with the Gnoman Empire. Why would he do such a thing? The reality is that Caelus IV had no investment in his kingdom's future - at nearly four decades old, he'd produced no heirs. Caelus IV was interested only in the present, in what would make people happy in the moment. A ruler needs to do more than that, though - they need to be a custodian of their people's future, to do what is best for them in the long run, even when it's not easy."

Syliva paused as if she were still composing the already carefully rehearsed words. 

"When I arrived in Caelia, I thought that Caelus IV's cousin, Flaedin had the right mindset. He was a family man, even tempered, and I thought - as many did - that he valued Caelia's traditions. That is why I became complicit in his plans to depose Caelus IV."

The background whispering and murmuring of the gathered crowd was replaced with a dissonant cacophony of reactions, ranging from gasps of shock to grunts of skepticism.

"Two centuries ago," Syliva began her story, "I was summoned to Caelia by certain concerned citizens - many of them members of this same body at that time. They told me their ruler was unstable and directionless, and they reasonably persuaded me that the best course of action was to see the crown passed to someone better suited. Of course, Caelus didn't see it that way, and raised the full force of Caelia's army to oppose us. Not wishing to see my friends spend their blood needlessly, I engaged his army alone - one against thousands. Many Caelian soldiers died defending Caelus IV's power hungry grip on the crown. Fortunately, I secured enough victories in quick succession that many of the king's supporters abandoned his cause, making the death toll of the civil war far less than it might have been had Caelus IV been opposed by any conventional military force. With Caelia liberated, I left it to the House of Lords to determine Caelia's future. Having no personal grudge against the former king, I left it to the House to see him brought to justice. Some of the lords worried that he would flee to one of his allies, and turn up again later with a Gnoman army at his back. They said it was inevitable. But even if it were, I never doubted that I would be able to protect Caelia from such an invasion. Confident the former king posed no threat, I personally thought it best Caelus IV be allowed to flee. I hoped that he might live out the remainder of his days peacefully in some Gnoman port."

The crowd had gone largely quiet. Some of the elves knew the truth, of course, having been present for the events themselves, but most people were generations removed from the events, and were taken by Syliva's seemingly candid revelations about her involvement in Caelus IV's overthrow.

"Sadly, my hopes were dashed when Caelus IV and a band of his most devoted supporters - fanatics and cronies - snuck into my castle and attempted to assassinate me. I woke with a spear point pressed to my chest, Caelus himself preparing to plunge it through my heart. I only narrowly evaded death - and I certainly didn't escape unscathed - but in the end I overcame Caelus, and made certain he would never threaten the security and prosperity of the kingdom again."

"As you all know, it was King Hylas's ancestor, and Caelus IV's cousin Flaedin I, who was chosen to succeed him. I thought he was a good man who would be a good king. He was an even-tempered family man, much like King Hylas, who understood the importance of keeping Caelia close to its roots, honoring the traditions and values embraced by the kingdom's forefathers.

"I eventually came to learn, however, that Flaedin had not been chosen to rule for those qualities, but rather for his ruthlessness. He made a deal with certain contemporary members of this body to kill his cousin and prevent any future challenges to the throne. Rather than face his cousin directly, Flaedin led Caelus through a secret entrance to the castle, and sent him to confront me. It was, I'm sure, a sure-win for him. Either Caelus would die, and the House of Lords would appoint Flaedin successor and inheritor of the king's lands, or I would die, and Caelus would have been indebted to his cousin for the rest of his life. Likely, Flaedin hoped we would both die."

Syliva's speech was finally interrupted by Hylas himself who stood from his small throne and shouted, "That's not how it happened! That's not at all how it happened!"

"Which you know how? Because that's not what your grandfather told you?" Syliva looked at the crowd as if the foolishness of his protest was a foregone conclusion.

An older man with a ruddy complexion and a fat nose stood up and raised his hand, gesturing to be recognized. Hylas was still fuming, but as head of the House of Lords he couldn't ignore the polite request to speak. "The House recognizes Tyweis Shandon, Acting Lord of Agricoal." 

Corporations were represented in the House of Lords by 'acting lords' in much the same way small scale landowners were represented by elected individuals. However, given the vast holdings of many of Caelia's corporations, they controlled considerably more votes than any of the elected representatives. Being a farming company, Agricoal owned more land than any other company, giving Shandon a considerable amount of clout in the House. Fortunately, Syliva was the one who'd pushed Agricoal's board to appoint him as an acting lord.

"Whose account should these people trust?" Shandon said, "Everything King Hylas knows was learned third or fourth hand, from men who would have been reasonably motivated to defend the legitimacy of their titles. What Lady Syliva knows is what she experienced. She was there, she knows better than anyone what really happened."

There were many nods of agreement and shrugs of 'well maybe'. An ornately dressed elf woman stood up without asking for recognition and simply stated, "Perhaps we should hear Hylas's version of the events, and then decide whether its credible."

Shandon could have complained about being interrupted, but thought that might end up with the elf being given the floor formally. Better to keep his momentum and run with it.

"Of course, Vaerla's right," Shandon used the woman's first name as if they were friends, a deliberate slight against the elf. "We should find out what King Hylas knows. Motion to cross examine the head of the House?"

"What?" Hylas looked at the man like he was crazy.

"Seconded," the acting lord of Hemocraft was a shrewd looking man with black-hair and pale-skin, "Another second will carry the motion."

One of the minor representatives, some smarmy official from east of Hermanelle backed the decision.

"Motion denied," Hylas said, "I will testify in full."

"It doesn't work that way," Syliva said, "Read the bylaws. Or don't you care about our constitution?" The dragon was silently amused. She hadn't read the bylaws, but What's-her-name had, and the small woman had helped her prepare for this eventuality. 

"Your majesty," Shandon said, "Is it true that your ancestor, Flaedin, was responsible for sending Caelus IV into Syliva's chambers?"

"Yes, that is true, but..."

"And is it not also true that Caelus IV entered her chambers with the intention of killing her?"

"Yes, but..."

"And isn't it true that, ultimately, Flaedin became king - and in fact, you yourself, are now king - only because of Flaedin's role in Caelus's death?"

"There's more to it than that!"

"Let the record show that Hylas's answers corroborate Lady Syliva's testimony."

"Motion to allow King Hylas to give his full account without questioning," Vaerla said.

"Motion accepted!" Hylas said.

"You're still under cross-examination," Shandon said to the king, "You can't accept a motion that ends it."

"Motion to end cross-examination," Vaerla said, clenching her fists.

"Seconded!" two of the representatives from the dwarven cities were keen to hear Hylas's version.

Shandon gritted his teeth, if he carried things too far, the crowd would sour, "The motion carries. Cross-examination ends, and I eagerly await the King's excuses for his family's decisions."

Hylas ignored the last jab, "Much of what happened occurred as Lady Syliva described. She was summoned to Caelia by members of the House of Lords, and she did engage Caelus IV in a civil war on their behalf. But my ancestor did not conspire with the House of Lords to manipulate her and Caelus IV into a final confrontation. Yes, he led Caelus IV into her castle, but it was all her idea!"

Again, the room erupted into a fury of reactions, this time ranging from skepticism to 'well of course she did'. 

Hylas continued, "Syliva was hunting the countryside for Caelus's rebels, wreaking havoc and terrorizing the people. Syliva reached out to Flaedin, and offered an end to the violence. If he served Caelus up to her, she'd end her hunt, and allow Flaedin to take the crown, and begin the long road to recovery! Flaedin didn't want to betray his cousin, but she convinced him it was the only way!"

"Is that true?" Shandon shouted to Syliva without asking to be recognized.

"No." Syliva didn't feel it was necessary or wise to elaborate - after all, the best lies were the simplest, and it was very hard for someone to pick apart a single syllable answer.

"Really, you never had any contact with Flaedin?" Vaerla demanded.

"Oh, well, I suppose I did at one point seek an audience with him. I hoped at one point he might help me open a frank discussion with his cousin, and bring a peaceful end to the conflict. Nothing came of it though."

One of the rural representatives stood up, the young man was clearly nervous to put himself out in front of an audience filled with far more powerful individuals, "I would like to hear Lady Asterigennithika's account. I mean, she was part of the House of Lords back then, right? Motion to have Lady Asterigennithika testify."

"Vaerla," Shandon said, "Did you have any involvement with the Flaedin's conspiracy or the death of Caelus IV?"

"Of course not," Vaerla said.

"Then it seems your testimony would have nothing of value."

A younger orc woman stood up in the audience, "Let her talk anyway!"

"Order!" Shandon shouted, "The gallery must be quiet during proceedings! Escort that woman from-"

"Shut up Shandon," Hylas said, "You don't have floor right now. Do I have a second to the motion?"

Syliva knew someone would second it, so she jumped in and supported the motion, just to sew a delightful amount of confusion.

"Please, Lady Asterigennithika," Hylas said, "you're the only member of the House of Lords who was serving when these events took place. In all of Caelia, you're likely among only a handful of people besides Lady Syliva with direct knowledge of the events."

"What a delightful way of telling a woman she's old, Hylas," Vaerla smiled. The crowd laughed. She'd never really liked Hylas, or any of his ancestors, so she wasn't interested in sparing him, but she couldn't abide the clumsy deceptions being sewn now. "I recall that rumor within the House, at that time, would have supported your version of events. If anyone in the House ever conspired with Flaedin, against Lady Syliva, I was certainly never aware of it."

"That doesn't mean it didn't happen," Shandon said.

"It would be unusual for anything to happen without my hearing of it," Vaerla deliberately stroked one of her large pointed ears, getting a chuckle from the audience, "But you are technically correct. It's possible there was a conspiracy in the House which was hidden even from me. Unlikely, but technically possible."

"Thank you Vaer-" Hylas started, but Vaerla continued.

"What I take issue with is the accounts his majesty King Hylas and the honorable Lady Syliva have offered of a Caelian civil war. I know from seeing the tripe my daughter's friends were taught that many scrolls and books now describe it that way, but it's a fabrication. I've seen civil wars; civil wars are fought when a country becomes divided against itself. Brother against brother. Soldiers taking up arms against one another. There was no divide in Caelia when Syliva was 'summoned' here. Caelus IV had his critics, yes, but Caelia was prosperous. Syliva didn't fight the 'war' single-handedly because she cared about the men her allies would have sent to their deaths, she fought single-handedly because they had no soldiers to send. Caelus IV had no trouble raising the military against her, they were completely behind him from the beginning. They abandoned him at the end, yes, but not one of Caelus's soldiers ever turned against him. Not one Caelian citizen took up arms against Caelus IV. There were no guerillas, no freedom fighters, no revolutionaries, until Syliva gained sufficient clout to call Caelus and his knights 'rebels.' As if it wasn't his throne she'd claimed. The king says Hylas betrayed his cousin to end the violence - that might be true. I hope it is. I thought well of Flaedin when he was young, and would prefer to think he made a difficult but well-intentioned choice, than believe that would betray his blood for the throne. Regardless, make no mistake - Syliva is a monster, brought to our country by a handful of greedy, vindictive men to assassinate a king that loved his people more than his lords."

The exchanges that followed saw Vaerla's account relegated to history books like this, reported only by a few of the heralds present. People could be galvanized by two conflicting accounts, but were utterly confused by three. There was certainly a general antipathy towards elves, and Vaerla's own background was checkered to say the least, so the Nationalists and their rivals - the Monarchists - both found it easy to dismiss her words. 

Syliva went on to testify about other events in the past two hundred years that implicated Flaedin's descendants in a legacy of corruption and incompetence. It was all more or less true. Technically Syliva herself had been actively complicit in the same corruption that she was revealing, to the point of having instigated most of it, but none of that mattered to her supporters; she was, after all, a greedy dragon, and so she hadn’t done anything a greedy dragon wouldn’t do. She was simply true to her nature; treacherous but earnest.