The bells of the castle rang twice, an announcement that the Court of All has gone into meeting and is not to be disturbed. Within the conference room, the ceiling hung far above their heads while iron light fixtures descended, holding unlit lanterns for plenty of Ushil’s glow invaded the room through giant doors thrown wide, leading to a balcony that matched the magnitude of the grand chamber.

  Eight seats of power sat on a polished floor, encircling an immense table crafted from the finest oak trees in the land, their occupants taking their places, waiting for the meeting to begin. Damian took his seat amongst the others, sharpening his silver tongue in quiet, unspoken agendas filling the room. Another eight seats aligned the east wall, assigned for the Court Assistances that sit in wordless observation.

  Ink and candle smoke clung to the walls along with portraits of the current and past members of the Court of All, only outshone by a painting of King Thios on his throne of ideals. The three Kings who reigned alongside each other, after they usurped their friend and rightful king, were placed under him on a scale lesser than his own. A King for the north, the west, and the south, divvying the east in equal parts—a ridiculous step backwards in the name of greed.

  With the entrance and seating of Westil, all parties were present. “All seats of Court have now been taken, I will now proceed to the calling of names.” An old man said, standing off to the side of a separate table designated for the Secretary of Court.

  The old secretary read off. “Coin Minister, Bastian Handal”.

  “Religious Consult, Ethan Geord.”

  “General of Military, Johnith Tisbrian.”

  “Captain of City Guard, Damian Lok.”

  “Magistrate of Law and Justice, Joran Tarasian, will not be present. His Court Assistant, Brenden Rilwen, will be sitting in his name.”

  “Steward of the Land, Jered Halister.”

  “Commerce Minister, Tabaris Thurgon, will not be present. His Court Assistant, Westil Graham, will be sitting in his name.”

  “Master Historian, Nolan Wesker.” The secretary pulled his chair, legs scratching against the floor, and sat.

  The meeting had started with hints of small talk and discussion of irrelevant matters as it merged into formal conversation. Respected parties gave updates on future plans and events of importance that took place over the last month. About an hour had passed, dull formalities passing along with it.

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  “Next in discussion,” The secretary said, reading over the detailed schedule of the meeting. “The creation, revision, and removal of laws in the Capital.”

  Damian let the others proceed with their ideas and revisions until the voices died down. He gave a glance to Westil, who had been fixed on him throughout the entirety of the meeting.

  “Before we conclude, my noble members of court,” Damian said, cutting the stillness. “It should be of no surprise to anyone that I wish to discuss the revision of a single law before this conference concludes, exilement to execution for afflicted amongst our walls.”

  “Must we discuss this every month for the next century?” Joran’s sitting assistant, Brenden, said exhaustively. “You six may still wish to apply barbaric measures to the afflicted, but I can assure you, Lord Joran’s and Lord Tabaris’s stances have not changed.”

  “Though that has been true, I would prefer you not to speak for Lord Tabaris. That is my duty to uphold in this court.” Westil said firmly, a confidence he could only find against an opposing Court Assistant of the same authority.

  “My apologies,” Brenden said. “I overstepped, but I meant no offence. To put an end to this meeting, Joran’s position is against the revision.”

  Damian turned to Westil, sitting across the table, with tempting eyes. “Westil, what is Lord Tabaris’s stance on this?”

  With a deep breath and a side-eye to Brenden, Westil spoke with rehearsed practice. “Lord Tabaris, though has been against this revision for some time, has had a change of heart. Speaking as his voice at this table, Tabaris is for the revision of the law.”

  Gasps and shocked faces crowded the chamber as everyone turned their heads towards Westil.

  “I refuse to believe you speak truthfully!” Brenden exclaimed. “We must ask—”

  “Raise your hand if in agreement to revise the law in question.” The secretary interrupted with a loud voice.

  Hands raised into the air, surrounding Brenden as he looked around the table, bewilderedly. “The revision has been voted in, and the law will be put into effect within five hours.”

  “Five hours is not enough time for such a disastrous change in policy! We must at least give a few days to those looking to avoid this punishment.” Brenden added, desperately trying to find some ground.

  Damian stood and stepped to leave the room. With his back turned to Brenden, he said harshly, “If there are any afflicted still living among our walls, they have been doing so illegally for years. Let them pray to the gods. Their answers will come by torchlight.”

  Act Three

  The victorious day lingered on his skin like a scent of the finest perfume. Damian exhaled slowly, sinking further into the warmth of his bath, the water rippling as he lay his head back.

  The darkness outside his windows marked the end of a splendid day. The sconces upon the walls gave a dim glow of golden illumination as the chambermaid turned the running water off.

  “On your way out, tell my guard that I call for my assistant,” Damian said, relaxed but expectant. She curtsied and set off, fleeing the room. He closed his eyes and gave thanks to the peacefulness of Nia’s Watch.