It seems we’re the last to arrive. The room had been designed to catch as much sunlight as possible.
Resting heavily in the center as though it had taken root there was a great, round table, around which sat all the usual suspects.
“What a very timely arrival,” sneered the lord of the Fifth City as they entered. Lion ignored him, dropping into a chair directly opposite Lord Shaola of the First City, then deliberately crossing his legs.
“Giving yourself pompous airs like a king, are you?” This, too, from the lord of the Eleventh City, Lion let slide off him. Julius took his place standing behind Lion. He was not the only one—behind each of the city’s rulers was an attendant doing the same.
Shaola, the chairman of the council, gave an exaggerated cough, which drew all their attentions.
“That’s everyone present. In which case, the Council of the Thirteen Stars will now convene. As you all know, we are gathered here to discuss—”
He had scarcely finished opening the council when the sound of someone violently pounding the table filled the room. Lion turned a dispassionate eye to the source: Lord Leisenheimer Meyer of the Second City, his face a mask of fury.
“There’s nothing to discuss! Unconditional vassalage to the empire? He could hardly insult us further! We ought to give the empire the response it deserves!”
More than half of the others nodded enthusiastically. Already, it was going just as Lion had expected. He gave a little sigh, then opened his mouth.
“Shall we move the discussion to how we’ll wage war on the empire, then?”
“Lord Lion, this is a matter that concerns the fate of Sutherland. It is not a time to rush to a conclusion.”
“Oh? Are you opposed then, Lord Shaola?”
“I said no such thing. But Sutherland still takes a stance of nonintervention.”
Hearing Shaola refer to the Charter of the Thirteen even now, Lion couldn’t help but snort. “There was a certain city somewhere that disregarded the charter to invade the Kingdom of Fernest, I seem to recall.”
All eyes in the room concentrated in the same place. There, swathed in bright colors like the outstretched wings of a kaleido bird, sat Cassandra. Under their collective gaze, she looked venomously around the table.
“Enough of your pretty words. Did we not as good as involve ourselves in the war the moment we made that secret treaty with the empire? And yet, in spite of that, who was it who ignored all appeals for reinforcements? That was nothing short of desecration of the charter!” Cassandra finished passionately.
Diana Christine of the Eighth City, who sat to Cassandra’s right, regarded her neighbor with her cold, jade-colored eyes. “What a simply marvelous interpretation. The Charter of the Thirteen is only concerned with cases where Sutherland faces an invasion. How dare you demand we send our armies because you feared the foe that defeated you in a fight you picked might strike back. Do you have no shame?”
Every word Diana spoke was the unimpeachable truth. Cassandra herself must have understood that much, because she made no retort and instead settled for glaring at Diana. Drake, who stood behind her, showed no sign of indignance, despite the slight to his mistress. On the contrary, his expression brightened as though it had gratified him.
Diana continued to press Cassandra without mercy. “On top of that, it may be you we have to thank for all this. Are you quite aware of that?”
“What’s it got to do with me?!”
Today, the Cassandra who always wore a thin smile and draped herself in an air of moody allure was nowhere to be seen. Lion had gotten his wish earlier than he’d hoped.
“Obviously because your army went and suffered a humiliating defeat,” Diana retorted, drawing out the last two words. “Of course the empire would decide that Sutherland doesn’t constitute a threat after that.”
Cassandra looked away, as though she were trying to escape the other woman. She trembled with pure rage. It was Cassael who came to her aid.
“I know not how much of this you are aware of, honored lords and ladies, but it was no common army that defeated Northern Perscilla. This is the army that ran rings around the empire’s proud Crimson and Helios Knights, led by the girl who strikes such fear into the imperial army that they dubbed her the ‘Death God.’”
“You’re telling us the Northern Perscillans lost to an army led by a little girl?!” screeched the lord of the Tenth City, making it clear that he had been paying no attention whatsoever to the conflict between the empire and Fernest. Lion decided to observe how each of the cities’ leaders would react.
With the exception of the Bat, let’s see... he thought. Just Shaola and Diana, then. This is even more dire than I expected. When the most powerful people of so-called great nations grow complacent, they generally come to a sticky end. Does this lot really believe they’ll be the exception, when history has born it out time and time again? Or has that much not even occurred to them? Either way, I don’t see a bright future in store for Sutherland. It looks like I’ll have to bring forward the plans I’ve been preparing...
He glanced behind him. Julius gave him the slightest of nods.
Shaola cleared his throat again to draw their attention back to him. “It seems we have gotten rather far off course. I would like to return to the matter at hand. The empire has unilaterally violated our treaty and demanded our unconditional submission as its vassal state. Do any here wish to go along with this?”
“Like hell!” Leisenheimer shouted, as though the very idea was absurd. Shaola looked around the table, then, with a look of resignation, he nodded.
“Then I shall proceed. This naturally leaves us with two choices: war, or vassalage. I call for a vote by ballot.”
The chief steward, who since the start of the council had stood in a corner of the room like a piece of furniture, now approached the round table. He laid a slip of paper and pen before each of them.
For a brief moment, the room filled with the scratching of pens.
“Very well, I shall cast the first vote.” Shaola dropped his paper, folded in half, into the glass box proffered. By the time the chief steward finished a circuit of the table, it had been joined by twelve more.
“The result of the vote is as follows,” the chief steward announced flatly.
Votes for war—thirteen.
Votes for vassalage—none.
Hereby, the United City-States of Sutherland did unanimously vote to enter into open war with the empire. Further deliberations followed, in which they decided the number of troops each city would commit: