He looked down. “Perhaps I went too far in my accusations,” he said almost inaudibly. “I retract my statements.”

Duke Ennersin leaned back in his chair, openmouthed. And Jacoby Sarto meekly sat down.

Venera returned to her seat. If I lose, everyone learns that you have the key, she thought as she settled herself on the velvet cushion. She took a sip of wine and kept her expression neutral as Pamela Anseratte stood again.

“Well,” said the lady in a cautious tone, “if there are no more outbursts… let us put it to a vote.”

Venera couldn’t help but lean forward a bit.

“All those who favor this young lady’s claim, and who wish to recognize the return of Buridan to Spyre and to this Council, raise your right hand.”

Guinevera’s hand shot up. Beside him, August Virilio languidly pushed his into the air. Pamela Anseratte raised her own hand.

Oxorn’s hand went up. Then Garrat’s ambassador raised his.

That made five. Venera let out the breath she’d been keeping. It was over. She had failed—

Jacoby Sarto raised his hand.

His expression was exquisite—a mixture of distaste and resignation that you might see in a man who’s just volunteered to dig up a grave. Duke Ennersin was staring at him in total disbelief, and slowly turning purple.

Lady Anseratte’s only show of surprise was a minute frown. “All those opposed?” she said.

Ennersin threw his hand in the air. Five others went up.

“And no abstentions,” said Anseratte. “We appear to have a tie.”

Jacoby Sarto slumped back in his chair. “Well, then,” he said quietly. “I move we take the matter to the Council investigative team. Let them visit the tower and conduct a thorough—”

“Don’t I get a vote?”

They all turned to stare at Venera. She sat up straighter, clearing her throat. “Well, it seems to me…” She shrugged. “It’s just that this meeting was called to confirm my identity and claim to being head of Buridan. Confirmation implies a presumption that I am who I say I am. I am Buridan unless proven otherwise. And Buridan is a member of the Council. So I should have a vote.”

“This is outrageous!” Duke Ennersin had had enough. He threw back his chair and stalked around the table. “You have the temerity to suggest that you—”

“She’s right.”

The voice was quiet and languid, almost indifferent—but it stopped Ennersin in his tracks. His head ratcheted around slowly, as if pulled by unwilling forces to look at the man who had spoken.

August Virilio was lounging back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him. “Article five, section twelve, paragraph two of the Charter,” he said in a reasonable tone. “Identity is presumptive if there is no other proven heir. And Buridan is a member of the Council. Its title was never suspended.”

“A mere formality! A courtesy!” But Ennersin’s voice had lost its certainty. He appealed to Pamela Anseratte, but she simply spread her hands and smiled.

Then, looking around him at Venera, she said, “It appears you are right, dear. You do get a vote. Would you care to…?”

Venera smiled and raised her right hand. “I vote in favor,” she said.

She was sure you could hear Ennersin outside and down the street. Venera smiled as she shepherded her guests to the door. She was delirious with relief, and was sure it showed in her ridiculous grin. Her soiree was winding down, though naturally the doors and lounges would be open all night for any stragglers. But the council members were tired; no one would criticize them for leaving early.

Ennersin was yelling at Jacoby Sarto. It was music to Venera’s ears.

She looked for Garth but couldn’t see him at first. Then—there he was, sidling in the entrance. He’d changed to inconspicuous street clothes. Had he been preparing to sneak away? Venera pictured him leaving through the wine cellar exit to avoid the council’s troops. Then he could have circled around to stand with the street rabble who were waiting to hear the results of the vote. She smiled; it was what she might have done.

There went Ennersin, sweeping by Garth without noticing him. Diamandis watched him go in distaste, then turned and saw Venera watching him. He spread his hands and shrugged. She made a dismissive gesture and smiled back.

Time to mingle; the party wasn’t over yet and her head felt fine. It felt good to reinforce her win with a gracious turn about the room. For a while everything was a blur of smiling faces and congratulations. Then she found herself shaking someone’s hand (the hundredth, it must have been) and looked up to find it was Jacoby Sarto’s.

“Well played, Ms. Fanning,” he said. There was no irony in his voice.

She glanced around. They were miraculously alone for the moment. Probably a single glance from under Sarto’s wiry brows had been enough to clear a circle.

All she could think of to say was, “Thank you.” It struck her as hopelessly inadequate for the situation, but all her strategies had been played out. To her surprise, Sarto smiled.

“I’ve lost Ennersin’s confidence,” he said. “It’s going to take me years to regain some allies I abandoned today.”

“Oh?” The mystery of his reversal during the vote deepened. Not one to prevaricate, Venera asked, “Why?”

He appeared puzzled. “Why did I vote for you?”

“No—I know why.” The key was again unspoken of between them. “I mean,” she said, “why did you come out so publicly against me in the first place, if you knew I had that to hang over you?”

“Ah.” It was his turn to look around them. Satisfied that no one was within earshot, he said, “I was entrusted with the safety of Sacrus’s assets. You’re considered one of them. If I could acquire you, I was to do that. If not, and you threatened to reveal… certain details… well, I was to contrive a murderous rage.” He opened his jacket slightly and she saw the large pistol he had holstered there. “You would not have had a chance to say what you know,” he said with a slight smile.

“So why didn’t you…”

“It is useful to have an acknowledged heir of Buridan controlling that estate. This way we avoid a nasty succession conflict, which Sacrus would view as an unnecessary… distraction, right now. Besides,” Sarto shrugged. “There are few moments in a man’s life when he has the opportunity to make a choice on his own. I simply did not want to shoot you.”

“And why tell me this now?”

His mouth didn’t change from its accustomed frown, but the lines around Sarto’s eyes might have crinkled a little bit—an almost smile.

“It will be easy for me to tell my masters that the pistol was taken from me at your door,” he said. “Without an opportunity to acquire or silence you, letting you win was the expedient option. My masters know that.” He turned away, then looked back with a scowl. “I hope you won’t give me reason to regret my decision.”

“Surely not. And my apologies for inconveniencing you.”

He laughed at the edge in her voice.

“You may think you’re free,” he said as the crowd parted to let him through, “but Sacrus still owns you. Never forget that.”

Venera kept her smile bright, but his parting words worried at her for the rest of the evening.