Right now, she wished they hadn’t been. She would have liked to add some more.
Kosika’s throne sat in the center of the room, the council’s chairs curved in a loose circle, like hands cupped around the queen. That throne alone sat empty.
“Your Majesty,” said Vir Patjoric, rising to his feet.
“Don’t get up,” she said, but they did anyway. She knew it was a sign of deference, but all it did was make Kosika feel even shorter than she was. “It’s my fault for being late.” She took her seat, tucked her legs beneath her to hide the fact they didn’t reach the floor. “Of course, I wouldn’t have been late if someone had told me we were meeting.”
The Vir exchanged looks, their faces lined with everything from annoyance to discomfort. Thirteen of them, and honestly, aside from Serak, most of the others still bled together in her mind. It wasn’t just the silver half-cloaks they all wore. It was the way they held themselves, the way they sat in their chairs, the way they spoke to her, as if she were a child and not a queen.
Now, twelve of them looked at each other. Only Serak had the decency to look at her, and seemed about to speak when Vir Patjoric cut in. Patjoric she would always know—after all, he was the one who’d found her.
“We didn’t want to bother you,” he said, bowing his pale head.
“Matters of state can be quite boring,” added Vir Reska, who was easy to remember because she had eyes the same shade as the Sijlt, so light they were nearly colorless.
“I assure you,” said Kosika, “nothing about my city bores me. Now,” she added, sitting back in her throne. “What have I missed?”
Another Vir cleared his throat. “We were discussing what to do about the other worlds.”
Kosika frowned. She knew of them, of course. The other rooms in the house, as Serak would say. “What of them?” she asked.
“Well, there has always been … communication in the past, and—”
“Has a messenger come to us?”
“No,” said another Vir. “Not yet. But we think we should go to them.”
“We,” echoed Kosika. But there was no we. The doors between worlds were closed, and only an Antari could open them again. Only an Antari could step through.
“I do not see the point,” she said. A murmur went through the Vir like wind through leaves. “You want me to go to this other London? And do what? Deliver mail?”
“Holland did it.” That, from Vir Patjoric.
“As a servant,” said Kosika through gritted teeth, “not a king. And only then because the Danes coveted that other world. I think it’s time to focus on our own.”
Serak met her gaze, and she saw the faintest smile at the corner of his mouth. He approved.
“It is not worth the risk.” This from Vir Reska. “If Kosika was taken, we would have no Antari and no queen.”
Kosika did not fail to notice the order Reska had given to those titles.
“One day,” said a dark-haired Vir named Lastos, “the walls will fall. We should be ready.”
“All the more reason to focus on our strength instead of theirs,” countered Kosika.
Vir Lastos sat forward, fingers gripping his chair. “We should know our enemies before we meet them on the field.”
“Why must they be our enemies?” asked Vir Serak. “Why must they be anything at all?”
“We are closer to the original seat of power,” said Kosika, “and every day, our world revives a little more.”
“And what if theirs does, too?” pressed Vir Lastos. “We have no other way of knowing.”
But Kosika’s attention was no longer on his words. He was the type of man who gestured as he spoke, and she saw that both his hands were bare.
“Knowledge is always better,” he was saying, but she cut him off.
“You didn’t tithe, Vir Lastos.”
He gave a cursory glance down at his hand. “I was busy with affairs of state.” The Vir drew breath, about to dive back into his argument, but Kosika did not let him.
“For this, you will make time.”
He waved the words away as if they were a fly. “Very well,” he said. “If it humors the queen. Now back to the matter of the other London—”
“Do it now.”
Kosika had drawn the blade from her hip, and was holding it out to Vir Lastos. He looked at the weapon’s edge, repulsed. “Your Highness?”
“The ground does not stand on ceremony. It will welcome your tithe a day late.”