65

Perhaps Galina Odoyevtseva had changed more than she’d realized. She used to prefer feeling in control of a situation and, when she hadn’t, would bend all her thoughts on achieving control, or at least influence, regarding whatever matter was at hand.

Yet ever since that night in Les when the people officially chose her to lead them, she did not feel as though she truly was in control anymore. It was strange, because the lives of countless Izmorozians were in her hands, ready and willing to do whatever she asked of them. But Galina did not feel that she was a wielder of that power, so much as a vessel for it. She was in a poetical mood, so perhaps she might now truly consider herself a hollow porcelain doll—one filled with the will of a downtrodden people ready to demand a better life for themselves. There was something almost intoxicating about the idea.

She stood at the bottom of the ancient black stone steps that led up to the Duma of Gogoleth, a building nearly as old as the College of Apothecary. Like many of the oldest buildings in the city, it was a large, brooding structure with several swirling domed roofs that jutted out at irregular intervals.

The Duma lay in the very center of Gogoleth, and for centuries had been the seat of power in Izmoroz where the Council of Lords waged their endless debates and theoretically governed their people. But during the two decades of imperial occupation, it had been left empty and allowed to fall into disrepair. So when the new Council of Lords was formed, the first law proposed, as well as the first law enacted, unanimously, was to renovate the building in which they worked.

That was, to Galina’s knowledge, also the only law so far enacted by the new council.

Galina adjusted her mask, squared her shoulders, and took a deep breath. Then she slowly ascended the steps, flanked as always by Andre and Tatiana.

An arch held up by two pillars framed the entrance to the Duma, looking somewhat out of place, both because pillars were more an element of Aureumian architecture than Izmorozian, and because they were clearly quite newly added, made of wood, and painted a garish blue. Although many had been eager to shed the empire and return to “the old ways” of Izmoroz, Galina thought it interesting how some aspects of Aureumian culture had become so embedded over the last twenty years that people did not even see them as foreign influences anymore.

For a moment, Galina gazed at the thick, timeworn oak door, so different from the frame that contained it. There was an iron knocker with the face of a bear fixed to it, pitted with rust. Then she nodded and Andre opened the door for her.

The Duma’s lobby was brightly lit with a great many oil lamps along the walls. Quite a waste, really, considering it was empty.

On the other side of the lobby, behind a set of newly made doors, she could hear a cacophony of booming male voices, all attempting to talk over each other. Really, if this was how they “debated,” it was no wonder they never accomplished anything.

She walked across the thick red carpet of the lobby to the closed doors. Tatiana lifted one leg and pulled one door open with her clawed foot, while Andre opened the other with his great clawed hand.

Then Galina stepped into the Duma Council Chamber, the first woman to ever do so.

At first, none of the assembled nobles noticed the historic moment. They sat on tiered benches, which curved in a semicircle that descended to the floor. It reminded Galina of a theater, partly because the men were behaving rather theatrically, shouting down at the man who currently held the floor in a most strident manner, while the man shouted back at them all with equal fury. A black banner stretched across the back wall with an image of a snarling bear embroidered in silver thread. Beneath the image was the Old Izmorozian phrase Svoboda i Bratstvo.

“Freedom and brotherhood, indeed,” murmured Galina as she watched the men posture and preen before each other like peacocks preparing to fight over a mate.

Eventually, the man who held the floor, the only one facing in her direction, took a breath from his condemnations and noticed the masked woman and her two ominous escorts at the back of the room. That man happened to be Galina’s father, Lord Sergey Bolotov Prozorova of Roskosh Manor. He stared up at her with such obvious astonishment that even the most passionate of his political adversaries was eventually forced to pause in their tirades long enough to turn and see what he was gaping at.

There was a moment of blessed silence as they all seemed to collectively struggle with the presence of a woman in their midst. Galina decided not to squander that opportunity.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” she said.

That alone was enough to break the spell. Everyone except her father began shouting once again, demanding to know what right she thought she had to be there. There also seemed to be some vague recognition as well, as though they may have heard rumors of some masked woman stirring up trouble among the peasants. Astonishing that even such a threat had not been enough to unify them. Perhaps they simply could not comprehend their own obsolescence.

She waited for a few moments, but when it seemed they might continue like this for some time, she turned to her Rangers.

“Quiet them down, won’t you? But please don’t kill anyone.”

“Yes, Mistress!”

Perhaps she should have been a little more specific, especially given the eager gleam in their eyes. Belatedly, she realized that if the noise was bothering her, it must be downright painful to their sensitive ears.

Tatiana strode over to a shouting, red-faced man on the aisle of the tenth row. The Ranger gazed at him impassively a moment, then lifted one knee and impaled his foot with a single talon, piercing boot and flesh, possibly all the way through to the floor.

The bone-rattling shriek that arose from his lips was enough to drown out everything else. Within the suddenly silent room, all eyes watched the man grovel before Tatiana and beg her to release his foot.

Tatiana looked questioningly at Galina, who nodded. Then she slowly lifted her leg. The wet sound of her talon sliding free of his flesh was quite audible, and several noblemen began to look ill. Once he was free, the man collapsed onto the bench, whimpering and clutching at his bloody shoe.

“I do apologize for my Rangers,” Galina said to the assembly with a tone utterly lacking in regret. “They aren’t accustomed to verbal abuse and are surprisingly sensitive souls once you get to know them.”

She had been pleased to note that her father had not joined in with the rest, but had instead remained silent as he stood alone on the floor, his face slowly draining of color.

Now he spoke haltingly to her. “M-my Galechka… is that you?”

“I’m pleased that you know me so well that you could see through my minimal disguise, Papa,” she said. “But I’m afraid I am no longer yours, and have not been since you decided to indulge in this”—she gestured to the frightened noblemen around them—“pageantry, rather than getting on with properly governing your people.”

“That’s what this is about?” He seemed astonished, as though he considered his absolute failure in leadership to be only a minor concern. “Now look, Galina, I told you—”

“I recall full well what you told me, and I would caution you not to take such a stern tone with me. My Rangers do not care for impertinence, and while I would not want you to be harmed, I certainly can’t be seen to play favorites at such a pivotal moment in our nation’s history.”

He drew himself up, looking angry. “Are you threatening me, Galina Odoyevtseva?”

She gave him a pitying look. How quickly he had gone from beloved father to posturing fool in her eyes. Did all parents ultimately disappoint their children so?

“No, Father. I threatened you months ago when I said that if the council continued to drag its heels, there wouldn’t be a future to protect. The world around you heaves with revolt, yet still you sit here and argue like children.” She shook her head sadly. “And you wonder why it’s come to this.”

Lord Prozorova was clearly struggling to contain his temper. That tic in his right eyelid was starting to flutter, and his skin was shifting to a reddish purple. But he was an intelligent man and clearly understood that he and his daughter could no longer play the roles of parent and child.

“What, exactly, is it you wish to accomplish here, Galina?” he asked.

“Oh, I’ve already accomplished what I wanted, Papa. I’m merely here as a courtesy to inform the Council of Lords that your services as the governing body of Izmoroz are no longer required.”

His eyes bulged. “No longer required?”

“Steady, Sergey…,” one of his fellows muttered nervously.

“In truth, you were little better than anarchy,” said Galina. “So it behooved me to form a proper government in your stead.”

“You? A seventeen-year-old girl govern the country?” Lord Prozorova looked incredulous, as though he simply couldn’t wrap his mind around the idea. “By what authority?”

“If you will quiet yourself a moment and listen carefully, you will know.” She turned to Andre. “Please open the doors to help those hard of hearing to better understand.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Andre shuffled back up to the entrance and opened the doors wide.

The noblemen stood, glancing nervously at each other. Some looked more shocked, others more offended. One opened his mouth to speak, but a sharp look of interest from Tatiana discouraged him.

As the silence continued, a low rumble from outside the Duma became increasingly evident.

“What is that?” demanded her father.

“Come with me, gentlemen, and I will show you where true authority lies.”

She turned her back on the noblemen and walked slowly through the doors and into the lobby, with Andre and Tatiana once more flanking her. She did not look back to see which noblemen were following, because it might have given them the impression that she cared.

She did, however, quietly murmur to her Rangers. “How many are coming?”

“Roughly half,” said Andre.

“Good enough. And my father?”

“He is among them.”

Galina was surprised by how much that pleased her. Despite his failings, she still loved him dearly and would have been sad if he’d chosen to side against her.

Her Rangers opened the venerable front doors, and the moment she came out onto the top step of the Duma, she was greeted by the thunderous cheers of her people. She smiled and waved down to the hundreds of peasants and townsfolk who had been asked to gather. Then she looked back at the dumbfounded noblemen who had followed her.

“This is the only authority that matters,” she told them. “The will of the people and the power to enforce that will. What authority did you have? Tradition? Misplaced sentiment? Perhaps merely a lack of alternatives? Well, that time of short-sighted mediocrity is over. Izmoroz deserves better. And I shall give it to them. Or…” She turned and waved to the people, who cheered with increasing fervor. “You can take it up with them. It is their mandate, after all.”

The noblemen looked at each other with tense, unsure expressions.

“I’m about to make a short speech to my people,” she said. “You are welcome to join them.”

“Join… them?” one of the other nobles asked, eyeing the unwashed crowds below.

“Nobility does not guarantee status or authority in the new Izmoroz,” she said. “For the time being, I have decided not to completely strip you of your titles and lands because I think you may be of some use. But should you prove an obstacle…” She shrugged. “Well, I do hope you won’t force my hand on the matter. I know it would upset my mother terribly to no longer be Lady Prozorova.”

The nobles stared at her aghast. It was a threat that frightened them at least as much as physical violence, as she knew it would. After all, being a noble was wrapped up in their very concept of self.

“Well? What’s it to be?” she asked after a moment. “Join the rabble, or go skulking back into the Duma with the other frightened children to be… disciplined later.”

Several winced at her word choice, and made a hasty move toward the crowds. Others followed them with some reluctance. Galina’s father lingered before her a moment.

“Galina, I…” His expression seemed a battleground of emotions. “I don’t know what to do.”

She smiled and fondly touched his cheek. “I suppose you’ll just have to trust that you raised me well enough, Papa.”

A look of relief spread across his face, as though this acknowledgment of his contribution to her efforts gave him great comfort.

“I suppose I must.”

“Now, Papa.” She picked a piece of lint off his jacket as though they were back in his study. “If you wouldn’t mind hurrying along, the longer the crowds stand about cheering like this, the more rowdy they become, and the more likely they will be to damage public property in their exuberance.”

He gave her a sheepish smile. “Very well, daughter. Since apparently I bear some of the blame in your brazen coup, I have no choice but to support you completely.”

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He shook his head in bewilderment and walked down to where the other noblemen stood looking distinctly uncomfortable next to the clamoring masses.

Galina turned her attention to those crowds that had supported her for so long and so passionately. The momentum from her speech in Les had been like a blizzard stretching across the land. If the nobles in Gogoleth had heeded even some of the rumors about her, or been able to agree upon a proper course of action, they might have stopped this from happening. But as always, they had disregarded the will of the people. It was not a mistake she intended to ever make.

She held up her hand until the crowds grew silent.

“Thank you, everyone who has brought us to this moment. The history books will write of this day, the rebirth of Izmoroz. No longer the poor cousin in the north, we will be a force respected and admired throughout the continent.”

This time she was a little more prepared for the spontaneous cheers that erupted. She let it go for a few moments, then just as it began to peter out, she continued.

“Whether it is the Uaine and their loathsome undead, or the imperial thugs who return to conquer us, we must all come together and be ready to not merely repel, but resoundingly defeat them. Only then can the true work of building our greatness begin. I have spoken to the Council of Lords, and the wise among them have seen reason and joined in our cause.”

She gestured to the group standing with her father, and there were more cheers, this time with a distinct tone of relief. Even now, the peasants seemed to fear the nobles, and were glad to have at least some of them on their side.

“Most of you know me as Mistress Kukla,” she continued. “It was necessary to conceal my identity for a time, but now that the last holdout of the old order has been swept aside, I stand here before you, unmasked.”

She untied the ribbon that held on her porcelain mask, but hesitated before taking it off. It had become such a part of her image. Would the people be disappointed? Would she lose authority going from symbol to mere woman? Perhaps. But she also felt it important that they know her fully. It was, in a way, their last chance to turn back before she completely owned the power they were giving her. And she liked that she felt confident enough to give them that choice.

She took off the mask and smiled down at them.

“My name is Galina Odoyevtseva Prozorova, eldest child of Lord Prozorova. I was once engaged to the imperial wizard, Sebastian Turgenev Portinari, son of Giovanni the Wolf. I thought that I could convince him to use his power—power I didn’t think I possessed—to help our poor suffering land. But when I saw how the empire was corrupting him, I rejected him and turned to his sister, Ranger Sonya Turgenev Portinari, because she also had power that I thought I lacked. Together, we began a rebellion that even now continues to ripple across the continent. But in time it became clear that she too was compromised by her family, as well as her fondness for the Uaine. In the end, she fled the country, abandoning us all.”

She paused for a moment, finding that she had begun to enjoy the rapt attention of their gaze. The stillness of the crowd. The sense of unity among them.

“Again and again, I sought those I considered more powerful than myself to achieve my vision of a stronger and more just Izmoroz. Wizards, Rangers, nobles. Again and again they failed me. But you, the so-called common people? You did not fail me. So from this day forth, I, Galina Odoyevtseva Prozorova, dedicate my life to your service and the service of Izmoroz. And I will not fail you.”

Andre lifted his big furry head and in a roaring voice shouted, “ALL HAIL HER MAJESTY, GALINA ODOYEVTSEVA PROZOROVA, FIRST QUEEN OF IZMOROZ!”

As the crowds exploded once more into cheers, Galina stood and smiled. Now that the speech was over and her ambition realized, she wanted nothing more than to retreat to the comforts of Roskosh Manor and a good book.

But those were the impulses of a child, and she was a woman with a great deal of work to do.