The Murky Waters of Politics

Her crimson eyes glimmered as her words settled over the court like an unspoken decree, a promise etched in stone. No one dared interrupt her, save the noble she addressed.

"Understood, Didact," Lord Omen replied cautiously. The weight of her gaze seemed to press on his words. "Though the request you have made will require both time and considerable expenses on my family's house."

The dark-haired Didact leaned forward slightly, her presence suddenly more dangerous. A faint sneer curved her lips. "Eth, do you hear how they grovel for more resin?" she asked her counterpart, not bothering to hide the venom in her tone. "Do you think they mean to test the Didacts' generosity?" She didn't wait for an answer, her words slicing through the air like a blade. "I have heard rumors, Lord Omen, that your house suffered a great loss recently—one you are eager to repair. Perhaps you think more resin will fill that gap. Is that not right, Lord Omen?"

Lord Omen's face remained composed, though his jaw tightened. "My nephew's death was tragic and unexpected, my Lady Didact. It will take years for my family to recover from it. It does not sit well that he died in his sleep. However, I would not presume to call for aid because of it."

The Didact leaned back in her throne, her crimson eyes never leaving Omen. "Perhaps House Mallum would perform better in such circumstances. At least they have proven capable of protecting their own. Surely they would have no trouble crushing a blockade Astad might fashion in the Sea of Ghosts."

A hardier woman seated on one of the blackwood thrones—wearing court clothes in the colors of sea and night—folded her arms across her chest, her muscles stretching the fine fabric of her gown. The emblem of House Mallum was emblazoned on her shoulder. "If the Didacts will it," she grunted, her voice strong and unwavering.

The dark-haired Didact's lips curled slightly, almost in a smile. "See how the younger generation speaks to us, Bomilcar Omen? Perhaps you might learn something from them. Though, of course, such a notion would go against the principles you so vehemently preach."

Eth, the golden-haired Didact, finally spoke. His tone was light and feathery, but his words carried the weight of an unassailable truth. "Leniency breeds revolt. The grip loosens, and the Houses peck at one another like crows. It is unbecoming."

Ustea, the dark-haired Didact, nodded in agreement. "Yes, Eth. However, there are more pressing matters."

Eth turned his sharp green eyes toward the gathered nobles, his voice taking on a dreamlike quality. "Those who dream shall always. Our guidance is brief, but our words are of great value. Speak swiftly, and we shall see where the true cracks in Koona lie."

Ustea's voice followed, cold and unrelenting. "Our orders will be carried out, Bomilcar Omen, without resin supplied by the Didacts. And in your long life, know this: the Didacts could, and may yet, take all your lands and distribute them to one more worthy."

Lord Omen's face darkened, but he bowed low in submission. "As you command, Didacts."

The room was silent, save for the faint rustling of robes as Ustea shifted her gaze to the court. "And now," she said, her voice steady, "we open the floor to the Houses. What plagues the lands of Koona? If you would be so kind, House Stell, you may begin."

Lord Stell rose from his blackwood throne, his robes of dark gray and black tailored to perfection. His emblem, a bar of iron, was embroidered on his chest. He pushed back his neatly combed brown hair and cleared his throat.

"My bountiful Didacts," he began, bowing low, "in these times of unease, it is imperative that Koona maintains a steady supply of resin to sustain our great city. I would humbly ask for an increased supply of Publici to work the mines. Our reports indicate that staff have begun to go missing, and the mines are falling behind on their quotas. It would also be prudent to assign more noble overseers and Watchers to ensure the operations remain efficient."

Ustea's crimson eyes narrowed. "How many Publici did we assign to your mines this season, Bodashtart Stell?"

The young noble shifted uncomfortably but kept his composure. "It has been a harsh season, my Lady Didact. There was a collapse in one of the core mines, and we suffered the loss of a minor noble house that served my family well."

Eth's serene voice turned sharp. "Twirl your tongue and speak in half-truths, and all you will receive in return are half-gifts."

Ustea's tone grew clipped. "Rumors burn through the court of your failures, Lord Stell. Do not test the patience we extend to you. Perhaps House Omen might spare men to assist in fulfilling your request?"

Bodashtart bowed again, though his posture was less confident. "I simply seek to ensure that Koona's flow of resin remains uninterrupted, for the benefit of all her citizens."

Sanni's voice rang out, smooth yet cutting. "So many setbacks, Lord Stell. It makes one wonder if your house even checks its records properly."

Lord Stell's composure faltered. "A scathing insult, Lady Fell," he snapped, his tone biting.

Sanni covered her mouth with her hand, feigning shock. "Surely it is in House Fell's best interest to ensure Koona thrives. After all, resin is one of our most lucrative exports."

Bodashtart opened his mouth to retort, but another noblewoman interjected.

Lady Caliginous, the bald woman draped in sapphire and yellow robes, shifted in her throne. Her emblem, a staff entwined with serpentine arms, gleamed on her clothing. She spoke with a voice as smooth as poisoned honey.

"The collapses Lord Stell speaks of are true," she said, her piercing eyes locking on him. "Though he has conveniently left out the extent of the damage. My physicians have received more than a few visits from injured Saki returning from the mines—some with missing limbs, others raving about karnen."

Lord Omen grunted, finally taking interest. "And yet he dares to ask for more men while failing to keep the ones he has adequately supplied."

Lord Stell sneered. "And what would you have me do, Lord Omen? Command the ground of Lorian itself to stay firm? No man or woman can predict when the mines will quake or collapse. As for the tales of karnen—those are nothing but the ravings of madmen."

Mirak's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. He knew better. He had seen the truth with his own eyes, had lived it in the darkness of those hellish mines. But Sanni's earlier warning rang in his mind: Do not speak to the nobles.

And then, suddenly, it came.

A voice like a feathered whisper brushed against his ears, though it echoed with unrelenting authority. Eth, the golden-haired Didact, spoke: "You who carry the weight of chains; the power of the Didacts calls you to speak."

Ustea's head snapped toward him, her crimson gaze piercing. The entire court fell silent as all eyes turned to Mirak.

"My Didacts," Sanni interjected quickly, her voice calm but urgent, "he is my bodyguard. Forgive me, but there must have been some mistake. He has no place—"

"If I had wished for you to speak, Lady Fell," Eth interrupted, his tone as sharp as it was serene, "I would have asked."

Sanni fell silent, glancing at Mirak with a subtle nod.

Mirak rose slowly, his pulse pounding in his ears. "I have… been in the mines," he began, his voice steady despite the weight of the room. "I earned my freedom through what can only be called a stroke of luck. But long before that, I saw the truth of the mines. The collapses Lord Stell speaks of were common. The resin is volatile, and the operations are poorly managed. The Watchers are little more than thugs."

Lord Stell's face twisted with anger. "This man is one in thousands. He cannot speak for them all!"

Mirak's temper snapped. "And when have you woken in a trembling mine, Lord Stell? When have you spent your nights praying for the storms to pass, or for a shard of resin not to explode in your hands? You sit in your estate while others toil and die. You know nothing of the mines!"

The room fell into a heavy silence.

One of Lord Stell's guards stepped forward and struck Mirak across the face, the sound echoing in the chamber. Blood trickled from Mirak's lip, but he refused to flinch.

Lord Stell leaned forward, his sneer vicious. "Do go on, ex-Publici. Perhaps my guard can remind you of what you truly are."