Chapter Thirteen
Sierhagen Castle, Margraviate of Anhalt-Zerbst, 6th day of Ansuz
The room was dark, the shadows dancing as the fire crackled and sputtered, playing in strange shapes over the walls and the bookshelves, the suits of armour, and the great long table in the centre.
It had been a while since Kirche had last been in the War Room. She remembered as a child watching her father and other men around the table, moving things around, talking in low, deep voices. She had thought they were playing some sort of game, and was annoyed when they wouldn't let her join in.
Only later, when she was older, had she been allowed to learn the rules.
Her father stood at one end of the table, his eyes fixed on the table. On the table was a map, displaying the territories and geography of Germania and its nearest environs. To some, such a manner might seem out of character for such a man; a man who roared with laughter and could drink any man in the empire under the table. But she knew him much better than them. She knew the mind that hid behind that great broad face, that thick red beard, those calculating eyes. She knew that even a man like that needed to be alone sometimes.
So then, why had he called her down there? And so late in the evening?
"Come closer, Kirche."
Kirche obeyed, stepping up to the table. Only then did she notice that it was different. The features were sharper, more detailed, and there were towns and even villages that had not been there before.
A new map, doubtless made by surveyors using the new methods, and at great expense.
It seems you've been enjoying your little holiday," he said, finally turning his head to look at her.
"Within reason," she replied, smiling coyly to conceal her growing disquiet.
"I could hear you and your little friends squealing from right across the castle," her father said, his thin lips forming a slight grin. "Your mother feigned annoyance, but it made her happy really. It reminded her of better days."
"All right father, what's this about? You talk as if you're about to die."
The Margrave stared at her for a few moments, and then let out a chuckle.
"Don't count me out just yet, my ambitious daughter. I was just being sentimental for a moment. A failure of age."
"I'll forgive you this once." Kirche allowed herself to relax a little, enjoying the warmth of the moment even as she forced herself not to hope for too much. She had seen too much of his other self for that. "Now, what's this all about? You seldom invite anyone in here, least of all me."
"Always to the point. One of your better features." The Margrave sat back in his chair, fixing her with those gimlet eyes. "I wanted to ask you about your friends; now, while your mother isn't here to stick her nose in. In particular, I wanted to ask you about young Saito."
"Him?" Kirche allowed herself to smirk. "Yes, I noticed you'd taken a shine to him."
"Have you had him?"
The directness of the question took her aback, at least momentarily.
"As it happens, no. Not that I haven't tried, but circumstances…kept interfering."
"Pink-haired, bad-tempered circumstances," she thought, suppressing a giggle. She had fond memories of most of her lovers, and while she hadn't managed to get Saito into bed, he had at least made life interesting.
"I take it that's why you are asking about Saito?" she wondered aloud. "I would have thought you would want to know about Louise. She's far more relevant if you're playing politics."
"He is as relevant as she is, because he is her familiar," her father replied. "You know what that means."
"Jan you blabbermouth!" cursed Kirche mentally.
"I only know what I've picked up around the edges," she said cautiously. "Louise is a Void mage, and Saito is her familiar, the Gandalfr. In case it wasn't obvious, Tiffania is a Void mage too; and Suleiman is her familiar, the Lifdrasir.
"Gandalfr the warrior, and Lifdrasir the forgotten," mused the Margrave. "The Void mages of Albion and Tristain and their familiars…right here in my castle."
"What do you have in mind father?" She hoped it wasn't what he suspected.
"I intend no treachery," he assured her. "If nothing else, I'd rather not get this castle blasted to rubble. Not after all the money I spent renovating it. No, what I need to know is what those four are capable of, and what threat they might pose."
Kirche drew a long, slow breath. It wasn't quite as bad as she'd feared, but that was damning with faint praise.
"I cannot say what Tiffania will do," she eventually said. "She's a sweet girl, but knows little or nothing of the world. She has royal blood, but as the bastard daughter of the old King's brother, and a half-elf to boot, it'll do her little good. As for Suleiman, he'll go along with whatever Tiffa wants to do. He's devoted to her, probably because he has very little else in his life."
"You think Henrietta could try to use her?"
"I think Henrietta has little choice. Word is she's planning some huge military reforms, but Tristain is still weak after what Reconquista did to it. She needs every ally, every weapon, she can get."
"She will not attack us then?"
"No. It would finish Tristain off, most likely. They're quite powerful, those four, and Louise's mother would make matters worse. But they can't take on the whole empire."
"Perhaps you are right." Benedict finally seemed to relax. "But look upon this map, then. What does it tell you?"
Kirche turned her attention to the map. The playing pieces were laid out, in their familiar colours, marking the fortresses and armies of Germania. All the territories were visible, all the little counties and regions, their allegiances marked out for her to see.
"I see Meissen's been expanding," she mused lightly, noting that the Duchy of Meissen had acquired a couple of counties. "And what's this, Selonia and Masuria still at it? And Old Georg really did leave Kurland to the King of Varangia."
"So you haven't lost your touch," said her father, with what might have been satisfaction.
"Strange as it may seem, father, we ladies do notice these things," retorted Kirche mildly. "It can sometimes be relevant. Who's going to be in the money? Who's going to lose out? Who's going to do something silly and get the ban slapped on him? All vital and necessary considerations, father dear."
"I'm sure." Kirche couldn't quite tell if he was being sarcastic or not. "But if you see all these things daughter, what do they tell you?"
"What do they tell me?" Kirche took one last look at the map, taking in the glorious chaos that was Germania.
"Masuria and Selonia are the strongest of the northern duchies," she said, running over the numbers and details in her mind. "They hate each-other, and the other northern magnates float between them as their interests dictate. The powder keg is Kurland, because Selonia wants it and Duke Georg left it to the King of Varangia, who just so happens to be the Duke of Masuria's nephew."
She looked down the map, wondering which to choose next.
"The Emperor needs to keep the northern magnates divided, or they could unite against him and threaten the empire. He also has to appease the Papist magnates in the south, not to mention the Church. To that effect he allowed Count Frederick of Furtzviel, cousin and heir presumptive of the Landgrave of Lubeck, to become Prince of Lusatia. He's a Protestant, but his wife is a Papist – albeit a casual one – making him acceptable to both parties."
"They're also the most nauseating pair of eternal honeymooners in the whole empire," she thought, forcing herself not to shudder.
"But whomsoever controls Lusatia controls the east," she continued. "It dominates Moravia and Strelsau, and controls the roads into Vallachia. Somehow I suspect the compromise won't last; there's too much for the taking."
Her eyes spread west over the map. There were the Crown Lands in the centre – the Emperor's personal domain – and the seven Landgraviates that neigboured it. To the south was the Palatinate, vast and looming like a threat. To the west, on the border, her own Anhalt-Zerbst.
"Uncle Klaus is secure in Osthausen here," she pointed at her uncle's territory on the map. "And while he remains our ally, Waldeck and Mansfeld remain reliable. Margrave Handenburg is still in Albion, but his lands will be quiet for the moment. Lubeck is too close to the Count Palatine, who covets our Zerbst lands. Meanwhile, Duke Ruprecht of Schwandorf is still bickering with uncle Klaus and bullying Holstein and Hohenlohe while he's at it. Fortunately for us, he's also an old enemy of Masuria, so they keep him watching his back."
She fell silent, feeling rather pleased with herself. To her delight, her father's craggy face shifted into the smallest of smiles.
"Not bad, daughter, not bad," he allowed. "It seems you haven't forgotten everything I tried to teach you."
"Just because I've been having a marvelous time in Tristain doesn't mean I've gone soft, father," retorted Kirche with a smirk. "I'm still your daughter, like it or not."
"We may soon find out just how much." The Margrave turned away and strode towards the single window. He stared out into the darkness, his reflected eyes shadowed by a furrowed brow.
"Germania is unstable," he said, his tone grim. "As things are, any of the troubles you recited could tear the empire apart. One matter piles upon another, and sooner or later, it breaks the camel's back."
Kirche felt her good humour fade, replaced with cold disquiet. She knew her father's moods only too well, and it had been over two years since she had last seen him like this.
That day when she returned from the Vindabona Academy, a day she had tried very hard to forget.
"What do you ask of me, father?" she said, keeping her tone confident and clear.
"For the moment, nothing. But there will come a day when I and this family will have need of you. You are a grown woman, and cannot escape from these trials. If war should come, you will have your part, like it or not."
Kirche shivered, half-excited, half-afraid. There would be intrigue and adventure for sure, and terrible danger aplenty. Might he trust her to command an army? To lead troops into battle? The possibilities were as tempting as they were terrifying.
But then…what about Tabitha? Could her father afford to support her at such a time? Dare he risk the wrath of Gallia without the Emperor's support?
Her heart sank. So this was why he had called her to the War Room at so late an hour. He had called her to break the bad news.
"I suppose…you wish me to abandon my plans," she said, forcing herself to speak calmly and nobly, to force down the cry of anger and frustration fighting its way up through her throat.
"Your plans are your own, daughter," replied the Margrave, turning at last to face her. "Be assured, I will not allow Anhalt-Zerbst to be dragged down with you if it all goes wrong. You must do as your conscience decrees, and if need be, die with honour as a daughter of my house should."
"I will not disgrace you, father." It was the only thing she could say. Her father gently nodded his head, closing his eyes for a moment. His mien had changed, that cold mask replaced with a hovering shadow, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders.
"I know you will not. But I needed to be certain that you understand what you are getting yourself into, and that once you move beyond these lands, I will be powerless to assist you."
"I understand, father." Kirche held up her head, feeling her weary heart swell with a pride she had not felt in a long time.
"Very well." Benedict raised his wand and flicked it, causing a long bell tassel to move up and down. Kirche could hear the muffled sound of a bell ringing, and a moment later the doors clicked open to admit Wilhelm, her father's valet. She watched as the young man strode into the room, and stood to attention before her father.
"Wilhelm, you may bring our latest guest from his confinement. Also, send for the Chevalresse; I would speak with her in private."
"Yes, your grace." Wilhelm bowed his head, and strode out of the room.
"A certain gentleman arrived a few hours ago," explained her father, once the doors had closed. "A nobleman of Gallia, claiming to be Bart de Castlemount, Knight-Captain of the Order of the Eastern Roses, and all but begging to be allowed to speak to you. He is currently cooling his heels in one of the secure rooms; I thought the dungeon a tad cruel in the state he was in."
Kirche gripped the edge of the table, forcing her weary mind to process this new information. What kind of game was her father playing? And who was this Bart de Castlemount?
Might he know where Tabitha was?
A few moments later, the doors opened once again. In came Wilhelm, accompanied by a blond-haired man a few years older than Kirche. He had a weary, drained look about him, but he had a swordsman's narrow waist and lean, powerful arms and legs. He carried himself like a nobleman, albeit an exhausted one, and his eyes were sharp and suspicious.
"Daughter, I present you the gentleman claiming to be Bart de Castlemount," the Margrave introduced him. "Gentleman who might be Bart de Castlemount, my daughter, the Lady Kirche."
"I am honoured, gracious lady," said Bart in accented but reasonable Germanian. He bowed in the Gallian fashion, scraping his right foot out behind him. Kirche acknowledged him with a slow nod, not quite sure what to make of him.
"In a moment, there will come a person who can identify you," said her father. "I will then be able to explain my intentions."
"I have already given you my word of honour," replied Bart, with a hint of exasperation. "And shown you my sword. Is this not enough for you, your grace?"
Kirche looked him up and down, carefully holding her head so as not to make it obvious. He wore plain, clean clothes that did not quite fit him; implying they had been provided after his arrival. His hair had been combed, but she could just make out the glisten of damp. There was indeed a sword at his hip, handing from a bandolier of fine black leather with fittings of what looked like gold.
"Perhaps you will show me your sword," suggested Kirche. Bart paused a moment, then pulled his sword from the bandolier and presented it, pommel first. It had a beautiful silver cup hilt, decorated in fine filigree, though the dominant image was the emblem of a rose. Around the rose, Kirche could make out an engraved motto.
Vive le Roi
"Well," she mused, gesturing for him to put it away. "That would appear to be the sword of an Eastern Rose. Perhaps you killed its rightful owner and stole it."
"My lady is pleased to jest." Again that angry edge, more noticeable this time. They were getting on his nerves, and Kirche wasn't sure whether it was a good idea or not.
The door opened again, and this time Alice la Durant strode in. Kirche did not miss the look that flashed over her face as she stepped into the light and saw Bart.
"Monsieur, this is Alice la Durant, formerly of the Order of the Eastern Roses," explained Benedict. "Mademoiselle la Chevalresse, do you recognize this man?"
"I do," replied Alice. "This is my former Captain, Bart de Castlemount." She offered her hand. "It's been a long time, Captain."
"It has indeed, Alice." Bart seemed to relax as he clasped her wrist. "But how did you come to be here?"
"The Chevalresse attempted to prevent my daughter's party from travelling here," said the Margrave. "To spare her dignity, I have allowed her to give her parole and become my prisoner."
"Prisoner?" Bart was visibly outraged. "Your grace, I must protest!"
"It was that or the dungeon, Monsieur," retorted Benedict coldly. "Mademoselle, I remind you of your oath of parole. Is this man Bart de Castlemount?"
"On my honour, he is Bart de Castlemount," replied Alice. "I stand guarantor for the truth he speaks."
"Very well," the Margrave went on, before Bart could object. "I have summoned you here, Monsieur, because the information you claim to have is relevant to my daughter's intentions. First, you will tell us why you have abandoned your King and sought my protection here."
Bart drew a breath, visibly forcing himself to remain calm.
"Mere days ago, my former master, the false King Joseph, arrested and imprisoned his own niece, Princess Charlotte, and her mother. Her father was Charles d'Orleans, younger brother of the false King, and the one who should by the will of God and the Founder have become King himself. But the false King murdered him, his own brother, and caused his widow to be driven mad with a magic potion. If that were not enough, he stripped the Princess Charlotte of her rightful inheritance, and forced her to become an agent of the North Parterre."
His voice quavered, with fury or with grief Kirche could not tell.
"He subjected her to the cruelest of trials, the most deadly of missions. And for all her suffering and service, her only reward was the rank of Chevalier."
He squeezed his eyes shut, his noble hauteur gone. Kirche had heard this story before, from the Major-domo at Tabitha's family estate. But she could not help but pity the man standing before her, at the pain and shame he so obviously felt.
"That is a very sad story," commented the Margrave. "No way to treat one's own blood, and a child at that. But I fail to see how that concerns me, or Anhalt-Zerbst."
"There are many who feel as I do," replied Bart, regaining some of his composure. "It was known to us that the Princess resided at the Royal Tristain Magic Academy. Indeed, it was I who arranged it with Headmaster Osman, that she might live there in safety. It is also known to us that she counted your daughter among her friends. Fearing that the academy was being watched, I elected to contact your grace directly."
He fell silent. The Margrave regarded him for a moment.
"I sympathise Monsieur, truly," he said. "But you must understand, there is no meaningful support that I can offer your cause. Such a thing would bring the wrath of Gallia upon my lands, and for a cause that the Emperor will not support."
"But…" Bart blurted out, eyes full of pain and desperate hope.
"Whatever his faults, King Joseph is the elder son and the rightful King," Benedict went on. "However unpleasant we may find it, his treatment of his niece was in no way unlawful or offensive. Besides, if what my daughter tells me is true, the cause of her confinement is the wilful disobeying of a clear order. Whatever our personal feelings, Monsieur, the Emperor will not support your enterprise, which is nothing less than to remove a Princess of Gallia from the authority of her rightful King, perhaps with a view to setting her on the throne in his place. Do you deny it, Monsieur?"
Bart squeezed his eyes shut again. Kirche thought for a moment he would burst into tears.
"If you knew the Princess as I do, you would not question my motives," he growled, turning venomous eyes on the Margrave. "She was gentle, innocent, and open-hearted. Compare that to her current self, and you will see what that monster has done to her."
His eyes gleamed with anguish, and Kirche's heart ached.
"Do not seek to win me with tears, Monsieur," replied her father coldly. "I understand your anguish, but I will not sacrifice my lands to it. Nevertheless, there is another way."
"How?" Bart almost jumped, eyes bright with sudden hope.
"My daughter is planning an expedition to rescue the Princess," said the Margrave. "I propose this, Monsieur. You will tell my daughter everything you know, especially the location where the Princess and her mother are imprisoned. You will then give me your parole, and remain here as my prisoner. That way, I can plausibly claim ignorance if my daughter's scheme is discovered, and Joseph has no casus belli."
Bart remained silent for a long time, until Kirche began to fear he would refuse.
"It is a good plan, your grace," he said eventually. "Your reputation for cunning is not without foundation. I offer you my parole, and will cooperate in any way I can."
"Excellent!" At long last, the Margrave smiled. "Now, I think my daughter has some questions for you,"
Sierhagen Castle, Margraviate of Anhalt-Zerbst, 7th Day of Ansuz
"So why are we meeting? I just had a most splendid breakfast," yawned Guiche.
The room in which they had gathered was a study of sorts, but large and airy; with many over-stuffed armchairs and sofas, a room designed for comfort as much as for work. There were many books in the bookcases, some of them probably quite valuable. But the room's most impressive feature was a painted map of Halkeginia, which took up an entire long wall.
Like the rest of them, Suleiman had enjoyed an early breakfast in his room, accompanied by an invitation to meet informally. So informally, in fact, that they were all still in their nightwear; thin nightgowns and pyjamas made of soft cotton imported from some distant southern land.
Suleiman knew that distant southern land to be Arysia. He was more than a little surprised that it had gotten so far north. Another reminder of how many things he didn't know.
He sat next to Tiffania on a table by the bookcase. Saito and Louise had grabbed one of the sofas, while Montmorency and Alice had taken the other; with Maxwell standing at his mistress' side. The rest of the Ondines were sitting on or standing behind various chairs, still yawning and rubbing their eyes.
Kirche stood near the fireplace, arms crossed, her face set in a look of grim determination that did not quite suit it. Professor Colbert stood off to one side, eying her with a look that seemed to mingle concern with mild fear; like a henpecked husband.
"I called this meeting," Kirche said aloud, turning to face them, "because as of last night, we know where Tabitha is being held."
"You know where she is? Where?" Saito demanded, sitting up. All the rest were alert, hanging on her every word.
"Pipe down Saito." Louise said calmly. "Let Kirche finish." She fixed the redhead with a steely gaze.
"Where did this come from, all of a sudden? We've been hanging around here for three days, and you say you know where Tabitha is?"
"Miss Valliere, the Margrave makes it his business to keep abreast of events in Tristain and Gallia," Colbert interjected. "Had you paid more attention in your classes on politics and statecraft, you would understand this."
Louise blushed, eyes wide at being corrected while Kirche let out a snicker. Saito stifled a laugh, although was silenced with a hard elbow.
"My question, Kirche?" she demanded, eyebrow twitching dangerously.
"A certain gentleman arrived last night" Kirche closed her eyes. "His name is Bart de Castlemount, a Knight of the Order of the Eastern Roses."
"The Eastern Roses," Montmorency interjected. "Wait, Chevalresse," she turned to Alice, "isn't that your order?"
"It is," confirmed Alice. "The Margrave bade me identify him."
"This gentleman claims to have been an ally of Tabitha," Kirce went on, her tone dubious. "More importantly, he gave us the location where Tabitha is being held; the old city of Alhambra." She looked rather testily at Colbert. "You know where that is, right?"
"Y-Yes." Colbert seemed taken off-guard. He stepped over to the map.
"Alhambra is a fortress and trading outpost in the far eastern corner of Gallia, at the border of the Rub Al-Kali." he explained, gesturing at a small castle located at Gallia's easternmost point. "It also borders the Kurgan steppes, up here," he gestured at a vast expanse of steppe, reaching from Germania down to a mountain range.
"Kurgan?" Saito asked with a tilt of his head.
"Horse nomads," Louise cut in. "It's a region of hills and grasslands stretching for leagues. The Kurgans dominate the other nomad tribes there. Orcs make their home there too."
"My people have encountered these Orcs before." Suleiman spoke out. "We called them Rajuls. They are few, and seldom travel through the mountains in the north. They usually come to barter and trade, but we have had a few incidents where they cause trouble."
He didn't think it was a good time to talk about the Kurgans. He knew of them only through the stories he had heard as a child; none of them pleasant.
"It's such a long way," complained Malicorne. "How long will it take us with the Ostland?"
"Two days at least, more like three," replied Colbert. "And that's taking risks with the wind currents, and the knights guarding the border."
"I've heard of them," Gimli spoke up. "The Order of the Oriflamme; dragon knights operating out of Lion's Gate fortress. Some of Gallia's best."
"Lion's Gate is here, guarding the Saint Bernard Pass," Colbert added. "If we cross over the Palatinate and then head south-south-east over the Kurgan Steppes, we should arrive without incident."
He pointed at a little picture of a castle, positioned on what appeared to be a mountain pass leading between Gallia and part of southern Germania, listed on the map as the Palatinate. There was a shield icon next to the castle, showing a golden sun with curving rays spreading out around it like the axles of a wheel.
"But crossing the Palatinate is dangerous too," cut in Louise, glancing suspiciously at Kirche. "I'm told you're not on good terms with the Count Palatine these days."
"We're never on good terms with the Count Palatine," retorted Kirche with a sigh. "But he's not expecting us, and there's no reason for him to associate the Ostland with Anhalt-Zerbst, so that gives us the advantage."
Nobody answered, but Suleiman sensed little enthusiasm among them. Being chased across southern Germania by dragon-riders evidently did not much appeal.
"Two or three days," said Alice grimly. "We may be too late."
"I suspect not," mused Guiche, toying with his rose-headed wand. "I think she's still alive."
There was an extraordinarily long pause.
"You? Thinking?" spluttered Montmorency. "I must be going mad!"
"It's really very simple, my dear Montmorency," replied Guiche cheerfully. "If he wanted Tabitha dead, he would have killed her there and then. But if he wants her kept secure and hidden, why bother to send her to such a faraway place?"
Guiche almost skipped over to the map, grinning from ear to ear. He drew his Rose wand across the map from Lutece to Alhambra, to illustrate his point.
"Joseph doubtless knows of our connection to Tabitha. Ergo, he hides her away in Alhambra, forcing us to travel right into the middle of nowhere in order to rescue her, with little hope of help. I submit, dear friends, that this is a trap."
He paused for a few moments, and then a lot of moments. Suleiman looked around, and realized that they were all staring at Guiche as if he had sprouted horns.
"Guiche just said something intelligent," said Malicorne, his mouth hanging open.
"I am going mad," added Montmorency. "But…well done all the same."
"Montmorency!" Guiche flung himself onto his knees before her, making her jump in surprise. "Oh sweet words of praise! Oh soothing balm upon my weary spirit!"
"And he's off again," Louise muttered, as Guiche gushed over an awkward, blushing Montmorency.
"But for all that, he said something useful for once," Kirche said, ignoring the scene. "It's a possibility we cannot ignore." She paused, looking around the room, meeting each and every one of them in the eye.
"I can't ask you to continue, in the face of this danger," she said, her tone suddenly grave. "If anyone wants to withdraw, now is the time."
"I'm still in!" insisted Saito, standing up. "I can't just leave Tabitha in there!"
"Sit down, dog!" Louise yanked him back down. "I am your master! You do nothing without my orders!"
"So you're not going?" Saito asked sourly.
"I didn't say that!" insisted Louise, just a little too late. "Tabitha owes us for this mess! Besides, even if we left her to her fate, Joseph isn't just going to give up! Better to put him down now!"
"I won't drop out!" declared Malicorne, pumping his clenched fist. "I promised Irukuku I'd save Tabitha for her!"
He paused, and looked around.
"Come to think of it, where is Irukuku?"
"Stuffing her face in one of the larders, most likely," Kirche replied with a sigh. The blue-haired maiden had been caught doing so more than once. Suleiman had heard of Tabitha's legendary appetite; evidently it ran in the family.
"And what of you two?" Kirche turned to face Suleiman and Tiffania. "Neither of you know Tabitha. This isn't your responsibility. I won't hold it against you if you stay here."
Suleiman looked to Tiffania, awaiting her intent. But Tiffania was awkward, nervous, evidently unhappy at being put on the spot.
"Oh… well…" Tiffania looked at her lap, and then turned to look at him. "What do you think Suleiman?"
"Me?" Suleiman was taken aback. "You're asking me?"
"Tiffa! Don't let him make your decisions!" snapped Louise. "He is your familiar and you are his master!"
"Say's the one who didn't let me go but is going anyway…"
"Silence dog!"
Suleiman gulped, as he realized that all eyes were upon him. He knew how he felt, and what he wanted to say. But how to say it?
"It's true that I don't know Tabitha," he said awkwardly. "But I know that she's important to you all. You've told me so many things about her, shared so many memories. In truth, that alone should be enough."
He paused, clearing his throat.
"But there's more to it than that. For her to be used so, by her own uncle…" He trailed of, fighting down a familiar surge of anger and shame. "I…I can't let it stand. I just can't."
There was silence.
"If that's how Suleiman really feels," Tiffania spoke up, her voice high and clear, "then I'm going too."
"Thank you, both of you." Kirche was smiling, this time with sincerity. "Anyone else?"
She looked around the room, but not one voice rose in dissent.
"Very well!" she declared. "Jan tells me the Ostland will be ready to leave some time after lunch. In the meantime, I'd like to discuss our plan for infiltrating the fortress."
"I wondered when you would come to that," Alice spoke up. "Getting into that fortress won't be easy."
"Ordinarily, you would be right." Kirche's eyes sparkled with mischief. "But I think I know a foolproof way."