"Shut up," Savine shouted. "Don't you dare say such presumptuous things, ministra. Why are we even letting you talk in the first place? What has this Circle come to? We've got an empty seat as if it doesn't matter, we've got a street rat bonded to Thandemar, we've got a bastard sitting in the Shanneray seat, we've got a ministra in the Urchkas—"

Bang, went the gavel. "Lady Aluana! Restrain yourself."

"Senero is falling to pieces and you're all sitting around doing nothing about it. What kind of farce is this? Where we all know that if he dies the prince effectively dies as well? It's ridiculous!"

If he dies, the prince dies too? What does that mean? Kestrel wondered, pulse racing.

"Yes," Aramy said calmly. "Farces, as a general rule, tend to be ridiculous. That is part of the definition, my lady."

"Don't talk back to me, Basquiale!”

Savine’s ministra grabbed her wrist, trying to pull her down, but she didn't speak. Even now, it seemed the rules held fast.

"Savine Aluana, may I remind you of where you truly stand?" Aramy opened the fan again, hiding everything but his severe eyes. "You are fourth in precedence on the Circle of Magi. I am consort to the future King of Senero. If you want to rant at me, kindly do it when it's your turn to speak."

"Indeed." Alexandir banged the gavel once more. Kestrel's ears were starting to hurt. "Lord Basquiale is right."

"Of course you'd take his side," Savine spat. "Even while he makes a mockery of the Circle's traditions—"

"I'm only saying that you are speaking out of turn, Lady Aluana. In doing so, you are the one making a mockery of this proud Circle."

Savine’s face twisted. Her ministra unleashed a low groan and threw her arms around Savine's waist, trembling. Feeling uncomfortable, Kestrel averted his eyes.

But her ministra's wordless pleading seemed to work; Savine's expression softened, just a fraction, and she reached down and carded her fingers through her ministra's hair. She bit her lip and glared at the tabletop, which was enough for Alexandir, for he banged the gavel and said, "We've taken care of that. Lord Thandemar—"

"The only piece I wish to say is that I strongly discourage any of you fine lords and ladies from suspecting my ministra of playing any role in this attempted assassination," Dracen said, thin-lipped. "Now I will cede the floor to Lady Aluana."

Savine and her ministra exchanged glances. Then, sighing, Savine bent down and pressed her lips to her ministra's forehead. When she looked up, she snapped, "I cede the floor to Lady Urchkas."

Alexandir nodded at Teresa, who sat up straighter, holding herself so stiffly it was like her joints were made of metal. Her painted face was rigid as a mask.

"In light of recent events," she declared in a cold, crisp tone, "I humbly request that the royal court dispatch a full battalion of troops to the Heathlands border. It is true that the assassin is not truly Ranshanese, but that he was so easily able to obtain Ransha supplies—even if they were malfunctioning—does not bode well. We must tighten our borders, and I will confess that Urchkas has not sufficient funds to oversee the entire length of the Great Rift."

As she spoke, her energos' jaw tightened and he gripped the back of her chair so hard his knuckles whitened. Kestrel wondered what it must cost him to stand here and remain as silent as a ministra, when his every instinct screamed at him to speak for his partner.

Alexandir exchanged glances with Aramy. They interacted with an ease that unsettled Kestrel; it was nothing like the dominance and submission expected between energi and ministra, but neither was it the posturing between two equally-ranked energi. It almost came across as camaraderie.

Kestrel didn't want to admit how his stomach squirmed at the thought.

"For matters involving the mobilization of the military," Alexandir said, "we require a vote. Lord Knight, do you understand how it's done?"

"Yes, my lord." To his relief, he at least remembered that much.

"All in favor of dispatching a royal battalion to the Great Rift, say aye. All opposed, say nay." Alexandir raised his hand. "Aye."

Aramy followed suit. "Aye."

Savine scowled and raised her hand as well. Teresa held her arm high, her sleeve sliding back and exposing her garnet-inlaid cuff. Dracen lifted his hand last, and Kestrel saw no point in dissenting from the majority opinion.

Bang. "The motion is decided, five in favor, one abstaining. We will request the seventh infantry to mobilize as quickly as possible."

"I'll inform His Highness after we adjourn," Aramy said, and as he did Kestrel noticed Ilya scoff.

"That is all.” Teresa nodded at Kestrel. "I cede the floor to Lord Knight."

At last. Kestrel sat straighter, conscious of the sweat dampening his underarms despite the room's chill.

He'd mulled over what to say the entire night, had practiced it aloud until the moment Lady Dulmer had come to fetch him. Maybe it was a bit much, but he wanted to make the best impression possible at his first Circle session.

"My lords and ladies," he said, "I have only one request. I'm aware that an investigation was performed after Lady Mia Shanneray's death, but I haven't gotten a chance to see the documents yet. It's my understanding that they're classified and locked in the Circle vault? I'd like access to the papers, if possible."

He couldn't forget what Lord Dyneth had said to him. Couldn't forget the reason he'd come to Azed Court. The attempted assassination had only crystallized his resolve. If a saboteur wanted to strike at the heart of Senero, mightn't they start with the Eternal Circle?

Aramy must have been thinking the same thing, for he raised his eyebrows and said, "I see, Lord Knight. Do you think there's a connection between what happened to your mother and our fake-Ransha assassin?"

"Lady Shanneray committed suicide," Savine snapped. "Don't go around spreading conspiracy theories."

Kestrel had the suspicion that Savine was going to combat everything he said. And Aramy too, and Dracen, and...well, most of the Circle. She'd be a headache to deal with.

But he wasn’t intimidated by her. “It can’t hurt to check,” he said. "The reports might offer a hint, something that everyone missed the first time around. Even if they don’t, I'd like as much information as possible about...about...you know. My mother’s passing. It might, uh, it might help...give me closure….”

As he stumbled over the words, he prayed to the Four Winds that he didn't sound too insincere.

It seemed to work; Dracen's expression noticeably softened, and even Alexandir Pavos' ministra gave a quiet gasp. "We understand, Lord Knight," Alexandir said, his voice dripping with sympathy—sympathy about as real as Kestrel's grief. "We will release the documents to you immediately."

"Thank you, my lord.” Kestrel clasped his hands tightly together so they wouldn't tremble. Across the table, he felt Aramy's intense scarlet stare upon him, and it made heat crawl up the back of his neck.

But he'd done it. He’d advocated for himself, and his house, at the Circle. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Maybe he wouldn’t make a complete botch out of this after all.