Once more, Kullervo Throden had been summoned to the Palace of the Three Shaars.

This would be about Tursas. What a terrible shock that had been. He was a good man, Lord Sjedi, a good person. More than that, he had been Kullervo’s big cousin, and once Kullervo had settled down and stopped being a fool, he’d become a good friend. Tursas had even asked Kullervo about what could be done about Rajinvalt, when the young heir had been making some of the same mistakes that Kullervo had.

He hoped his advice had helped. It had been simple – “You have to let him fail, you have to cut him off if things get bad. He has to want to change.” Rajinvalt at least seemed more together these days; that was something.

He hoped it was enough, because Rajinvalt was Lord Sjedi now. Kullervo had gained a great deal of clarity over the years, and one thing he knew with certainty is that had he been the eldest child, and placed on the throne, he could have been a disastrous Jofur.

A little power in the hands of the wrong person can be a catastrophe.

He headed for the residence.

* * *

“So walk me through this,” Luviisa said to her daughter-in-law. “What is our next move?”

“It depends on what Rajenlif does next,” Aud said. “The least likely would be for her to come back and discharge her duties, and wait to appoint a Governor-Regent.”

Luviisa nodded. “And that’s good, because that would be the one that would be the most difficult to work through.”

“Difficult, but not impossible,” Aud said. “It would simply delay things a few years. Not ideal, but we could still make the move when the time came. But no, I expect her to appoint a Governor-Regent. With the war, she will be hesitant to commit to staying in Jutuneim for the vast majority of the coming year. She will want to hold Tiernan’s hand and be by his side, and be there as he makes speeches and such. So she’ll appoint someone else.”

Aud took a sip of soda, and flipped through the notes on her pad. “She may just appoint a functionary, like Oggi Nijosku. That puts us in good, but not great position. The best possible choice for us would be Vallero, but I do not anticipate that. At least, not right away. But if we’re lucky….”

“If we’re lucky, she’ll pick Kullervo,” Luviisa said.

“Yes,” Aud said. “I can bring up the case of Biđe Throden, who would have been Jofur Biđe, had Vallero II named him her Governor-Regent when she took ill…but she named his brother, Uđjjus, instead, and by the time Vallero died, well…the Jotnardiggi had a good working relationship with Uđjjus, and saw no reason to change things just because he had an older brother.”

“The danger is that Kullervo would refuse the crown,” Luviisa said.

“He will,” Aud said. “I’m counting on him to. If he accepts it, things could get complicated, but I expect he would simply reject it outright. And then it would fall to the next in line.”

“Which is his eldest daughter. You’re sure she won’t consider this?”

Aud nodded. “This is buried in Throden records. The official history is that Biđe stepped aside for his brother, after all. You have to dig in the archives to find it. I doubt she realizes she could be setting a trap for herself.”

Luviisa beamed. “You are brilliant, Audara.”

“Thank you, Mother Luviisa, but no, I’m just dilligent. Of course, this depends on….”

“Don’t worry,” Luviisa said. “I spoke to Tormot Nutsen, gave him the story you suggested. He’ll propose it.”

“Excellent news,” Aud said. “Now, do tell me you can find time for dinner on Toranbjy, I know that this business with Lord Sjedi will take time, but….”

“Of course I will be there!” Luviisa said. “For one thing, I want to see my grandchildren. And I want them to know that I am supportive of you and Skor, dear. I am truly glad to have you in the family.” Luviisa smiled. “I do hope that some of my…previous concern for my son’s well-being, which may have been misplaced….”

“You love your son, and I love your son,” Aud said. “What is past is past.”

“Indeed. And the future, my dear, looks bright indeed.”

* * *

“Hello, Raja,” Kullervo said, as he walked into her office. “Terrible. Just awful. I saw Tursas two weeks ago, he looked healthier than I do! I can’t believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Rajenlif said. “He…he’d actually been planning to leave in eight months, wanted to spend time with his family, and…I feel guilty, and I know I shouldn’t, but….”

“He loved the job,” Kullervo said. “I remember when I was young and stupid, and I thought you should make me Regent, because I figured it would be easy. You were smart enough to choose better. Tursas was terrific.”

“He was,” Rajenlif said. “And we will miss him.”

“So say we all. Nobody could take his place,” Kullervo said.

Rajenlif waited a beat, before saying, “I would like you to succeed him as Governor-Regent.”

Kullervo blinked, and blinked again. “I…what?”

“I would like it to be for one year,” Rajenlif said. “After a year, I will transfer the position to Vallero. I want to give her time to wrap up operations and set up succession for Boundless Fountain. But during that time, I would like you to serve as Governor-Regent, and represent my interests to the Jotnar people.”

“I believe you laughed at me when I asked you to give me this job.”

“I’m pretty sure I slapped you,” Rajenlif said. “But as you said…you were young, and stupid. But the way you dealt with Rixie…you’ve matured. You are calm and reasoned. You accept your past failings without surrendering to them. I should like a family member to represent this family’s interests; that family member shall be you, if you will accept the office.”

Kullervo looked down. “With all my respect and love…I don’t know that I’m the right person, Raja.”

“That’s exactly why I trust you,” Rajenlif said. “You are old enough and wise enough to know that this is no easy task. Most of your powers may be unofficial and ceremonial, but they are still powers. And wielded improperly, they can still harm.”

Kullervo nodded. “I will need to discuss this with Tellervo.”

“Of course,” Rajenlif said. “No announcement will be made before the formal grieving period is concluded. Now, that is not the only business, of course. There is the memorial service to consider. You will be there, of course?”

“Of course,” Kullervo said. “He was my cousin, and a friend, and even if he was neither…I am a prince, after all.”

* * *

“Selfishly, I’d like you to stay,” Vwokhu said, as they walked the trail through the woods. “I know you can’t, of course. But….”

“There’s part of me that wouldn’t mind staying,” Rixie said. “I ended up with a pretty strong sense of duty, though, and if I don’t go, then I’m letting down Pryvani, and Pryvani…well, I owe her more than I can repay.”

“As do I,” Vwokhu said. “If not for her, I would not have met you, not in this life. And though I would like to say there will be another after this….”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure,” Rixie said. “Always thought Alex had it right; he says he doesn’t know if there is. He hopes there is, but if there isn’t, and this is it, that’s okay – just means you’ve got to try hard while you’re here.”

“All I ever wanted for you, wherever you were, was a good partner, a meaningful job, and good friends,” Vwokhu said. “You found them. No thanks to me.”

“I don’t know,” Rixie said. “You suggested they give me to the Hoplites. And that worked out. I said before, there were times I resented you and Kullervo – I mean, my mom and dad who I never knew – and times I wished I’d known you, and times I believed you were dead and times I was sure you weren’t. But that wasn’t your choice. All you could do is send me someplace safe. And the Hoplites were safe. Not perfect. And not as good as it would have been here, but…they were safe.”

“What I dearly wish,” Vwokhu said, “is that I could have had you when I was ten years older. But that is now how things work.”

“No,” Rixie said. “It isn’t. I’m sure Ryan’s birth mom wished she could have stayed alive and raised him; sure his dad did, too. They didn’t have a choice. Neither did you, really. I mean, it would be easier if I could hate you and Kullervo, if you’d been complete jerks who just got rid of me for fun, but….”

“I can try to be more of a jerk if you’d like,” Vwokhu said.

Rixie chuckled. “Nah. It would be easier, but it wouldn’t be better.”

They came around the bend, and Vwokhu’s cabin came into sight.

“I am very lucky,” Vwokhu said, “that you are my daughter. Not because you’re famous or rich, because those things…they are not what matters. What matters is that you are a good and strong woman, who has been more forgiving than I deserve.”

“Yeah, well, you named this camp after me,” Rixie said. “If you’d forgotten me, if you’d pretended that I didn’t exist…but you named this place for me. Your daughter. So you’d never forget. And it had to hurt.”

“It did,” Vwokho replied. “Always. But I would rather live with the pain than without it.”

Rixie nodded. “I know. That reminds me of me.”

Vwokhu slowed just a little. “You know, in some ways you are what I hoped my daughter would be. In other ways, you are, but in some ways, you are…different.”

“My Jotnar isn’t that great,” Rixie said.

“No, just…I didn’t expect you to go into the military. That was a different path than I had imagined. Not bad, or evil, just different. I have been glad to get to know the woman you are, not the woman I imagined you might be. You are more interesting than my imaginings, and that is a truly blessed thing.”

Rixie stopped, and turned to her mother – for that is what Vwokhu was – and embraced her.

“I love you mom,” Rixie said.

“I love you too, Riksa,” Vwokhu said. “So, so much.”

“And,” Rixie said, “while I can’t stay…I want you to find time to come to Avalon. And we will be back. I promise.”

“I will hold you to that,” Vwokhu said. “And I can be persuasive should you hesitate.”

“I won’t take any persuading,” Rixie said. “None at all.”

* * *

The eight members of the Jotnardiggi Joint Committee somberly went about their work, lining up legislation for the evening session. It was to be perfunctory; no major action would be taken until after the memorial service for the Governor-Regent. But there was business to attend to; nearly two billion people lived in Jotnarherath, and the worlds did not stop spinning just because Tursas Sjedi was no longer there to see them.

Hlif Flagðnie, the Kuthi of the Jotnardiggi, had been moderating the meeting as was customary. The heads of the other six parties and the Dronung’s Arm sat around the small conference table.

Flagðnie was biased, as most leaders are, in thinking her government was the best that had ever been created, and it was this small meeting room that had most convinced her. There was no shortage of disagreement in this room; she was toward the middle, politically, but leaders from the liberal Jotnar People’s Party to the conservative Defend the Dronung Party sat here as equals, each voicing their party’s wishes directly to the others. Hlif was Kuthi, and head of the Royal Savarna Party, which was the largest in the body. But that only gave her limited powers, and in here it simply meant she had a responsibility to guide the conversation fairly. The goal of the Jotnardiggi was not to pass legislation by three votes, but to speak as one, the voice of the Jotnar people. They more often did the former than the latter, of course – this was a large and complex land. But they tried to get to consensus as much as possible, and there were more laws passed with comfortable margins than razor-thin ones; a good Kuthi knew that a law passed by two votes today could be repealed by two votes in a few months if the next few seats up for election fell wrong.

“We are agreed then that we will put off discussion of education funding until the next session,” Hlif said, as the discussion wound down. “I will remind my friends in Defend the Dronung that we are bound by agreement to support Imperial law with respect to humans, and that the Dronung herself has expressed strong support of human rights, so while I will certainly not tell your members how to vote, I will recommend that you keep discussion of human integration into schools on a calm and reasoned level.”

Duiri Gaifasen nodded. “Kuthi, I agree with you that whatever we may think, the argument is over, and while our votes may not reflect it, most of my party will admit it in private. I hope all of you understand that some of our members will feel the need to make showy speeches, but I will recommend to them that they try to keep them on point. If it should come to it, I may make a brief protestation in defense of them, but I will promise now that there will be no hard feelings if you cut Larza Nieharja off when he goes beyond the bounds.”

The party heads all nodded. This was something else Hlif loved; there was no record of these proceedings, and party heads were all agreed to keep what was said here in confidence. It allowed them to frankly admit to the pressures they faced, both from their constituents and their members. And they all benefitted from this; each of them had members whose mouths got ahead of their heads sometimes, each of them had voters who demanded the impossible, and so it was helpful to be honest with each other, agree to ground rules, note what would draw real offense and what would draw a feigned rebuke.

It wasn’t “open government,” but it was not a lie; they weren’t papering over their disagreements or forcing each other to pretend to nicety. Indeed, there were many times when the message conveyed was that the disagreements were serious and intractable and volatile. They were simply ensuring those disagreements stayed civil and reasoned, that they were designed to shed light, not heat.

“Is there any other business that we should prioritize? Tormot?”

Tormot Nutsen coughed, and looked down at his pad. “This has been given approval for a quick referral to the floor by the Chair of the Government Operations committee; it’s a noncontroversial sense-of-the-body statement.”

He pressed a button, forwarding the short document on to the others. “This was recommended to me by the Hersvru of Tromsø; Lady Aljansen believes that given the long tenure of the Governor-Regent, it is possible a Republican could try to file some sort of action declaring the office of Dronung open.”

Hlif nodded. “Of course, this wouldn’t go anywhere.”

“Not at all,” Tormot said. “But Lady Aljansen’s daughter-in-law was the former record-keeper for the House of Throden, and she thought some precedent from the 900s could possibly make it a headache; if we pre-emptively assert this, that would make such a challenge moot. Everyone in this room is a royalist; it’s perhaps the one thing we all agree on. Making sure that the Dronung does not have to deal with it…well, it just makes sense.”

“Kjeda, do you have any objection?” Hlif asked.

The Dronung’s Arm, Flosi Øybjirnsen, would ordinarily have asked for a pause to consult with the Governor-Regent. He and Tursas had a good working relationship, and anytime there were questions about what the royals would want, Tursas was good at a quick yes or no.

But Tursas was dead, and while he liked the Dronung, he was hesitant to call her, especially not over a one-sentence resolution that didn’t even change standing law. Besides, it was obvious; the House of Throden obviously still existed, just as part of the House of Throden and ColVanos. Of course it was “the sense of the Jotnardiggi that the Monarchy is still vested in the House of Throden.”

“None at all,” Flosi said.

“Very well, unless someone else has one, we’ll put it on the non-controversial calendar. Is there any other business? No? Well,” Hlif said, “then go in silence. But as you do…remember our dear friend, Lord Sjedi, in your gut. I will see you this afternoon.”

* * *

In a small, nondescript hotel room in Naesavarna, Xyly let Nonull sleep; he had worked very hard, after all, and he had been as precise as ever.

A part of her, buried deep within, knew that she was doing wrong by him. Knew that this was destroying him. But she had chosen this path; people would be destroyed by it. She liked Nonull, but she could not allow that to keep her from doing what needed to be done. Besides, soon enough, he would have time to retire.

They were halfway done with the job. One more run and she would have enough. She could stop taking the calls of the Noble Resistance, and finally get on to the business of rebuilding the empire of Kroberi Krasis.

She knew what Kroberi’s wife would say; knew that she would urge Xyly to come home, to stop this ridiculous plan, to get the stabilizer checked for faults, to stop looking for revenge. She would tell Xyly that the people who murdered Fanira Krasis had paid dearly for their crime, that Kroberi was imprisoned because of the vengeance that he had engaged in, that it had ultimately led the imperators to his door.

And she would try to tell Xyly, again, that Fanira Krasis had not been murdered. That Fanira Krasis was alive. That Xyly was still Fanira, and that Sula was still her mother, and that despite the many mistakes he had made, Kroberi was still her father.

And Xyly knew that those rare times when the stabilizer went offline for maintenance, those rare moments where her language deserted her and all that was left was the battered biological brain…in those rare moments, she could feel the pull of that. She could feel that she had gone too far, that Fanira still lived…and that the person killing her was Xyly….

But the autorestart would kick in, and cognitive function would return, and that distant voice would be silenced.

With the money she had, she could rebuild what had been torn down. And when she did, she could have her revenge on those few people who had escaped Kroberi’s wrath. She would ask Nonull to take care of that, she thought; he was very good at what he did.

And when she finally triumphed, when she finally had her revenge, she could finally overload the circuits and fry her brain completely, and rest at last.

Just one more job.