The Senate Club is one floor below the Old Chamber, and is almost twice as large; while the Old Chamber is surrounded by offices, the Senate Club spans an entire floor of the Legislative building, giving a panoramic view of Tuaut to the fortunate people allowed in.

The club itself is opulent in the old Aementi tradition, with plush couches and tables for discussion, a full restaurant serving fine cuisine, and a marble bar stocked with pretty much every beverage served in the Empire.

The Senate Club’s membership is extremely exclusive, limited to serving members of the Senate, their partners and descendants, the rare retired senator, and core members of the Imperial family. Members may bring guests, but those guests cannot be members of the House, or even employees of the House. The only way those people can get into the club is for the President of the Senate to personally issue a waiver for them.

When it was founded, the Senate Club was free for all members, until a few two-hundred-thousand-credit meals showed up on the public’s dime. Since then, Senate members have received a voucher any day they were in Tuaut, one that paid for up to four meals, but not, say, sixteen bottles of the finest kapavi.

“Why don’t we have a club?” Ammer asked. He was in the Senate Club on the same waiver that allowed the Floor Leader in for the day, and only for the day. He’d not been in it before – even several years ago, when Pryvani had offered to sneak him in, he’d demurred. As a proud staffer, and now member, of the House, he was too proud to go in without a personal invite.

“You know us,” Loona said. “The House of the People. Besides, we used to, back in the ninth century. Apparently our drinking scandal was worse than the Kapskrasi Barrel Scandal of 1692.”

“Maybe just human members should be allowed,” Inna said. “No chance of them bankrupting the treasury with food and drink.”

“Hey! That’s a good point. You should listen to your chief of staff,” Ammer said.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Loona said. “You’d usually shoot down even a joke about setting yourself up with perks from the government coffers.”

“Hard not to be happy when I’m not alone,” Ammer said. “Yeah, he’s in the Senate, but…look, it gets very, very old being ‘the only human in the legislature.’ I’m not anymore.”

“There’s a chance by this time next month you won’t be the only human in the House,” Loona said, “though if that happens it will have been a really good night.”

“I’m just happy that Santea has a chance, even if it’s a small one. The fact that a human could replace a Titan Party member is amazing, and if she doesn’t win, she’ll have nothing to cry about.”

“That’s the truth,” Loona said. “And yes, Inna, I can see your eyes on the clock, I’ll go mingle.”

“Thanks,” Inna said. “And Ms. Maris, can you please go with her? People will want to meet the consort.”

Aisell blew a stray hair out of her face in a mock pout, but then extended her hand to Loona, who took it, and set off on a course around the room.

“I suppose as wife of the Minister for Non-Titan Affairs I should be doing the same thing, yes?”

“Only because I’m going to be stuck mingling at this table if you don’t,” Ammer said. “Not that I’d mind, but I know you’d go mingle. If only to check with the president about next week’s schedule.”

“I’m not going to talk with the president,” Inna said. “That would be silly. I’ll talk to Yolan Ro.”

“This is why I love you,” Ammer said. “Your understanding of the legislative process. And,” he added, as Inna lifted him to her shoulder, “your breasts are a factor, too.”

Forna Qorni was not in as cheerful a mood. Her husbands were currently getting drinks, as they had figured out early that she wasn’t in the mood for cheering up. She looked out the window over the city, and nursed a glass of kapavi.

“May I join you, Senator?”

Qorni sighed. “I don’t think you have to ask, Senator Tarsuss. I’m pretty sure one would have to be a fool to tell you no.”

“And yet you’ve stormed out of at least one party I helped to plan,” Pryvani said, sitting down next to the former Floor Leader. “You didn’t seem concerned about being foolish then.”

“Shoulda been,” Forna said. “So, I suppose you want to tell me that you told me so.”

“Not at all,” Pryvani said, setting her glass on the table between them.

“Did I ever tell you that when Senator Carey first came to Avalon, I was convinced that he, as an Earth-born human, was, like the Avalonians, superior to those humans who had been raised as pets?”

“Huh. You argued otherwise in the committee. Seems like that’s been your argument from day one,” Qorni said.

“It has been from the start of this debate…but not from the first. I didn’t burst from the womb knowing that humans were people and all humans were equal. Perhaps the only Titan I know who did is Gae Neutha. It took a good deal of time, and more than that, it took a good deal of education from people who shouldn’t have had to waste their time educating me.”

“You figured it out soon enough to avoid frakking up,” Qorni said.

Pryvani was quiet for a moment, before she said, quietly, “Five thousand, seven hundred sixty-five.”

“Hmm?”

“That’s the best estimate,” Pryvani said, “of the number of humans who died in the Avalonian Civil War. That doesn’t count those killed in the bandit campaigns – that’s another five hundred. So call it a bit over six thousand people that died after I announced to Avalon that I was not a god. Five percent of the people on the planet died because of a decision I made carelessly and stupidly. A decision I wish, every day, that I could have back, so that I could plan it better, and tell them the truth in a way that did not rob them of stability.”

Pryvani took a sip of her drink, and said, “You’re not the only one who fraked things up, Senator Qorni. Don’t ever think you are.”

Qorni looked over at the heiress. She was just starting to hit that age – around fifty Imperial years, give or take – when even good beauty treatments start to lose their ability to repair the slow advance of entropy. She still was beautiful, and still looked younger than her true age…but she was no longer the ingénue she’d been when she’d burst on the scene.

She’d been fighting hard, and it showed, mostly around the eyes. She looked very tired, Qorni thought, almost as tired as she felt.

“You’ve built quite a legacy since then,” Forna said. “Does it…does it help?”

“It never makes the regret go away,” Pryvani said. “But eventually, you can look at yourself again.”

Qorni nodded. “Senator Tarsuss…I meant what I said on the floor. I want to try…I don’t even know where to begin. But….”

“A former floor leader is always in demand, especially one who just admitted to making mistakes,” Pryvani said. “You know the media. They love a good confessional. If you would accept help in crafting your message…I do believe that there would be a number of Senators, Representatives, and historians willing to help you place your premiership in its proper context.”

Qorni smiled thinly. “You know, you offered me help back on Avalon. If I’d said yes…would you have really given it to me, even if it hurt Armac?”

“Loona is a friend. She’s also a politician. And the Zeramblin Act meant more to both of us than anything else, including her career and my fortune. If it had made things easier, you’re gorram right I would have. And Loona would have understood.”

“I am still tempted,” Qorni said, “to tell you to frak yourself, that I can craft my message on my own. But honestly, Senator Tarsuss, I am not sure that I can.”

“Oh, you most certainly can,” Pryvani said. “But I would like to help you.”

“Not really. You don’t care about me,” Qorni said. “You’d probably as soon I jump out this window as work with you. But you care about your husband, and son, your friends…and you’re willing to help me if it helps them.”

Pryvani merely smiled.

“And I can live with that,” Qorni said.

“As can I,” Pryvani said.

* * *

“So when do you head back to campaign?” Zeramblin asked.

“Next week. Good news is that I only drew one challenger, so I’m already through to the general. And the polls in the field…I should be fine.”

“Should be interesting. First Avalonian election. For House, anyhow.”

Ammer nodded. “You know, I was on the fence about whether I should ask the council to schedule the race – technically I didn’t have to.”

“Nah, right decision,” Zeramblin said. “And you know why.”

“Yup,” Ammer said. “I want to win the next election too. This gets me out in front of people. Plus…it’s the right thing to do.”

“Exactly. Always nice when those line up. And when they don’t, well….”

Ammer raised his glass. “When they don’t, grant us the courage to do the right thing.”

“So I’m curious, who’s the challenger? I assume another human, but are they arguing you’re too hard on the Titans? Too easy?”

“Tiar Lethor. He was president of Avalon from ’21 to ’23, before Joca Haerst. Staunch anti-Titan, pushed for humans to go their own way. Won mainly because Sisoc Enia was a nice guy who was deadly boring.”

“Ah, that type,” Zeramblin said. “Always too bad. They end up being better leaders than people think.”

“Exactly. Of course, Lethior never had full control. President’s fairly weak on Avalon. He never had a majority on the Council, so while he could gum up the works, he needed support of the more tolerant forces to get things done. He won re-election by about 10,000 votes, but ended up with a supermajority against him on the council, and they just worked around him. Then Haerst ran against him and clobbered him.”

“So he’s not a threat?”

Ammer smiled. “You and I both know that the nationalist voice is always a threat, Senator Zeramblin. But our first poll in the field has me up twenty, and his name recognition is higher than mine. Also, the new refugees who’ve moved there in the last year, they will get a vote, and I was on the ground helping them get settled. And I have endorsements lined up from Haerst, Alex Carey, Dia Velos, and Teddy Xanthopolous, so I feel good about my chances.”

“Good. Though if you do lose, now or someday in the future, you’ll always have a job. If nothing else, I could use a good chief should you ever want to come over to the dark side.”

“Not so sure you’re a conservative, really. Or did you mean the Senate?”

Zeramblin laughed. “Either-or.”

Ammer sipped his drink, and said, “You know, I owe you a lot, Mr. Floor Leader. You didn’t have to let the Floor Leader give me a job in the first place. And…um…well, there was….”

“The first part,” Zeramblin said, “is the best decision I ever made. At the time, I thought it would hurt her politically, that’s part of why I let her do it. But you and I both know it’s better to be right for the wrong reason than wrong for the right reason. Once I did, well…anyone who had to tussle with you learned a lesson about humans, Minister Smit. Including me. As for the other…I did what any decent person would have done. Only thing you owe me for that is that if you ever find yourself in a situation where someone else needs your help…you do the same.”

“I will,” Ammer said.

“That all going okay, now?”

“It’s better,” Ammer said. “Inna’s mom got therapy, she seems to be working hard at it. She isn’t perfect, never will be, but I don’t expect that. My dad’s a psychologist, I know how this works. But she wants to fix it, and that’s the biggest hurdle.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Zeramblin said. “You and your wife make a good team, don’t want to see that threatened.”

“Nothing could threaten that, Mr. Floor Leader. Nothing, and nobody.”

* * *

“You don’t appear to be interested in mingling today.”

Eyrn looked up, and smiled. “Not much in general. I should be able to by now, you’d think…but….”

She trailed off, and shrugged. “You probably want to go find someone else to talk to, I’m not great company right now.”

Hussel smiled gently. “That’s good. I’m not great company either.”

He sat down next to Eyrn, and looked out over the city for a solid minute.

“I’m really happy for you. I know Aerti would be, too,” Eyrn finally said. “The Bass family…I can’t imagine any family more deserving. I was lucky,” she said, “that I got to be a part of it.”

“You used past tense there,” Hussel said. “Have you resigned from the family without telling me?”

Eyrn blinked back tears. “Aerti always told me that if I married him, I was marrying his family He phrased it like a warning, a bit – not bad, you know, just…it’s a big family and if you’re not ready to listen to Lilitu occasionally second-guessing our parenting, well, that’s gonna be tough. But it wasn’t tough. Not at all. It was…after my parents died, I never really had a family. Had the military, and the occasional minder who was close as family.”

“Like Darren,” Hussel said.

“Yeah, like Darren. He’s as close to a sibling as I have. As for the rest…Nas has been great, but she’s hurting like me, and we don’t really help each other much right now. We want to, but…to help each other through this, one of us needs to be free of pain. Bero and Hurassen…I don’t see them much, but they’re terrific. But Aerti was the glue that held me to the family, brought me over to see you, helped me figure it all out, and….”

“And you’re afraid that without Aerti, you’ll drift away,” said a voice from behind them.

“You should have learned by now,” Hussel said, “she’s always listening. Sit down, dear.”

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” Lilitu said.

“I am having one kapskrasi, and that is it,” Hussel replied.

“Good. Eyrn,” Lilitu said, “even if you didn’t still have grandchildren to bring by, you would not be able drift away from this family. You won’t have a choice. I simply won’t allow it to happen.”

She pulled Eyrn in tight, and hugged her close. “You know, when Aerti brought you home, I had no idea what ‘The Wild Girl’ would turn out to be. You turned out to be my daughter, Eyrn. As much as Nas. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“You remind me of my mom sometimes,” Eyrn finally said. “You and Marcy Fitzgerald woulda gotten along great.”

“I’m certain we would have,” Lilitu said. “I can tell by the woman you are that she was a fine person.”

Eyrn rubbed her eyes, and sat back down. “I shouldn’t…I know you miss Aerti as much as I do.”

“I don’t think either of us will ever be upset with you for missing our son,” Hussel said.

“Unless it prevents you from raising our grandchildren, of course,” Lilitu said.

“I try to keep it together when they’re around,” Eyrn said.

“Well then,” Lilitu said, “you know exactly how we feel, and why you needn’t keep it together for our sake. We’ll break down later.” Lilitu’s smile was, Eyrn thought, very much like Aerti’s when he’d just landed a particularly subtle joke. He had clearly picked it up from her.

“So did you tell Eyrn yet?” Lilitu said to Hussel. “Or am I going to have to?”

Hussel laughed. “I was going to, but then you came by and stole the show. As usual.”

“Tell me what?”

“Eyrn, I’ve finalized the rules of succession for the House of Bass, and I’ve made them needlessly complex if I do say so myself,” Hussel said. “I don’t want this to ever be a family headed by someone whose claim to fame is that sixteen generations ago, their ancestors did something. So each generation of candidates for the primacy will apply to a committee of the current primate and other senior family members if they want the job. They will have to prove their worth by deeds and service, same as Aerti and Niall did.”

“That could become a very large pool real quick,” Eyrn said.

“It could. Especially since I’ve included spouses of my descendants on the list of eligibles, and adoptive children. Who knows, someday we could end up with an Avartle head of the House of Bass! That would be nice, I hope it happens now that I’ve thought of it. Anyhow, the rules are all on file, they’re very precise, and hopefully, will ensure that the primate of this house will always be a person worthy of the title.”

“That is complex,” Eyrn said. “But I like it. I think Aerti would like it. And Niall would probably have fun explaining how we’ll have fifty thousand potential applicants in six generations.”

“It will take ten, and you’re right, he would,” Hussel said. “But that is for the future primate to worry about. There aren’t enough people to form the committee until the generation after mine. My generation has only two eligible people, myself and Lilitu, and Lilitu has said she does not want the primacy after me. So we decided, since we know all the possible successors, that we would spare you all time and simply appoint one.”

“That’s fair. Don’t know how you can pick between Rassa, Bero, and Nas, though.”

“Not just them,” Hussel said. “I told you, spouses are also eligible, so we had to consider Anahata and Adropa as well, before we decided that nobody would be a better person to serve as this family’s standard-bearer than you.”

Eyrn had just been about to add that oy, Anahata and Adropa were also good people with strong points in their favor, but instead, she found herself quite unable to speak for a long moment. “I…you…you’re sure you don’t want Naskia?”

“I’ve talked to every one of my children,” Hussel said. “And they are all in agreement. Indeed, it would only have been a question if Niall had not died; I suspect even you would have been tempted to put him out front in the family’s colors.”

Eyrn grinned. “Niall would be perfect,” she said. “I’m not sure I am, though.”

“Like I said before,” Lilitu said, “you will not be allowed to drift away from this family. When Hussel is gone, you will be the head of this family.”

“Nothing would make me prouder than to be primate of this family. But I won’t be head of it,” Eyrn added. “Not as long as you’re alive, Lilitu.”

“You really do understand the job,” Hussel said. “Now, former Ambassador Bass…I ask you, as my successor, to stand up and mingle.”

Eyrn turned to Lilitu. “Should I?” she asked, with a grin.

Lilitu smiled the same sardonic smile that her son used to sport. “Yes,” she said. “You should.”

“Well then,” Eyrn said, getting up, “who am I to say no to the leader of my family?”

* * *

Rajenlif glided through the reception, exchanging pleasantries and dropping necessary complements, never once taking an eye off her quarry.

She wondered, as she edged ever-closer, if her target realized the danger. Likely not. She would not have been around had she realized just how angry Rajenlif was.

There were exactly very few people in the Empire more dangerous than Rajenlif XVI, High Dronung and Queen of Jutuneim. Rajenlif was friends with one, and sleeping with another. She could quite easily destroy anyone she wanted to, and the only people she was incapable of destroying were people she would never want to.

There. A clot of them, together. Idisoko, Aljansen, Lavra, and a couple others, enjoying a table and conversation. She had mixed feelings about this group; Sididu, for example, was pleasant enough, and while Jarl Lavra wasn’t exactly a friend, Rajenlif did like his younger sister, Venla. Idisoko was full of herself, but she always showed Rajenlif respect. As for Aljansen….

“Your Majesty,” said Skorsjard Aljansen. He addressed her in Jotnar, sing-song Tromsø accent and all. Rajenlif didn’t sigh – she understood the cultural affinity for her native tongue, and indeed strongly supported it – but she also understood the importance of including others, and showing respect to one’s surroundings.

“Senator Aljansen,” Rajenlif replied – in Archavian. “How is your mother doing?”

“She’s well, thank you,” Aljansen said, switching over to match; Ranjenlif could see a flicker of annoyance from him. Well, let him be annoyed. Whenever Tiernan visited Naesavarna, he spoke Jotnar; he had worked very hard to master it. Skor had learned Archavian as a child, just as she had, he had no excuse not to use it.

“I am glad to hear it. Jarlkon Aljansen is a hard woman to replace, but I am pleased to see you are getting used to the job.”

“Thank you, High Dronung,” Skor said. “I will bring her your regards.”

“Very good. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to talk to my former secretary. Alone.”

Aud Bjalki, who had risen when Rajenlif arrived at the table, started to gather her things. “No,” Rajenlif said. “I will talk to you right here. The rest of you will leave us.”

“Your Imperial Highness?” Joceu Idisoko asked, incredulously.

“Your Empress requires this table,” Rajenlif said, “to speak to Ms. Bjalki. And the rest of you will give it to me. Now.”

The senators and courtiers quickly scattered, leaving the eight-person table empty, save for Aud. Rajenlif slowly walked to the other side of it, and sat down across from her. She looked her square in the eye, and switching to Jotnar, growled, “You’ve embarrassed me, Aud. And that was a stupid thing to do.”

Aud swallowed. “I do not know what you mean, Your Imperial Highness. I just….”

“When the House of Throden ended its existence, I offered you a position in the combined house…but you declined. That is understandable. You would have no longer been the primary record-keeper, at least not so long as Vanos Hionari wanted the job. But then I offered you an opportunity to serve the House of Carey.”

“I went to the interview, Your Imperial Highness, but I did not feel I would be a good fit, as they….”

Rajenlif’s laughter cut her off. “Yes, you showed up. You were rude and dismissive, and asked for permission to access Magister-Imperator Carey’s file with the Hoplites after asking pointed questions about Lady Carey’s father. Why the surprise? What, did you think I would not ask Lord Carey and his wife how the interview went?”

“Your Imperial Highness, they have a…unique situation. As a potential record-keeper, I simply wished to see if I could do the job effectively. However….”

Rajenlif raised a hand to silence her. She glared for a long moment before speaking again.

“Aud, what – besides waiting for Lady Aljansen to die – are you doing?”

Aud blinked. “I…what do you….”

“Your relationship with Skor Aljansen has never been innocent, and it has ramped up again now that he’s in the capitol. We both know that Luviisa Aljansen would never let him marry someone outside the Ten Jotnar Families, so it won’t happen save over her dead body, which yes, could be soon, or could be twenty years from now. I would not mind if you had not been the cause of his divorce from Jarlkon Umbas. Ljeid’s father was a friend of mine, you know.”

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice, Aunt Raja.”

Rajenlif paused, and smiled tightly. “Well. You can hit back. Aud, I did not make the rules of House Throden; were it up to me you would have been a part of that house from birth. My brother’s infidelity and carelessness was not your fault, any more than it was my sister-in-law’s, and your mother…your mother is a decent woman, who was quiet when she could have been loud. Her discretion earned you a job and my trust. And you never violated it. Which is why your actions befuddle me. This is unlike you, Aud.”

Aud shook her head. “Perhaps…Your Imperial Highness….I just feel the need to no longer live on your charity. The bastard girl who floats around the outside, gets to go to the nice school…as long as she doesn’t mention her father. Gets a decent job…as long as she doesn’t mention her father. And make no mistake…I will not mention my father. I understand what is required of me.”

“I have counseled Kullervo many times,” Rajenlif said, “that he should be open about you. I know my son-in-law struggled with being hidden. I know his children struggled with their father being hidden. I know you struggle as well.”

“I…appreciate your understanding.”

“Now,” Rajenlif said, “I understand that Skor is taking you on as his chief of staff. If you will take advice from a former employer – and an aunt – be very careful about mixing business and your personal life. I am not saying you must not – just be careful.”

“I will, Your Imperial Highness. I will.”

“Good,” Rajenlif said, rising. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have more people to talk to.”

Aud rose automatically as her former boss and secret aunt did. “Your Imperial Highness…if I may ask…why did you send everyone else away?” Aud asked.

“Because I wanted you to remember,” Rajenlif said, “that I could. I wanted Skor to remember that I could. I am not a person to cross. Do not embarrass me again, Aud.”

“Of course not…Your Imperial Highness,” Aud said.

A few minutes later, Skor returned, and sat down.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Aud said. “She was mad about me being rude to the Careys.”

“So she doesn’t suspect….”

“No, she bought why I was looking for that information. But we are going to have to be careful, Skor…she does know we’re….”

“I think everyone does but my mother,” Skor replied, with a smile. “Don’t worry about that. Worry about the job at hand.”

“I do,” Aud said. “But she’s got her radar up. Woda protect us, If she ever finds out what we’re working toward….”

“She won’t,” Skor said. “Not if we’re careful.”