18

I’m sorry, my Galechka, but what you propose is simply impossible,” said Lord Sergey Bolotov Prozorova.

He turned his back on Galina and returned to his desk as though that were the end of the conversation.

But Galina had no intention of leaving it at that. She had her father cornered in his study, and she would either be satisfied or know the reason why not.

“Papa, if you are so adamant on this, then surely you must have a compelling explanation, and I would like to hear it. All I ask for is a simple majority vote among council members to elect a minister to organize the reconstruction effort. Surely with someone to lead—”

“That’s just it, Galechka.” Her father turned back to her, his brow furrowing behind his spectacles. “Granting special power to a single council member is simply not the Izmorozian way.”

“I am painfully aware of that, Papa. Just as you must be aware that the traditional system of governance in Izmoroz is woefully ineffective.”

His expression hardened. “It may be slower than you would like, my daughter, but that does not make it ineffective. I understand your youthful impatience, but we must be cautious of what precedent this would set. Izmoroz has avoided collapsing into tyranny in the past because we refuse to act rashly or take the easy way out by handing all the power to a single individual.”

Galina took a deep breath. It did not calm her as she had hoped, but at least it prevented her from saying something she might regret. Specifically, that while the traditional Izmorozian government may have prevented itself from devolving into tyranny, it had failed to prevent tyrants outside the country from taking over. Bringing up such an obvious slight in that moment would hardly be productive.

“I’m not proposing to hand all power to a single individual, Papa.” She kept her voice evenly measured. “As I explained, there would be a system in place to act as a counterbalance among various ministers who would all be elected by a simple majority vote from the council.”

“And how would I propose this whole plan to the council?” he asked. “Why would any of them want to give even a portion of their power over to someone else?”

“So that we might heal this broken country of ours, Papa. Need I remind you that Les, a town of great importance to the economy, remains a pile of rubble, its inhabitants living in squalor or else refugees in neighboring towns that were already struggling to support their own inhabitants.”

“Yes, well…” Her father gave her a pained expression. “There are members who question whether that is even a matter for the council.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her voice rose in both pitch and volume. “If rebuilding a cornerstone of our national economy is not the responsibility of the council, then pray, please tell me, Papa, what is?”

He moved back over to her, his expression conciliatory. “Now, now, my Galechka, this is why I ask you to be patient. It is precisely that question we are trying to determine. Les is among Lord Levenchik’s territories, after all, and there are some who believe that it is therefore his responsibility to rebuild it.”

“Can he afford to do so?” she asked.

“Well, no, he has not been particularly wise with his money. It’s all the mistresses, I suppose…,” admitted her father. “Regardless, there is currently a proposal before the council that the other lords loan him the necessary funds. But of course now there is a great deal of disagreement on the terms, rate of interest, and so forth.”

Galina stared at her father. She had never been so frustrated with him in her life. It was as though he was willfully ignoring the reality of the situation before them.

“Are you telling me that our people are starving and dying of exposure because the nobility are haggling over interest rates?”

“Such things are important, too, Galina.”

Now Galina turned away from him, so that he would not see the look of vexation she could no longer conceal. It was even worse than she’d thought. How had Izmoroz ever accomplished anything in the past? Was her beloved nation like some massive, snow-covered jellyfish that merely bobbed along with the current, accepting whatever fate or chance bestowed?

She tensed up as she felt her father’s hand on her shoulder.

“I know you are frustrated, my Galechka,” he said quietly. “You did a marvelous job rallying the people and winning our independence from Aureum. But the time of thrilling battle is over. Now it is the time for sober and careful debate. You must trust me when I say that we will sort this all out before long. I promise you. We will protect the future of Izmoroz.”

She glared at him over her shoulder. “And I promise you, if the council continues to drag its heels, there won’t be a future to protect.”

Then she shrugged his hand off and stormed out of his study.

As she strode down the hallway, she silently chastised herself for putting on such a dramatic display. It was exactly the sort of outburst that might cause her father to dismiss her concerns as the unreasonable passion of youth. She was not unreasonable. She was merely fed up.

“There you are, miss! It’s terrible!”

Galina had never seen her maid so distraught. Masha was wringing her hands, her eyes wide, and her complexion a deathly pallor. Strangely, the sight of it allowed Galina to regain some of her own composure.

“Calm yourself, Masha. Tell me what’s the matter.”

“It’s probably easiest if you just follow me, miss.”

Masha led her into one of the less used drawing rooms, where she found Mathilde anxiously hovering over a peasant Galina had never seen before. He was slumped into the sofa and looked so exhausted he was barely conscious.

“Mathilde, who is this man?” asked Galina.

“This is my cousin Gennady Shukhov Zworykin from Zapad,” said Mathilde. “The one who first told me about Ranger Sonya.”

Galina felt a slight pang at the mention of Sonya’s name. Was it guilt? Surely not. All Galina had done was communicate the truth to people. Reveal what they should have always known all along. That Sonya was just as dangerous as her brother, and her background terribly compromised.

“I see.” Galina turned to the exhausted man. “And I assume, Gennady Shukhov, there is a good reason you are currently smearing dirt, sweat, and grime all over my family’s sofa?”

“B-begging your pardon, miss.” Gennady’s hand shook so badly he could barely accept the tea that Masha handed him. “I come as fast as I could. The news is bad. So bad, and I didn’t know where else to turn now that Ranger Sonya’s gone.”

“You did well to come here.” Galina couldn’t help feeling pleased that she had become the person they now turned to for help. “Tell me this news.”

“I seen an army of the dead.”

Galina strove to rein in her irritation. “Yes, we do have some Uaine with their undead warriors stationed outside Gogoleth.”

He shook his head. “No, I seen those when Ranger Sonya first brought ’em. This was a different one. A bigger one. Ten times as big, I reckon. Maybe more. I seen ’em coming out of the tundra. So many I couldn’t count. Just a river of marching corpses that trampled over everything and everyone in their path. Any person who gets near is stabbed or trampled to death.”

“I… see.”

Galina felt queasy. If Mordha was preparing for his assault on Aureum, it made sense that he would want to marshal all his forces. But why had he hidden his true numbers from his allies? Why had Angelo not mentioned it to Galina during their many conversations? And was it a coincidence that this second army arrived shortly after Sonya had been forced to flee Izmoroz?

Suddenly, the protection of the Uaine that she had counted on to keep Aureum at bay no longer felt so benevolent.

“Masha, have the carriage brought around. We leave for the garrison at once. I will have answers.”