Chapter Twenty-Three: Oh, Viktoriya...

"Father Schugel…" Viktoriya was gobsmacked to see that eccentric priest again. She could recognize that massive, eagle's nest of a beard anywhere. Like all the other guests invited to Zettour's manse, Schugel was brought in through a chauffeur; power disguised as convenience.

The mad priest smiled warmly at the two women like a grandfather reuniting with his adult grandchildren. Elena was far from enthusiastic when she was pulled into an embrace. Viktoryia couldn't fault her; Father Schugel always disturbed her whenever he got intimate during his sermons and recitals.

Unlike the stench of incense or sweat like Father Gregori, Schugel hardly smelled like anything. He was a ghost to the most primitive human senses; white paper had a more potent aroma.

Just when Elena looked as if she were ready to jab a dagger into the pastor's belly, Schugel released them both. His unfiltered joy drew fear and comfort from the White Russy, especially when his piercing eyes never left her face. It was as if a gardener had found the most beautiful flower in his garden and felt the innate need to pluck it and store it in a vase.

Hans von Zettour gave a pass glancing at the two women; his derision paramount as if to suggest he invited them out of plain necessity to placate the feminist vote. It's not like he cared about the opinions of the fairer sex short of a violent overthrow of the aristocratic state. The black uniforms did nothing to intimidate the Junker. He hastily urged the girls to attend to their seats like students guilty of late attendance and not punctual servants who arrived on the exact mark before moving to speak privately with Father Schugel.

While being led by the Junker's servants, Visha overheard the last bit of the old General's remarks.

"Is the clock ready yet?"

"Time. I need more time…" Schugel pleaded softly. "I need more time."

The Tzar was here. As himself. Was it a political scandal to be surrounded by Germanian bodyguards instead of Cossacks? Perhaps. Was it dangerous to have traveled to the Junker's estate alone and with a chauffeur? Perhaps. Did he have a choice? No. He knew better than to risk the ire of his most devout appeasers. Nikolas merely smiled at Viktoriya and Elena when they walked through the doors and saw him.

Was he grateful to be included in the invitation? Perhaps, perhaps.

Just smile, Nikolas. Your predecessors have endured far worse.

The Romanov was grateful that Father Schugel sat between him and his most fanatical servant. He could use the distance to breathe easily and relax. Nikolas merely sat in his seat and occasionally, lightly indulged in the finest Burgundian wine, while fending off polite inquiries from the other attendees.

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He was the Tzar. The Sovereign and Protector of Holy Rus! 300 years of Imperial Rule lie within him. Conversing with minor ministers and upstart bureaucrats should have been the least of his worries. What did their petty opinions compare to the tens of millions suffering under the yoke of Bolshevik rule? Who did they think he was? Some pawn in their game?

Nikolas sighed to himself as he watched Viktoriya and her associate, Elena, move to their seats. Oh, who was he kidding? His successor deluded himself into believing that faith could substitute for public support while he allowed his supporters to mistake his silence for his consent. The Tzar knew how dangerous his greatest mage had become, how utterly bloodthirsty she'd emerged in the past month, and it almost made him wish for the Major to return and bring her back to normal.

He underestimated how the Argent Silver could turn civilized soldiers into raging beasts. She could command her followers to do anything and everything with a mere snap of her fingers. No order was too wretched, no killing was too heinous. Tzar Nikolas I would have surrendered half his empire just to get Degurechaff as his protector. Tzar Nikolas II would have surrendered his wife to be raped by Cossacks if it guaranteed a sliver of fanaticism the Major enjoys from his men. But what would Tzar Nikolas III give up to obtain success and prosperity for his heirs and his people?

His dignity? His sovereignty? The very throne that he was destined to rest upon? Nikolas hoped he would never find the answer nor would the question come up ever again.

"Now, although some of us are already familiar with each other," Zettour began, feeling quite proud of himself, "As you all know me but to ensure that we are all on the same page, let us introduce ourselves to those still in the dark. Starting with the Tzar-in-Exile."

Nikolas' eyes shot up. He expected Lergen to be seated next to the former dictator. Regardless, he had a role to perform.

"Tzar Nikolas III, rightful heir to the Romanov throne and Autocrat of Rus." He spoke in a loud, crisp voice. It was important to always mention his claim or risk it being forgotten entirely.

"Father Adelheid von Schugel, Development Chief Engineer and founder of the new Positive Christianity." The bearded priest announced.

Chief Engineer? The Tzar looked at the elder strangely. He heard rumors of the mad scientist but the man seated next time him exudes anything but insanity. His posture was straight as a ruler, his shoulders sturdy, and his eyes betrayed a fiery zealotry that not even the most fundamentalist Orthodox preacher could match. The beard may have made the man look peaceful but nothing harmless could come from a scientist who made weapons for the Empire.

"2nd Lieutenant Viktoriya Ivanovna Serebryakov." The young White mage said with growing confidence. "Adjudant of Major Tanya von Degurechaff. Who I can speak for."

The men from across the table snickered shallowly and even Elena flashed a small smile. Was it mockery or feminist solidarity?

"First Lieutenant Elena Muller." The brunette was next. Her resting face beguiled boredom and disdain for the pencil pushers attending. "Acting Head of the Imperial Security Detachment."

"How many Judeo-Bolsheviks have you killed for the Republic?" someone interjected in jest. Romanov looked over to see that it was Herr Goering, smiling as if he were telling a clever joke.

"If this were a competition, you would lose," Frau Muller replied. Her undisruptive tone was chilling.

"Ferdinand von Schleich." The balding man spoke up next. He was the first normal-looking conspirator on the line. Schleich was, like most bureaucrats, possessed a crude but clever grasp of the law, his countenance calm yet discerning while his bearing betrayed his martial service to the Empire. Instead of moving large bodies of men and armored vehicles, his war was the transportation of supplies, reports, and train schedules. "A General and Statesman for the Kaiserliche Vaterlandspartie."

"Michael von Papier." The other man introduced himself. In contrast to Schleich, Papier was the picture of government elegance and composure, as the word "diplomacy" itself had been stitched into the fabric of his tailored suit. He was of average height and build, with a slightly gaunt frame that suggested a life of deliberation rather than action. Papier's face was narrow and sharp, with a high forehead and a pointed chin that gave him an aura of intellectual foresight; his hair was neatly combed, streaked with silver, and framed by a pair of sharp gray eyes that saw everything and revealed nothing in the Duumvirate. Those eyes were too calm and too thoughtful, the Tzar pondered. "I represent the Argent Zentrum; we believe that expelling the Ace of Aces from the Progressive Bloc was the most foolish thing our Chancellor has ever done in his entire political career."

"Gustavus Norske." said the slightly portly man who wore thick-rimmed glasses and an even thicker mustache that would have put the former Kaiser to shame. Despite his rather unkempt-looking attire, Nikolas could see Norske was a man who still carried the weight of his past sins and virtues yet used them as a foundation for his career. He wasn't imposing like a soldier was, but there was a rugged strength present, the kind born of years spent grappling with the harsh realities of the Empire. His face was broad and weathered, marked by deep lines, scars, that told battles fought not with bullets or ballots but with laws and decisions. "And likewise with my colleague. I deeply appreciate being invited to this conference but I would like to remind everyone here that the question of redemption for the Sozialdemokratische Partei has been already resolved by my presence. We do not support Erbel and Herimann in their endorsement of expulsion; we seek Degurechaff's reentry into the Reichstag. We do not -"

"The party will be redeemed." Zettour interrupted.

"It has been redeemed. I am here; I endorse whatever methods needed to bring Degurechaff into prominence-"

"Norske…It will be."

"Maximilian Meinburg." said the next guest before looking to his left. He was a simple man in simple clothes; the mark of an intellectual dabbling in politics as if it were a Sunday hobby. Normally, an idealist would have been massacred by the nature of government and rulership but Meindoff spoke with quiet intensity; boulders do not need to scream to be noticed. "Professor, Historian, and Leader of the Fortschrittliche Volkspartei. Schlage does not represent the liberal movement anymore. I do."

"Warin Kaspir. Defector Commandant of Reichsbanner Schwarz-Rot-Gold." A Preussian officer spoke firmly. If Zettour was the model Junker general, Kaspir was the model Junker officer; egregiously stern and insatiably dull. He wore his medals with quiet dignity and subtle disdain towards the bureaucrats present, even if they were his overlords.

"And how many of the Reichsbanner have you brought over?" one of the attendees from across the table inquired eagerly."

"Over half," Kaspir stated.

Tzar Nikolas III was at a loss for words when everyone except him pounded the table in mild rejoicing. Not wanting to be left out, he quickly joined in though his late entry ended the small jubilation in an awkward setting.

"Rudolf Karlhold," The next officer introduced himself. Indomitable and immaculate, the veteran was a modern knight and a true gentleman for any Germanian maiden. The only defect was his right hand; the Tzar noticed that it was as immovable as stone despite the animated gestures of his other hand. "I represent the Eiserne Division. I speak for Major Johannis Bischaff. I also held rank in the Air Service."

"Bischaff? The 'Iron Eagle'?" Papier addressed the Freikorps member.

"The one and only," he replied with a polite wink.

"Pity we don't see more of his face," Schleich remarked. "We could use a little more male representation in our media."

"No need, I don't hold it against the Argent Silver." Karlhold chuckled. "She's the reason why we're all here, isn't it."

"Yes indeed…Theobald Duester. Representative of the Der Stahlhelm." Another standard Imperial officer but with a face as round as the moon yet there was no warmth nor comfort to be felt near him. Nikolas met Tzarists like him, specifically Cossacks; underneath that professionalism is a cruel beast. "And Frau Muller? I'll gladly take you up on that offer."

"Adrian Hugendolf." The next man said, dressed in a fine navy blue suit with a bright royal blue tie. "You know who I am."

He was not a veteran of the Great War unlike the men that preceded him but rather the chief propagandist. Tzar Nikolas may not know the face but he does know the name. His media empire was the largest in Europe; his name can be found in all the four corners of Germania, the post-Imperial states, and elsewhere. Hugendolf was a man of wealth and power; with a single pen stroke, he could smear any politician or general under an avalanche of slander and libel. Degurechaff was the only person immune to his influence, or so Nikolas hoped for her sake.

"Wilhelm Goering." The man smiled, his eyes challenging Scheich. "A fellow Ace from the Air Service and I represent the Deustchnationale Vaterlandpartie."

"Helge von Doric." Another politician; bald, experienced, bespectacled, humorless, and blunt like a hammer. Even his voice carried an indifferent dullness to it, miraculously nullifying the passion inherent in certain words. "I represent President Kurt von Rudensdorf. The head of state of this wretched republic."

"Kurnos von Westwald." This political actor was smaller but not less wide, with a round face decorated with a humble mustache and neatly combed hair. From the looks of it, he was perhaps the most harmless man in the room. "I represent the Deustchkonservative Partie - the original party of Rudensdorf and Zettour."

Now the attendance reached a full rotation with a man seat next to Zettour. "I am General Julian von Mackenheim, the Savior of Magyzarozag and other titles. I had the great pleasure of personally meeting with the Argent Silver."

All in all, Nikolas wondered why he bothered attending. He suspected that whatever they planned today would not concern him personally. Besides, he reckoned that half the men present had already elected to ignore the Tzar.

"Welcome all." Zettour greeted his guests, before bringing up a portfolio "Now, to business - I hope you have all brought your proposals concerning the next step in Germania's future. We shall begin with the current matters at hand: Rohr and Lutzebuerg."

Viktoriya immediately panicked, turning left and right, and the men reached for their small suitcases and pulled out dossiers, memorandums, and other notes to present. Even Father Schugel revealed his bible. Only Tzar Nikolas shared in her confusion. In desperation to be viewed as competent, she turned to Elena for answers. No one told her that they had to bring files! Her friend only shrugged before she pulled out the After-Action-Reports by Weiss, Neumann, and Konig.

"The Communists and National Vanguards have only gotten bolder since the Argent Silver's departure to Yugoslavia and will only continue to be brasher in their endeavors to hang us from lamp posts." the Junker continued. "While I do not doubt the tenacity of our 'Civilian Militias' in preserving what remains of Germania, it is more paramount than ever that we need to coordinate our efforts to defend our nation and our people from these parasites and degenerates."

"What about the Cossacks?" Goering inquired sharply.

"May God save us from our Cossack friends," Zettour answered, shifting a stern glare in Viktoriya's direction.

"You can bring civilization to Slavs but you can never bring Slavs to civilization," Hugendolf grunted, causing a chain of laughter from his side of the table.

"They're a virus." Duester remarked coldly, "Why can't they all just move to Pullska and ruin their home for a change?"

Viktoriya felt her skin as hot as fire and she looked in Nikolas' direction, pleading with her eyes to speak in defense of their people. But he was as meek as a mouse despite hearing the same words.

"That doesn't answer the question-" She began.

"We will address that later. Going back to the topic at hand: coordination. Now, capable of our militias maintaining order and obedience in the cities and the rural areas, they are scattered and prone to accidents with other friendlies." Zettour steered the conversation to its original course. "Too much mingling between our armed organizations, dual loyalties and allegiance, spawned countless petty rivalries that did more damage to morale and performance than Bolshevik sabotage. I intend for us to fix that."

He gestured towards the easel behind him that carried a large map of Germania, decorated with pins, markers, and troop movements.

"I propose that our areas of control be divided more formally, among provincial lines, where each of our civilian militias distinctly controls and nowhere else - unless the situation deteriorates to the point it requires reinforcement. Is there anyone that wishes to expand upon this?"

"The Eiserne Division could move to defend Pomerania." Karlhold stated, "Our Freikorps - I mean, citizen militia - could protect the coastline in case of Communist or Vanguardists uprisings in our rear. Our small numbers should be sufficient for garrison duty; we can't afford any more battles."

"Have you tried increasing your numbers through the Judean militias?" Meinburg suggested.

"Hear, hear." Norske nodded.

"Heaven's forbid." Duester shouted, cringing at the mere idea, "Incorporating Judeans into your ranks?! What's next? Teaching rodents and swine to be penny-pinchers? Oh, wait-"

"Now what is wrong with Judean fighters?" Schleich challenged, "You heard Degurechaff's words. If she says that they are honorable, diligent soldiers, then they are honorable, diligent soldiers. I have no reason to believe she could distort the truth."

"Have you considered that the Judeans are whispering in her ear?" Hugendolf said as he lit a cigar. The stench of smoke filtered through the air as the other men present began to follow suit. It irritated the eyes and nose of Viktoriya strangely enough; the scent of tobacco was more distressful than the smell of gunpowder and charred corpses.

"And have you considered that Degurechaff explicitly denounced such allegations?" Norske snapped.

"Sounds exactly like someone who has Judeans whispering in her ear." the media magnate shrugged.

"Gentlemen," Zettour huffed, "The bigger question is Hannover and Saxony. Who will fill in the gaps there?"

"The retreat looks far." Father Schugel turned his head. "From the looks of it, we will have forfeited our stronghold in Westphalia and our gains into Upper Bavaria and Hessen."

"A necessary move." Mackenheim stated, "Once our opponents learn of our reorganization, they will advance with great tenacity. By retreating first, we can at least prevent confusion among our ranks."

"Der Stahlhelm can protect Hannover." Duester hummed, "My men are eager to kill some Judeo-Bolsheviks."

"The Reichsbanner can move south to secure Saxony." Kaspir announced, "Despite our division in the coalition forces, we cannot risk underestimating that upstart captain in Bavaria. He has a larger force than the Spartakus Front after all."

"And that leaves…the KSA to guard our east in Silesia and our center in Brandenburg," Elena concluded with a shallow sigh. "Our men prefer a little more excitement than sentry duty."

"I admit that Silesia was rather quiet," Westwald spoke up in mutual agreement, "Perhaps the quietest region in Germania right now with plenty of loyalists in the police and judicial courts but it wouldn't hurt to have eyes and ears on the ground."

"You were an intelligence officer, no?" Doric inquired respectfully, "The calmness could just be that: calmness, but we can't be complacent now. Your expertise would be much needed to root out any subterfuge that may or may not exist in Silesia."

"And your men would be more than adequate to extinguish any fires that may arise around the capital, Muller." Mackenheim nodded, "The supply lines must remain unmolested when we enact our inevitable push into the West and South. No one here would gain anything if Berun was overtaken by a band of anarchists."

"What kind of plan is this?" Viktoriya muttered bitterly under her breath, quiet enough for Elena to hear. It's not the strategy that irked her but the intent. The men were vultures and jackals; with the Major absent, they could swoop in and claim all the glory for themselves. Whether to use their newfound status to challenge Degurechaff for Germanian leadership or as a bargaining chip for high levels of influence within her movement remains to be seen. But one thing is clear, when order in the West and South had been restored, there would be no pictures taken of the KSA. The Major would be forced to submit herself to the "Saviors of Germania."

She looked over to see the confident faces of Schleich, Papier, Norkse, and Meinberg. They passed words saying how they'll be more comfortable with the KSA guarding their electoral strongholds than the right-wingers but Viktoriya could not overcome her distrust of their rhetoric. Elena accepted their confidence graciously but the White Russy was as dark as a storm. Nothing but bitterness and naked contempt existed in her mind.

"What shall we do with the Cossacks?" She struggled to maintain a level of control in her voice. These were her people, her fellow exiles, her countrymen being thrown to the wayside. "We- they -are experienced combatants in putting down rebellions."

"I do not think we should waste our efforts trying to discipline a rambunctious sort," Doric grumbled.

"Yes, yes, it's a waste." Hudendolf agreed, "They will just get in the way of our endeavors."

"If they do, we'll just shoot them." Duerster downed a glass of wine, "Like any other pestilence."

"Moving forward," Zettour said, "If we are content with our new directives-"

"Moving forward?!" Viktoriya spoke louder, "You are neglecting a valuable source of manpower-"

"We will address it later." the old Junker responded with a smile, "On my word of honor."

"The same word of honor that Trianofied the Empire?!" she shot back.

Whatever warmth the former dictator displayed quickly disseminated into a cold, iron glare. "We will get to it. Later."

"Why not address it now?" Viktoriya shouted.

"Because we have greater concerns at hand." He roared back, "The imbecilic behavior the Cossacks displayed since November has demonstrated their utter contempt for a hierarchical command structure. Their base needs and wants are of no responsibility of mine to pamper towards."

"Eastern savages." Goering sneered before laughing with his neighbors. "They care not whose blood they spill as long as they spill blood."

Viktoriya was ready to tear his face off but, from underneath the table, she felt Elena's hand over hers before gripping it. The White Russy looked over to her former roommate in the face in disbelief.

It's not worth it. Her brown eyes urged restraint.

Heeding her friend's words, the veteran mage remained in her seat only this time, she glared daggers at the Tzar. The young man quickly looked away and tried to become invisible in his seat.

"So, the Judean militias…we tried our best to ignore them at every corner but their stubbornness has forced us to finally confront the issue." Zettour spoke again, "We cannot allow them to operate so openly and in disregard of our purposes. Disarmament is our priority."

"Disarmament?!" Meinhoff grumbled in disbelief, "In case you forgot, our country is on the verge of collapse. We need every able-bodied man armed and on the streets to defend against the revolutionaries! Disarming these militias will only serve to harm our defenses, not enhance them."

"Why not integrate them? We have no reason to suspect further treason." Papier suggested. "The more Judean guns on our side means fewer guns for the communists."

Norkse immediately pounded the table in agreement. "Now that is wisdom from my associate."

"Focus on the now, everyone." Schleich grunted, "And right now, we need more men and women in our ranks. It is not just about putting down upstarts and rebels, it's about securing the will of the people. The people must recognize us as the true leaders of the republic."

"Of Germania, you mean?" Westwald countered, "Of course, I don't deny the situation."

"Our victory is all but assured, my friend. The Argent Silver will deliver us." Goering flashed a small smile before reaching into his briefcase and pulled out more papers to pass around. "The future is what matters. Disarmament of the Judean militias is our first step towards reconstruction."

The defecting politicians of the Progressive Coalition scrutinize the document, their eyes ablaze as if they found something deeply heretical, while Elena took one look at the first paragraph before setting it down with clear annoyance. Viktoriya looked down at her copy and tried to discern its intentions. At first, the plan to reorganize Germanian government and society to be closer to the Imperial era was more than reasonable. The restoration of Kaiser Frederich was the priority though the DNVP was flexible enough to consider Degurechaff being crowned as Kaiserin Tanya I if the exiled monarch was too unpopular. She would gain a sizable portion of political power over the Reichstag; the ultraconservatives trying to centralize power around the throne.

But when it came to Judeans and their political representation…

"I'm sorry." Papier fumed, clearly agitated with what was being proposed. "But I find this agenda unworkable; overly fanciful and highly restrictive."

"Restrictive how?" Hugendolf raised an eyebrow.

"What his party is suggesting, and I quote, 'to deal with the Judean problem' is, what amounts to, restrictions. Restrictions on travel, work, where they can receive education, and even their housing. I'm sorry but what is this?!"

"It's not restricting them." Goering defended, "My party is merely trying to control their excesses. It is regulation."

"Regulation. Restriction. What is the difference?" Norkse inquired, equally skeptical and furious at the agenda. "You are denying us the Judean vote in future elections."

"You are undoing 100 years-" Schleich began.

"300 years." Meinhoff interrupted quickly.

"300 years-what? 100 years of civil progress." the bald general remarked. "This is a direct violation of the 1836 Rights of Judeans. As well as the 1881 Citizen Rights Act."

"And the 1555 Imperial Charter by Barbarossa III." Norkse added.

"And the 1776 Rights of Tolerance by Konig Frederich," Meinhoff included.

At first, Viktoriya wanted to speak up for Goering's defense. Her parents and White peers would gladly endorse this plan. However, her agitation against the politicians went awry when she read further down the document and found that the clauses were also applied to her and her kin. The DNVP was clearly building a racially-segregated society, using the Unified States as a model, where non-ethnic Germanians were confined to urban ghettos. Viktoriya and her parents would have to settle in a cramped, dark basement and make a living as rag pickers. If it weren't for Elena holding her hand again, the White Russy would have been halfway to pulling out Goering's spine.

"Excluding Tanya's role in this future government, we can't accept this," Papier said, returning the paper to the DNVP representative. "This ignores everything the Empire was founded upon. Disarm the Judeans, yes, but to isolate them? To limit their freedom of movement? No, no."

"It does not ignore 'everything.'"Goering insisted, "We are merely returning to 1910. The Judeans, the Slavs, and everyone else would still have their rights."

"What kind of rights?" Norkse tilted his head.

"They will have only the rights the government will give them." Hugendolf answered harshly, "No more, no less. Anything else is farcical."

"And who will make up that government?" Meinhoff challenged.

Goering looked around the table rhetorically. "Us, of course."

"This…has to be a mistake." Viktoriya muttered aloud.

"I can assure you that this is the policy the DNVP wishes to enact," Goering replied.

"A terrible policy…" The liberal professor grumbled quite fiercely, "My party cannot survive under the circumstances proposed by your…deranged interpretation of reality."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures, my good man," Karlhold remarked offhandedly.

"Desperate measures?" Norske fumed. "How do these measures help in any way whatsoever? The Judeans cannot live in a free and civil society under Goering's proposal!"

"They are free. They can live freely only if they stay out of our way." Hugendolf insisted, "This is a necessity! You've seen how many Judeans are in the Communist Party; we can't afford to have them vote for the wrong party."

"The Judeans voted for the Germanian Democratic Party!" Meinhoff protested, "Two-thirds of the Judean vote went towards us."

"A fifth for the Zentrum Party," Papier said quietly.

"He is not suggesting that your parties are being banned." Westwald cleared his throat. "From my perspective, the DNVP is introducing measures of electoral security, draconic as it may be seen. A necessary evil to prevent further political anarchy."

"Can I say something?" Viktoria raised her voice.

"Is it about the Slavs?" Zettour hissed, clearly annoyed at the sound of her voice.

"Well…yes." She replied with newfound iron in her voice, "This is not what I fought for…"

"Then what did you fight for?" Duerster asked sharply, leaning forward in his seat. "Money? Love? To become something you're not?"

That caused the Preussian Conservatives to snort in amusement while Hugendolf and Goering broke into petty laughter. Only Zettour was frowning except his displeasure was directed only towards the brunette. His cold stare demanded her silence for the remainder of the meeting.

"She fought for her rights." Norske defended her as he pointed at Goering's pamphlet with great indignation. "I understand the policies that the SPD has conducted since Triano may seem downright unforgivable and idiotic but, dare I say, granting female suffrage is not one of them."

Almost immediately, all of the conservatives and reactionaries groaned in annoyance.

"Germanian politics are poisoned by the communist Judeans and barbaric Slavs." the media baron complained, "Are we seriously going to tolerate allowing women of hysterical minds and frail disposition to decide the fate of the nation?"

"The DNVP is inclined to make Degurechaff the Kaiserin…" Schleich pointed out.

"It is because she is the exception," Doric replied. "Our enemies fear her more than anything else in the world. Her presence on the throne will ensure Imperial unity. It is merely a question of common sense. The Kaiser will return to his throne but in the case of popular consent, the Argent Silver is the most obvious choice."

"Is that the criteria for female suffrage?" Elena questioned rhetorically, "That only the young and beautiful are given a voice in government?"

"Why not?" Goering shrugged, "It is certainly better than communing with feminist whores."

"Those women do nothing but complain, yes," Papier grunted, looking between his neighbors. "Expanding suffrage, however, did wonders to cease their pestering."

"Yes," Hugendolf nodded, "Except they now found something else to complain about: their bank accounts! What's next? Feminists demanding to paint their hair blue?"

Although most of the men found it quite humorous Viktoriya was anything but amused. Although she could not show it so openly, she appreciated the physical touch from Elena's hand; she gripped it tightly much to her friend's growing annoyance. The White Russy looked to her right and found Father Schugel silent as a grave. He looked dead with his eyes staring into space. It seems the talk of politics killed his mind and spirit. No doubt he retreated inwards to explore his abstract equations away from the ruckus.

"The irony of it all." Norske spat out, "Am I the only one who sees the blatant idiocy and hypocrisy of the DNVP? Putting a girl on the Imperial throne while denying that status to all the other women in Germania…this makes a mockery of Progressive ideals."

"Careful now, Norske." Duerster warned cruelly, "We enjoy your company but be careful now. Don't anger the wolves that guard the sheep."

"I recommend sharing these provisions with the rest of the party apparatus," Zettour addressed towards Goering, "Adding clauses detailing defining female exceptionalism; that only women of exceptional personal merit, not just the merit of birth or residence, could participate in this hypothetical government."

"It would help if they have a pretty face and long legs." the veteran ace grinned.

"Control yourself," The Junker huffed before turning to face Viktoriya. "What's the matter?"

What's the matter?

WHAT'S THE MATTER?

If Viktoriya could see herself, she would know her death glare had surpassed Degurechaff's.

"Do I not qualify to have a voice?" She gritted her teeth.

"When I gave you the Imperial uniform," Zettour's voice chilled the room, "I allowed you to become something greater than yourself. An opportunity to contribute to the Imperial project."

His growing contempt reminded her too much of her father in his foulest mood. All that's missing is a strong hand on her cheek.

"Instead, what I see is what I heard: you chose to spend your wartime service, like every other Slav, gambling with degenerates and getting drunk with swine."

"I won those games…" Her voice shrunk into a shallow protest.

"What do you want?" Zettour demanded.

"'What do I want?' I fought in the North, East, South, and West. I engaged in every combat scenario assigned to my unit without question or cowardice and I fought alongside the Argent Silver with all my effort to keep her alive. I liberated cities in the Rhineland and kept the sky clear of Allied bombers. I protected our fellow countrymen in Daneland and worked to crush communist uprisings after the peace. I have done everything you could ever ask for in a soldier and nationalist." Viktoriya whimpered, trying to hold her emotions intact. "What do I want? Perhaps some gratitude from the government? From my commanders? An extra pound of pork and beef for my parents?!"

"Actors and performers require a bouquet of roses after a concert." Zettour replied, "Do you see me demanding the Kaiser an Iron Cross every time I suffer a paper cut passing timetables and ledgers concerning the transportation of men and war material? You are a conscript. Bravery and heroism are expected, not rewarded."

"Degurechaff was conscripted."

"She volunteered to be conscripted since Imperial Law formally denied involuntary recruitment and tactical employment of armed children. Regardless of mage aptitude. Yet her talents were too potent to be ignored in the event of the Great War."

"I was the first to answer Argent Silver's call to defend Daneland and accepted any responsibility she would have of me. I worked day and night, often without sleep, to ensure her plans remained intact during her absence while you were hiding in your little estate waiting for the Major to save the day."

"And because of you, I have one nation to look after and six regions to reclaim. Now, what do you want in exchange for you to be…presentational?" The Junker fumed. Viktoriya didn't think the man could get this furious.

"Public acknowledgment is a good start." She answered quietly, "I want to not be ashamed of who I am…I want to be beside Degurechaff on the throne."

"No." Zettour glared.

"Why?" Viktoriya pleaded in disbelief.

"WHY?!" The Junker stood up from his chair and marched over to cast his shadow over the White Russy. Even Schugel snapped out of his daydreaming when he cowered in the wake of the general. "You ask that?! You who came into this world at everyone's inconvenience?

You are the most ungrateful, debauched, and pathetic Russite I have ever had the displeasure to grant an Iron Cross to. There is nothing but envy, lust, and insatiable hysteria within you. To teach me humility, God had every bullet enter the heart of a Germanian in the Great War when it should have entered a Slav or Judean. But since the weak-willed liberals and socialist traitors were in power after Triano, I had to sit back and watch the Asianic hordes plunder Germania in their effort to find another pint of vodka and sing their obnoxious din they call music. It is the feminine naivety of the Argent Silver that allows you and your mongoloid race to remain here and make a mockery of the Double-Headed Dragon.

I would sooner let the Francois annex the Rhineland and Lower Lothiern than let you corrupt the Argent Silver's image. My body would be consumed by maggots before Germania's throne be influenced by Slavo-Asians!"

The room was as silent as a tomb; the reactionaries were smug, the conservatives were apathetic, and the defecting Progressives and Mackenheim looked at her with muted sympathy. Once again, Viktoriya looked at the Tzar, pleading with her eyes to say something. His mouth did not move. Nikolas merely got up from his seat and excused himself from the table. Zettour did not bother to acknowledge him.

Elena, however, was the only person who whispered something discreet in Viktoriya's ear. Although her hand was united with Viktoriya and hidden under the table, Zettour was about to unleash something foul when he began to walk over to stand between them.

"Zettour…" The preacher whispered, almost pleading with him to show restraint.

"I'm sorry, Schugel. Do you want to say something?" Zettour turned around to glare at the old man. All of a sudden, everyone's eyes were on the priest.

"Ummmm…" Schugel looked back awkwardly before turning to face Viktoriya. Now it was her turn to stare off into clouds; her expression deadpan and void of any witty reply. The only semblance of emotion is a cold frown slowly creeping over her face. "Yes…I believe the DNVP - Goering - mentioned marriage concerning the Argent Silver."

Almost immediately, everyone who hadn't returned the copy looked over the proposal again. Sure enough, there was the idea presented of a royal wedding in the case of Degurechaff's ascension to the throne. Viktoriya slowly looked down and reviewed the words with growing horror, multiplying wrath and exponential regret.

"She is young and we need to secure her power for future descendants." Goering explained, "We cannot let this potency be a dot in our nation's history."

"Weiss is the most powerful male mage of our time, is he not?" Doric inquired.

Zettour nodded, looking a lot calmer now that the conversation moved to a more productive subject. "You are correct. A union between Weiss and Degurechaff would only ensure, and guarantee, a worthy heir to the title. For this conflict and the next ever onwards. Our enemies are eternal but so is our vigilance."

"Except for one issue," Elena spoke up, her professionalism ever undisturbed. "Weiss is already engaged to another. He has a fiance."

"Kaiser Charlemagne had four wives." Westwald countered, "We can grant him the exception."

"What a lucky man." Duerster chuckled, "He can use one woman to fuck and the other to breed."

"Which woman is Degurechaff?" Meinhoff replied coldly.

"I wouldn't want to be Weiss when he has to answer that question," Karlhold remarked.

"Would Weiss even consider this…double marriage?" Papier asked.

"If his loyalty and honor are true," Zettour answered, "Then he will do his duty with the Argent Silver and give Germania an heir. If the Church disapproves, his fiance can become his mistress at his leisure."

At that moment, Viktoriya got out of her seat with a poisonous glare at the attendees, the kind of anger that destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah and left a massive crater in their place, before leaving the room at a quick pace. For a second, Father Schugel thought he was imagining things; he could have sworn he saw a flash of gold in Viktoriya's eyes. Elena followed suit, silently retrieving her files and a copy of the DNVP agenda, before catching up to her comrade.

"One more thing." The host called out after Viktoriya, prompting her to stop in her tracks for a moment. "The next Slav I see harassing a Germanian, I'll hang!"

The threat was made clear enough…

"The rest of you." Zettour glared at Papier, Shleich, Norske, and Meinhoff, frozen halfway from leaving their chairs. "Stay and speak no more about this 'right' or that 'right.' We have greater things to discuss."

"But…" Papier began.

"What about OUR rights, Papier?" Zettour boomed, "Have you ever considered that? What we, as Germanians, stand to lose with each slanderous reform?! Do you want us to end up like the Russy Empire? Is that to be our legacy in the next century?"

As the two girls disappeared down the hall, the Junker's butler entered.

"A call from Osterry," he announced.

"Hang up," Zettour ordered.

"It's from the Theonau Estate. Sir, it's urgent."

"Hang. Up."

"It's Degurechaff. She is calling and wanting to speak with you."

Upon hearing her name, Zettour quickly turned around to face his old ally.

"Mackenheim, distract her." he half-requested, half-demanded.

With a huff, the old hussar left the table and followed the butler into another room.

Life was hollow. Although her KSA uniform was meant to inspire terror and awe to those who dared gaze upon it, Viktoriya never felt so naked. It took every ounce of self-restraint to not drive her fist through her reflection in the car window; it was a simple, blurry image of herself yet she could not stand the sight of it. Getting driven back to her apartment was a small luxury that Zettour could afford so generously. Perhaps he was expecting an ambush by a communist cell or a Vanguard squadron while on the road. A death she would gladly accept in the moment.

Her friend, Elena, was unusually quiet and brooding though she brushed a hand against Vikoriya's arm. Usually, they would talk and gossip over a cup of coffee but her appetite was as ruined as her afternoon. Lunch was unappealing and she felt too disgraced to enjoy dinner. Viktoriya wanted to scream and run towards home to shed her tears in her mother's arms. But what does that prove? That she was still a stupid little girl that ran to her parents at the slightest mishap? How can the Major look at her with respect and affinity then?

Viktoriya didn't protest much when Elena dragged her by the hand when the car left them at their destination. Once again, the door that led to their apartment and the center of Degurechaff's movement sent her back into that night in November. The hate. The anger. The overwhelming shame. All at once, her memories since then replayed in her mind as if it were a film mocking her existence. Every drop of blood, every tear shed, all flashed before her eyes as Elena laid her down on the couch and removed her coat.

For a second, Viktoriya thought she was about to enter an intimate affair with Elena when she saw her friend shed an extra layer of clothing. But instead, her former roommate disappeared into the back. The sounds of cabinets being opened and the coffee pot being filled indicated that she was in the rear kitchen.

She later emerged with an apron carrying a tray laden with tomato and bacon sandwiches, two large steaming coffee mugs, and a few pieces of chocolate and strawberries.

"Eat." Elena urged her in a soft tone. "I've been saving these for a moment like this."

"You always know how to cheer a girl up." Viktoriya smiled weakly.

"Just you," she remarked while she later moved to sort through the mail before coming across a hidden note. "And Viktoriya…"

"Yes?"

"It's not your fault."

"I…"

"It's not your fault."

"Elena…"

"It's not your fault."

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" Viktoriya roared before immediately covering her mouth with both hands. The dam was broken and tears flowed freely down her face.

"Nobody trusts a half-Judean these days…" Elena sighed as she took the hidden note, crumpled it, and tossed the paper ball into the fireplace. She struck a match and lit the hearth for good measure. "Everyone always assumes we want something…Can't a woman just make love to her friend?"

"My father told me not to - What?" The White Russy's face immediately looked up.

"Now I have your attention. Here's a handkerchief."

The brunette tossed it in her face and Viktoriya immediately used it to wipe her face of tears and snot.

"Don't overvalue the words from those idiotic men," she said. "Don't believe for a second that they hold Degurechaff in their best interests. We both know better than that. We're the ones who worked for her, who fought for her, in this abomination of a republic after all."

"Yes." Viktoriya nodded slowly.

"So why cry? Their words have power if you give them power. So ignore them. They are old men anyway. They'll die out soon enough; if Tanya allows it, I can expedite the process."

That brought out a couple of laughs from the White Russy though the tears did not stop.

"What did you burn?" Viktoriya asked quietly.

"Nothing," she answered, taking a bite of her sandwich.

"Nothing is something when it comes to you. What is it?"

"If I told you, I would have to kill you…"

"Do you think I'm scared for my life?" the White Russy hissed, "You may be an intelligence agent, but I served on the frontlines and saw death and decay in every corner. I am a Cossack; I learned how to die the moment I was born."

"It's a package." Elena finally answered with a long, drawn-out huff. "Is that satisfactory enough?"

The two women began to eat in silence. The warm food did wonders to wipe away the cold shame that consumed Viktoriya's soul and soon she began to consume her sandwich with great vigor until there was not a single crumb left. But as quickly as she found her confidence, it immediately left her like a morning mist under the rising sun. It also didn't help that Elena was frowning as if she was forced to play host to an unwanted guest.

"Now that I have given you the answer…" she began, "Mind finishing what you said about your father?"

"It's…um…stupid." Viktoriya shook her head lightly.

"Nothing is stupid when it concerns you."

"He told me not to trust you."

"That is the wisest thing he has ever said about me. What other pearls of wisdom has he shared with you since November?"

"That I wasn't his daughter anymore…"

"And your brothers?"

"Too many things were happening in their lives to search for me…"

"A sign then," Elena hummed a shallow tune, "It's high time for young birds to leave the nest."

"But we're not birds." Viktoriya looked up. "We're bears."

"And wolves." Elena smiled, "Regardless, they're only holding you back. It's high time for you to push forward alone."

"Is that what your parents told you?"

"They didn't want me…"

"Oh…" The White Russy felt embarrassed at her question yet it spawned so much curiosity within her. Elena rarely, if ever, mentioned anything about her family during their days together at the academy. "Why?"

"If we're going to share secrets, you start first." Elena's brown eyes met Viktoriya's blue.

"This never leaves this room, nor this entire building…Don't tell Tanya a single thing." She requested before emptying her cup of coffee.

"On my word of honor." the spymaster smiled.

"My youngest kill was an eight-year-old boy."

"Was he Judean?"

"I think so. He had a big nose for a small boy."

"How did he become a target?"

"He stole my brother's face," Viktoriya confessed. "He looked so much like Anatolii before he lost his…uh…nose. I hated him for it. I hated how he was so happy; so precious…while my brother lost everything. Anatolii didn't have a happy ending after the Great War but that little boy did…and I couldn't accept it. I was so angry that I refused to accept it so I dragged him into an alley and smashed his face in with a brick. I just couldn't stop…wouldn't stop."

"And he didn't run away to his family?" Elena inquired.

"Even if he did survive, he was blind, deaf, and mute once I was done with him; he didn't have any teeth nor a tongue to use."

"Most impressive. I'm surprised no one found out."

"Yes." Viktoriya stared blankly ahead, "It was. Now, your turn."

Elena laughed softly before leaving her seat to put away the coffee and plates. She gestured for her friend to follow her to the kitchen. "I love these types of conversations…it makes friendships so much more interesting."

"What's your youngest kill?" the veteran mage demanded.

"Eight months old - He was my baby brother."

Viktoriya immediately locked into place, stunned at the answer, while she regarded her former roommate with a new feeling of terror. It's one thing to kill a child…but to commit…kinslaying? Elena suddenly looked a lot less like a housewife cleaning the pantry and more like a butcher preparing the next slab of meat.

"My parents hated me the moment I was conceived," the brunette explained as she washed her hands before making her way towards the garage but not without grabbing a crowbar first.

Like a lamb being led into the slaughterhouse, Viktoriya silently followed in her footsteps. The garage could use some dusting as there were boxes yet to be emptied or thrown out. But at the center of the space, was a wooden crate that seemed to be stuffed with straw.

"The moment I understood their hate, I sought to find an alternative family hence why I joined the Imperial Academy - where I met you." Elena continued as she pointed to the crowbar at Viktoriya before moving to unopen the crate. "I was perfectly content in the Army but when I heard that my mother was pregnant again, it could only mean one thing: that I was getting replaced."

She stuck the crowbar underneath the lid and began to push down. The crate made a sickening sound and a foul smell invaded the

room in an instant. A smell that could kill the nose and attack the eyes but Viktoriya was a veteran of the Great War; it paled in comparison to the stench of war.

"Of course, looking back now, it was a logical conclusion that they would disinherit me and cut me entirely out of the family tree. Initially, I was naively optimistic but do you know God's honest truth? I preferred being the only child."

"What did you do…?" Viktoriya whispered, hating herself for wanting to hear the answer so badly.

Elena was already halfway done opening the lid when she finally turned her head to face her. Brown eyes never looked so terrifying to the White Russy until now.

"I used him as evidence of my loyalty to the Empire. Because that is what matters most. Not your name. Not your family. Not your God. Your parents will die. As would you. As would me. As would Degurechaff. All of us, dead. All of us rotting in the ground. It is the Double-Headed Dragon that lives on. It is the only thing that lives on. Not honor. Not glory. We lost because too many people put too much of their own petty, squabbling interests before the interest of the Empire. The Empire must live on. The Argent Silver must live on."

"So the rumor was true then…" Viktoriya remarked quietly, "You…"

"Where did you hear of it?" Elena paused before the final nail in the crate.

"Weiss told me. He claimed that Lergen told him in a private letter," she answered.

Elena hummed thoughtfully, seemingly unsurprised by the revelation, as she moved again to finally remove the lid. Curiosity got the better of Viktoriya as she walked to stand beside her friend and looked down to examine the contents.

Inside was a man. A dirty, wounded, scared shell of a man. His fingernails were pulled off. A crown of barbed wire sat upon his head and dug into his scalp. His mouth was sewn shut; forbidding him to say anything more than a few pleading moans. The straw that made his bed was completely soaked in his own bodily fluids.

"Hello, my dear old friend. We had fun while it lasted." Elena smiled, looking down at him like a snake spotting a dying mouse. "How was Krakau?"

Both girls looked at each other once again. Their expressions could not be more different: Viktoriya was confused, disturbed, and highly intrigued by the idea of being let in on a secret while Elena looked as if she was showing off a private butterfly collection: full of pride and cruel satisfaction.

"I must confess…" the half-Judean remarked to her friend, "I have been squandering our resources to search for this man since Foerster told us about Konigsberg - before Argent Silver had me silence him."

"Tanya's assassin…" Viktoria's eyes grew wide; the realization struck her like lightning. "But how…he must have friends in Krakau."

Elena nodded as she closed the lid over her captive. His arms were outstretched; almost begging for the White Russy to save him. But a block of wood once again confined him in the dark.

"He did. As did I," she explained. "And the Major had plenty of admirers in the city. If he had fled north across the Baltic Sea instead of south, he would have lived a little while longer."

"Why are you showing me this?"

"To get you to understand. The Argent Silver is coming home with a revolution on her back and we must prepare for Germania to burn when she does. No matter who or what gets in our way."

"A revolution…like?"

"Bastille."

"Ah." Viktoriya gave a warped smile, already drawing plans to wipe this conversation out of her memories. "Like Napoleon, the greatest revolutionary."

"Don't be so naive," Elena laughed. "The greatest revolutionary was Robespierre."