Vana and Žarís

[Acronis]

Palaces of Parliament
Diet of the Acronian Empire
400 Avenue Melora
Zaram, Acronis

Namet 3rd, 542 KV
February 11th, 2021 CE

Vana Nevran Dandreal was very nearly always the tallest person in any room. She stood at 6 feet and 6 inches tall, and that was without heeled shoes. She was of what Acronians sometimes called “the oldest blood” or “the noble blood.” It was an old Tavari term that was even older than them. Elves on Gondwana tended to be shorter than their counterparts elsewhere in the world, and had been trending shorter every generation. Living in a jungle tended to select for shorter people, since being tall meant just having that much more to keep cool. Her blonde hair, blue eyes, and fair skin were signs of the noble blood as well; they were signs of most ancient, ancient ancestry, a noble line that went all the way back to before elves had come to Gondwana. Even her name was noble. Nevrans of all generations had been in the highest echelons of power in Acronis. Two of them had been Matron, and one of them was the current Prime Minister.

If you ever told Vana Nevran Dandreal that she had noble blood, she would laugh in your face, and then shoot daggers of ice into your soul with her eyes. Vana Nevran Alandar was born and raised in the dirtiest part of New East Harbor in a house with a tin roof and no electricity. Her first experience with the Church was eating in church public cafeterias because there was no food in her house. Her parents had worked their fingers to the bone in drudge-jobs at a shipyard. It literally killed her mother, because the shipyard used cleaning chemicals that caused lung cancer. Her father cried for days when she entered seminary school, because it meant that she wouldn’t be serving her conscription and therefore wouldn’t have the stable Army income. There was nothing “noble” about Vana Nevran Dandreal.

She had gotten where she was through grit, passion, and yes, even ambition. She had clawed her way out of the dirt to get to where she was. There were no “nobles” in Acronis. That had been the first thing Akronism did. There are no nobles, there are no chiefs, there is only one tribe, the tribe of Akrona. The tribe of life. Everyone was equal before life itself. The “fair skin” that the idea of noble blood emphasized smacked of that most disgusting of human sins, racism. Sometimes, Vana wished she hadn’t been born in the body she was. Her appearance was a distraction to people, and it gave them preconceived notions about her.

Still, she always made sure that she wore high heels, so that people always, always noticed she was there. Cursed though she may be with the features of the elite, she damn well made certain to use them to speak truth to power.

It was for that purpose that she was in the room she was today. What she was doing was controversial, and she knew it would take a great deal of work and a greater deal of expended social capital to address the consequences, but it was necessary. In this moment, it was necessary.

“Mr. Navor Tenkrat?”

“Present.”

“Ms. Nevran Alandar?”

“Present.”

“Ms. Nev-” The Clerk of the Diet stopped dead in her tracks, but only for half a second. Vana could hear her hesitation, though. She had expected it, as had everyone else likely had. “Ms. Nevran Dandreal?”

“Present,” said Vana, just as simply as had her very distant cousin, the Prime Minister, just before her.

The Clerk moved on in the roll call and the room forgot the minor hiccup. It was, of course, very unprecedented to have the Matron of the Church of Akrona serve in the Diet. It was normally a severe taboo to even imply that the Matron had ever had a name that wasn’t “The Matron.” The Matron was not supposed to be a Ms. And that just lit Vana’s soul afire in rage. She was a living, flesh-and-blood, mortal being, the same as anyone else. The fact that people had come to treat the Matron as some sort of venerated, mythic figure was proof that none of them were really listening to what Akrona had to say.

Vana turned her attention down to the Prime Minister. Though she was also a Nevran, she had lived a far, far different life than Vana had. Her parents were a college professor and a politician. Her mother had gotten a state funeral because she was Leader of the Opposition. She had successfully postponed her conscription to go to a private university on an athletic scholarship, and then got a cushy MP job when she did have to serve. She had gotten elected to the very seat her mother had died in, as if she herself were a monarch. It was perhaps ironic, then, that despite sharing the name Nevran, she did not share the “noble” blood; her brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin, and her shorter stature meant she was allegedly “of common stock.” Laughable.

Žarís Nevran Alandar was, of course, far from the worst Prime Minister in Acronian history. One of her predecessors had asked Vana to give a live speech on television to endorse the Acronian war in Arkia. The Matron, to give a speech endorsing a war. Vana had wanted to slap him across the face. The Matron had given a speech praying for the soldiers instead, and that seemed to satisfy everyone. Except her, of course, but expressing displeasure would have been in such poor taste for a Matron.

Vana and Žarís had worked together on various issues plenty of times. They were both heads of government and had plenty to communicate about, and it had always gone smoothly with her. She had done something truly very noble for the Rodokans, she had built the Alliance of Northwest Gondwana and had even had the gumption to try the League of Novaris.

And Vana didn’t even really blame her for the wars, truth be told. He could she? Balistria was clearly so… just deeply evil. It was something she agreed even with the Meagharians on. Ni-Rao was more regrettable, but there were millions of Akronists in North Ni-Rao that the government there clearly couldn’t protect. Žarís was right to have Acronis to step into their defense. The base expansions, the new naval vessels, what else would Vana expect from a jock like this Prime Minister?

That had all been of completely normal course. Politicians come and go, they do political things, it was all unavoidable. It was the Prime Minister’s whole job, really. To be the lead politician. She had done a perfectly serviceable job until last month, when she had punched Akrona in the jaw at a press conference.

Nuclear weapons. Nuclear weapons! They ought to have been unimaginable in the world of Akrona, they were the most sickeningly evil thing at every level she could imagine. Such incomprehensible destruction, leaving every person and plant in kilometers flattened or turned to dust, and the survivors poisoned and cursed to slow, agonizing deaths. Entire cities of people, wiped off the map, the casualties so incalculable as to turn every single death into just a statistic. The terrible environmental damage, entire swaths of land uninhabitable for generations; all the life that remains turning into sick, dying mutants. Everything that comes into proximity with them having to be labeled ‘toxic waste’ and stored in vast tombs of concrete and lead because they would remain harmful to life for a thousand years.

Nuclear weapons were the antithesis to Akrona. They violated everything she stood for. And Žarís Nevran Alandar would bring them here, to the Goddess’ own country, just so she could feel like Acronis was part of the big kids club. If Vana didn’t do every single thing within her power to try and stop this, then she would have needed to resign her position for failing her oath to the Goddess herself.

Vana knew she might not be able to. It might already be too late. But she had to try. She had to do everything she could. Because even the smallest mistake with these would mean untold misery for generations. Somehow, a country that wouldn’t even allow oceanic oil drilling had come to welcome radioactive death missiles with open arms. Even if it made her a pariah, even if it lost her everything.

She had been born and raised with nothing. She wasn’t afraid to go back. Not with this on the line.

“Ms. Žani Vastor?”

“Present.”

“Ms. Žendra Entorai?”

“Present.”

“Mr. Žendra Talitei?

“Present.”

“Mr. Žokar Vavantavi?”

“Present.”

“Madam Speaker, I have completed the roll call. All 466 members of the Diet are present,” said the Clerk.

“According to the rules of procedure, the floor will now be opened for nominations for the office of Prime Minister and President of the Council of State. Are there any nominations?”

“Madam Speaker, I rise to nominate Žarís Nevran Alandar of Nakaš West,” said some man Vana didn’t know very loudly and boastfully.

Vana, in her seat far in the back, watched as all for formal political theatre unfolded. Of course she would be the Prime Minister, they had just had an election, but tradition demanded that rituals be observed. Žarís would have to be nominated by the Diet, and the leaders of the other parties would be nominated as well, and they would proceed to have a completely useless, predetermined party-line vote. And then a scribe wrote the results on fancy paper in fancy calligraphy with a parrot-feather quill, which would then be walked across the courtyard of the Palaces of Parliament to the Senate, where they would vote to confirm the nomination. And they all had to wear special black robes. In the Senate, they wore powdered wigs as well. That was the ritual. They did that and then they all got to leave, because there wouldn’t even be any real work on the first day.

After much grandstanding, eventually on the screen on Vana’s desk, words appeared.

AT VOTE: D. QUES. 0001 NOMINATION FOR PRIME MINISTER/PRES. COUNCIL OF STATE

• NEVRAN ALANDAR, ŽARÍS

• LANAŠ METRAVAR, ATRA

• VODRONI ALIŠTAR, MOVRA

• ŽOKAR VANTAVI, MENI

• NONE OF THESE

With a click of her acrylic nail on the touchscreen, which she knew those around her could hear (she had intended them to), she firmly selected None of These. Never in her life had she been prouder to not make a decision.

[Acronis]

[WARNING: This post contains references to acts of violence. Reader discretion is advised.]

Namet 21st, 542 KV
March 1st, 2021 CE

206 Navana Avenue West
Anara, Acronis

The letters always came in orange envelopes. Big envelopes, made out of thick, glossy paper, with the words THE CHURCH OF AKRONA emblazoned along the top along with an embossed - not printed, but embossed - diamond logo. And then, below the logo, a window of clear film to show the address of the intended recipient, printed on terribly clashing pink paper. This was a Loss of Good Standing letter, and it was Kano’s favorite kind of letter to deliver, because the law mandated he hand an official letter from the Church directly to the recipient.

That’s what gave him an in.

Clutching the letter in his hand as he walked up the steps to the building, he smiled at a woman who was exiting the building. “Could you hold that door, please?” He asked. “I have something I need to deliver.”

The woman smiled back at him and graciously held the door to allow Kano to enter. Everyone loved the postman. Everyone was always so nice to the postman. He smiled even wider as he entered, and bowed just slightly. “Thank you very much, ma’am,” he said as he entered the building. He didn’t pay attention to her reply, if she even gave one. She didn’t matter, unless she was the resident of Apartment 1.

The requisite apartment was in the basement, it turned out. Perfect. He stood at the door and took a moment to adjust the collar of his polo shirt and make sure it was tucked in properly. It was the distinctive shade of purple that every Acronian woman, man, and child knew by heart: the special purple of the Royal Acronian Postal Service. Kano brushed some dust off of his gray khaki pants and then, satisfied with his appearance, knocked on the door.

Inside the apartment was the sound of rustling, and then the shuffling of feet. Soon, the door opened to reveal a confused looking woman who clearly was not expecting visitors. She was short, her hair was an odd shade of reddish-orange, and there was something wrong with the shape of her ears. She was a half-elf, probably, which was a real shame. But she was pretty enough, Kano supposed.

“Good afternoon,” said Kano, smiling as widely as he could. “I’m with the Postal Service. Are you Tina Dovrani Kalara?”

“Yeah,” said the woman, in a quiet voice. The surprise fell away from her face rather quickly as she realized what was in Kano’s hand. She could tell what it was. Of course, someone in space could tell what it was, but the recipients of these letters were never surprised about them. The woman sighed and brushed a wavy reddish lock of hair out of her face. Her face was alright enough. Kano decided then that she would do.

“I have a letter here from the Church of Akrona on official business. The law requires that I verify your identity and that you received and opened the letter.” Kano turned down the intensity of his smile and spoke in a low voice. He liked to pretend to imply sympathy. It helped the women lower their defenses. “May I come in?”

The woman sighed again, louder. “Yeah,” she said, standing aside and motioning into the apartment. “I’ve gotta go dig out my ID card from my bedroom, you can wait over here.” She gestured at the dining room table near the door. She didn’t wait for Kano to reply or even shut the door behind him. As she shuffled down a hallway, Kano stepped into the apartment and, as he entered, pulled on the door with his foot so that it shut behind him without him touching the handle.

Apartment 1 was clearly not the most luxurious accommodation at 206 Navana Avenue West, and its occupant hadn’t helped with that. There were various papers and articles of clothing scattered all across the room, none of the furniture matched and all of it was plainly second-hand. Fourth or fifth-hand, more likely. There weren’t even any lights on, with the only light coming from small windows at the top of the walls. Most of the apartment was in shadow, including the dining area. Very carefully, Kano set the letter from the Church atop a pile of various old receipts. It appeared the woman didn’t do much cooking, just ordering takeout.

While the woman was in her bedroom, Kano took the opportunity to pull from his pockets a pair of black gloves. They were leather - real leather. Nothing felt better, and they looked so sleek and… powerful, Kano thought. He always wore gloves on these operations. He didn’t like to get his hands dirty. And obviously the woman wasn’t going to care, if she cared what the Church said about leather, she probably wouldn’t be getting this letter.

Kano waited patiently for the woman to return, which she did after not too long. As she walked up to him, she appeared to take notice of the gloves and register a brief moment of curiosity, perhaps disdain, before handing over her national ID card. Normally Kano said a little sentence or two about why he wore the gloves, but that was usually because he had to put them on while the women were there. He decided he didn’t need to qualify himself this time, so instead he simply grabbed her ID.

Kano made a show of looking at the ID for a few moments, even turning it over and then holding it under what light reached the dining room to check for the holographic seal. She had clearly gained weight since last renewing her ID, and in addition to the extra chin, she had gained dark circles under her eyes and perhaps a few wrinkles. Really, the longer Kano looked at her, the more disgusted he felt with this woman. But the gloves were already on, and that meant business.

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Kano, smiling again, as he handed the woman her ID back. From his satchel, Kano pulled a particular pad of paper that he used for these occasions - he had gotten a custom book printed of tearaway sheets of carbonless paper, like one might use for handwritten receipts. It was made to look like an official Postal Service form asking for the recipient of an official Church letter to sign verifying they had received the letter. The law had no such requirement, but he liked having this because it made things easier.

While Kano gently set his pad of paper on the dining table, the woman dutifully tore open the letter. It was a packet of several pages, only the first of which was that harsh shade of pink. There atop the letter were the words in bold: LOSS OF GOOD STANDING.

She probably hadn’t paid her tithe, or hadn’t attended Temple in several years; those were the usual reasons. Kano had read some interesting letters over the years, though. Regardless of the reason, a loss of good standing pretty much meant a loss of personhood. The entire social safety net was now denied this woman - no unemployment insurance, no welfare, not even admission to a food kitchen unless she was starving, and in order to get into a public hospital she’d have to pay through the nose or be literally dying. And most importantly, no one cared about what happened to useless, piece-of-trash women who couldn’t keep up her Church membership. Especially not the Marshals. They never did.

The woman, once again, sighed heavily. Kano felt his eyelid twitch. He was sick of this ugly woman’s sighing. At the very least she was actually Acronian, unlike the Ayaupian refugee trash he normally dealt with in these situations.

Not that he would have to deal with her for too much longer.

“Alright, so do I sign here?” The woman pointed at the pad of paper.

“Yes, please,” said Kano, who stepped aside and then, very quickly, stepped behind her. While the woman looked down at the paper, he pulled one more thing from his satchel - his favorite knife.

“I don’t have a pen,” said the woman. “Let me get-”

“You won’t need it,” said Kano, finally allowing himself to snap. The rush of adrenaline was pure ecstasy as he clapped one gloved hand over her mouth and gently placed the knife on the woman’s back. She seemed to get the picture pretty quickly.

Yes. She would do.

[Acronis]

Namet 24th, 542 KV
March 4th, 2021 CE

New Jersia, Rosamund Island
Overseas territory of Great Morstaybishlia

Žarís Nevran Alandar was quite literally just about to take the podium when one of her aides appeared at her shoulder. “Yes?” She spoke curtly.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but there’s something you ought to know about. The Marshals have just issued a BOLO warning in Indar Province. They believe there’s a serial rapist on the loose, armed and dangerous. They have a dead woman in Anara and they think whoever did it has been doing it for a while,” her aide whispered in the Prime Minister’s ear.

“Alright, keep an eye on it, I’ll check in after my speech. And after the trade talks,” said Žarís. She turned again, about to walk back out, when her aide grabbed her elbow.

“Wait!” He said. He had a confused look on his face, but apparently so did the Prime Minister, because very quickly his expression became apologetic. “I’m, uh, sorry, but… did you want to speak with the Marshals? And we have CNS on the phone asking for comment as well.”

Žarís blinked. “I mean, that’s certainly very terrible, but the Marshals know what they’re doing, they don’t need me to micromanage, and someone on the media staff can talk to CNS. I don’t think I need to personally get involved here.”

“Well it was… a rape and murder, and like I said, they think the attacker is-”

“Let the Marshals handle it, or the First Councillor of Indar Province, I’ve got to go give this speech.” Žarís pulled her arm away from her aide and walked out to the podium quickly enough that he could not follow her. By the time she reached the podium, she had already pushed the issue to the back of her mind. She was in speech mode now, and she had been looking forward to this one.

“Ah, here she is now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Acronian Prime Minister Žarís Nevran Alandar!” Digory Fawkes, the Lieutenant Governor of Rosamund Island, was standing at the podium to introduce her. He had just taken her on a small tour of some of the more historic parts of town, including the High Street and the original fort the Morstaybishlians had established on the island.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I’m very excited to finally come visit you here on Žarís Island.” A chorus of laughter arose from the crowd, and the Prime Minister allowed herself to laugh as well. “I, of course, was just as surprised as you all were to find out about the name change. I am here today to formally assure each and every one of you that the Acronian Empire is most certainly not invading or conquering Rosamund Island any time soon. So, you know, now you can breathe more easily at night.”

The crowd laughed with each line, and the Prime Minister felt herself smiling. It was so rare to be able to give such a light-hearted address. She had come to Rosamund Island for a little tour and photo-op, as well as some brief, high-level trade talks with the Morstaybishlians, and the current item on the agenda was addressing the brief Acronian “invasion” of the island earlier that year.

In January, the crew of the Acronian submarine Eastern Pacific had docked in New Jersia, and a few drunken sailors had torn a flag from a flagpole and replaced it with the Acronian flag. It had, of course, been a delightful romp of a news cycle for a few days. Žarís had wanted to come to the island almost as soon as it happened, but it took them a while to drum up an actual political reason to do it - they had eventually set up the trade talks as a way to make the visit both business and pleasure.

The Prime Minister continued her remarks, relishing the opportunity to pause for laughter instead of just applause. Her phone buzzed a few times in her pocket, but she didn’t pay it any mind, people were texting her constantly anyway. It was a fun speech, and she even took a few changes at improvisation, which she didn’t always do, but she wouldn’t have chances like this very often.

After finishing her speech, she turned to face Lt. Governor Fawkes. “Lieutenant Governor, you’re back in charge now,” she said, clapping him on the back. “Be careful, or I might have to come back.” She was grinning, he was grinning, everyone was laughing. This would be a memory to treasure, she decided. The press was shouting for questions, but she hadn’t said there would be any Q&A, so as she did often she turned and walked away without responding.

The trade talks were being held in a building across the street, and the Prime Minister had already started walking there when, as per usual, a gaggle of aides came to her side. Foremost among them was her Chief of Staff, Emandra Kantari Vonat.

“You usually put your phone on the podium so you can see when I text you,” said Emandra. Her voice was low, and uncharacteristically stern.

“Oh, sorry,” said Žarís, blinking. “What-”

“I was texting you to tell you that the national news networks had cut in to show your speech. They were expecting you to add some remarks about Anara.”

“Wh- why would I have done that?”

“Because I told them you would, and then I texted you about it. But your phone was in your pocket.” Emandra was speaking through clenched teeth. “So now, people who were expecting you to be addressing the lockdown in Indar Province saw you crack jokes for fifteen minutes and then turn around and leave.”

“A lockdown?!” Žarís stopped walking so fast that someone behind her bumped into her. Her words carried across the street so clearly that she could see people turn and face her. “There’s a lockdown? Kaník only said they had issued a be-on-the-lookout warning! Goddess above, Emandra, the province is on lockdown?”

“Yes, ma’am. The suspect is believed to be armed and dangerous, and because of the estimated scale and spread of their attacks, the Marshals issued a stay-in-place order for the City of Anara and all the higher-populated townships in the province.”

“Scale? What’s the scale?”

“They believe that this particular individual, or a group of individuals, could have committed as many as thirty-five attacks that all have very similar circumstances. The public doesn’t know this bit, but it looks like they’ve been preying mainly on Ayaupian refugees and other people not in good standing with the Church. The Marshals dug up 35 files that reference a victim raped and then stabbed who had Letters of Loss of Good Standing. They go back 7 years.”

“I… I… thirty-five? You’re telling me the Marshals had these cases sitting in boxes somewhere and couldn’t connect these dots until the thirty-fifth time?” The Prime Minister was incredulous, and Emandra was only nodding.

“They’re leaning towards it being one person. I’m told that the evidence they have seems to indicate it was an identical knife used in each case. Identical sizes and placements of wounds, like it was the same person each and every time. No fingerprints in any of them. If that’s true, this would be the most prolific serial killer in Acronian history,” said Emandra.

“Ademar. We’re fucked,” said Žarís.

At that exact moment, one of the Morstaybishlians came up to the Prime Minister. “Ma’am? I understand there’s an event going on, will you be attending the talks?”

Žarís sighed. She didn’t want to anymore, but she was also the Minister of International Trade and Development, which meant there wasn’t anyone else she could send to the talks in her place. “Yes,” she finally said. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.” She turned back to her Chief of Staff and tried to make an apologetic face. “We’re already fucked, I’m already here, and the ITD Deputy Minister isn’t here. It’s either I go in or we don’t hold the talks.”

“Right,” said Emandra, who was speaking through clenched teeth again.

“Get a written statement to the press as quick as you can. We’re focused on this crisis, we are leveraging all resources available, the safety of all Acronians is our priority, and we apologize for the miscommunication earlier. Oh, and Emandra… we’ll need to fire Kaník.”

“Yeah.”

https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/the_east_pacific/viewtopic.php?p=243328#p243328

[Acronis]

RAAF 17th Transport Squadron Flight Charlie One
Airspace of the Democratic Republic of Lunaria
En route to Royal Air Base Nakara, Acronis

Namet 29th, 542 KV
March 9th, 2021 CE

“Ma’am, the Silver Palace on line one.” A quiet voice came through the doorway, or at least it seemed quiet to Žarís. She always thought the engines of the plane were loud, but no one else seemed to think so. It drove her nuts, and she had been flying quite a bit lately. Before the Prime Minister had time to even reach for her phone, her aide spoke again, this time more loudly. “Correction. The King on line one.”

Žarís blinked. She hadn’t scheduled a call with the palace today, let alone the King. Normal protocol was at least 24 hours’ notice, if not 48. Still, the King was the King. You didn’t leave His Majesty on hold.

“Your Majesty,” said Žarís.

“Prime Minister, thank you for taking my call. I understand you’re in the air at the moment.” The voice of King Mital II was, as ever, deep, even-toned, and serious. As treasonous as it was to think, she thought his voice was very similar to that of Shano Tuvria, the Tavari Premier. Or the former Premier, rather.

“Yes, sir, we’re returning from Ayaupia. What is it that I can do for you?” Žarís felt awkward. There was normally an agenda and a set topic for discussion whenever she spoke with the King. It wasn’t as if he ever called just to chat. In fact, it was highly unusual to speak to the King by phone at all. If there were any matters they needed to discuss, they usually took care of them at the weekly meetings of the Council of State.

There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line, and then silence for a few moments. As if the King was trying to think of what to say. This was especially unusual. It seemed as if the King had very suddenly decided to call Žarís, which meant he was particularly concerned about something. Eventually, the King spoke.

“I wanted to speak with you about…” He paused. That was apparently not what he wanted to say, because when he spoke again, he started over. “I’m concerned about the situation in Indar Province. More specifically, I have concerns over the government’s response to the situation in Indar Province.”

The Prime Minister felt her lips form into a thin, flat line. Was the King about to lecture her? Formal legality aside, quite frankly, the King was not her supervisor. At least not when it came to the day-to-day actions of government. Acronis was a democracy, and she was responsible to Parliament and, through Parliament, to the people. She was certainly no anti-monarchist, but the King’s realm of concern did not include micromanaging the way the office of the Prime Minister dealt with law enforcement matters.

Žarís said nothing, and King Mital continued. “There was a comment made on Saturday that caught my attention. It was in regards to the investigation into the Royal Acronian Marshals. A reporter had asked if the investigation would consider altering the law enforcement power of the Marshals in favor of establishing civilian police. The comment was ‘anything is on the table.’ And what gave me pause was that there are significant Constitutional implications involved here, and normally your office reaches out to mine in regards to Constitutional matters.”

Žarís found herself blinking again. There was nothing in the Instruments of Governance about the Marshals, except to state that they were a division of the Armed Forces. The mission of the Marshals, and indeed all the branches of the military, were spelled out in statute, not in the Constitution. “I-,” she finally said. “I would ask for… further clarification on what you mean, sir.” She tried her best to express how she felt in a tone that was respectful.

There was another silence on the other end of the line, followed by another sharp intake of breath. “You’re right, I think I’ve skipped a few steps in explaining my reasoning. Let me re-explain. The issue of the Marshals is very strongly related to the Acronian Empire’s unique Constitutional arrangement with the Church. And I know you know this, it isn’t my intention to patronize. But I want to explain myself thoroughly.”

In the distance, on the other end of the line, was a strange clicking sound. Žarís couldn’t hear her own aide on the other side of a doorway, but somehow she could hear whatever the clicking was. It dawned on her that it was the sound of a pen. The King was absentmindedly clicking a pen as he spoke, just like Žarís did when she was nervous. Was the King… nervous? If the King was nervous, then Žarís would have to be even moreso, because she couldn’t imagine what could make someone like the King nervous to speak to her.

Actually, she could. The answer hit her like a truck. She knew then what the King was about to speak about, but she decided to let the King say it himself. She hoped she was wrong.

“As you know, Acronis recognizes two different kinds of law under two different governments. Civil government and civil law are our domain, the monarchy and the Prime Minister. Religious government and religious law are the domain of the Church. They don’t cross over very often, but one place in which they do is law enforcement. Because while there are two different kinds of law, there is only one law enforcer.”

“The Marshals,” Žarís said in a tone of voice that was unexpectedly hollow.

“Quite so. The Marshals, except for the three cities that have their own police, enforce both civil and religious law. Whether the crime in question is corporate embezzlement or murder, you call the Marshals. They gather the evidence, apprehend and question suspects, and then they deliver the results of the investigation to the proper prosecutor. Either the local Civil Prosecuting Attorney for civil law violations, or to the local Church Office of Inquest for religious law violations. And, again, I know you know this.” The King was still clicking his pen. In fact, he was clicking it faster. The Prime Minister had to check to make sure there was no pen on her desk, otherwise she was liable to begin clicking one herself.

The King continued, still in his deliberate and even-keeled voice. “So, as you see, the Marshals exist at a very crucial junction point between our two governments. And the comment made on Saturday, ‘nothing is off the table,’ I know you made in particular reference to the question of whether or not to replace the Marshals at that junction with civilian police. And that, in and of itself, is not a Constitutional question, it’s a political one. It is, as they say, your turf rather than mine. But what worries me… that isn’t the right word. The thing that… that I wish to…”

The King stopped for a moment, even his pen clicking. He seemed at a genuine loss of words.

“Your Majesty,” Žarís finally said. “I want to assure you that our conversations are privileged under the law. This is a secure line. Civil governance depends on our ability to speak frankly and openly with each other. What you tell me in these conversations is always a state secret.”

The King sighed. “What worries me is that this investigation is going to turn up isn’t really going to have much to do with the Marshals themselves. I’m certainly aware of the particular questions about the Marshals in the city of Anara and how they treat the Ayaupian refugees. That’s certainly a problem, but it isn’t the big picture in this case. What I expect this investigation is going to show is that the Marshals - perhaps too slowly, perhaps without urgency, perhaps while doing a poor job - did their job and delivered their concerns about these rapes and murders to the Church Office of Inquest. And then, well… then the responsibility to acknowledge mistakes and to make change is… on another party.”

There it was. That was exactly what Žarís had feared. The King wasn’t calling to berate her, he simply had to phrase it that way to make it Constitutionally appropriate to speak with her in a legally classified way. The King’s legal prerogative concerned, primarily, two things: to advise (or to be advised), and to warn. And the King was calling to give a warning.

A warning about the Matron.

“I see now what you mean, sir,” said Žarís slowly. “I have had the same… concern.”

“I would like to arrange for a closer coordination between our offices when it comes to matters relating to how law enforcement might be changed in this country. I know that most… well, very nearly all of it will be your province to make decisions on, not mine. But where the investigation approaches touching the proverbial third rail is something I want to be prepared for. Because when it comes out that what happened here is that the Church saw this happening and did nothing… that will ruffle feathers.” Even while knowing what he was saying would never be known to anyone else, the King insisted on speaking in these broad, un-severe terms. It was slightly annoying, but probably appropriate given the context.

“Sir, I assure you that my office… that I will make sure that if and when the investigation reaches the level of indicating responsibility on the part of the Church, you will be informed and you will be involved. You are the check on the Religious Government. That’s your exclusive province. I acknowledge that.”

“Naturally. I’ve done it before, even, with the Tavari archaeology business. And did you know, Prime Minister, she hasn’t taken a phone call from me since?”

Žarís felt faint. If the King and the Matron weren’t speaking… there was no other term for that except for “constitutional crisis.” And no one needed that right now. “That’s…” Žarís sighed. “Sir, I’m running out of the energy required for formality. That’s really concerning.”

The King laughed. Never in her life had she heard the King laugh at anything. “Prime M… Žarís. We are weeks, perhaps days, from seeing the single most controversial civic conversation of our lifetimes. People are going to be outraged. People are going to feel betrayed. People will leave the Church, there will be protests, the entire public discourse will become completely toxic. It’s going to suck all the air out of the room. For the first time in probably over a hundred and fifty years, we are going to have a debate about the powers of Church and State. Only this time, all the eyes of the world are going to be upon us. And what concerns me the most is that… the Church isn’t going to take this lying down. They will do anything to throw us under the bus. They will do anything to hold on to power.”

Žarís wasn’t really sure what to say. He was absolutely right. But what could you even say to that? What preparation could there be? The Acronian government was a delicate balance between two poles. But what was almost certain to soon happen was that the two poles were about to cease being partners and start being antagonists. And the Church of Akrona… was a powerful opponent. Could anyone ever be ready for that?

After a silence, the King continued. “When and if it rises to the level of my needing to overrule her, I can and will do so. But while my abilities in this regard are powerful, they are limited. All I can do is overturn or render null a specific decree she makes. Something written down in black and white. If it isn’t a formal Edict, I’m nearly powerless. Beyond that…”

“Beyond that is my realm,” finished Žarís. “The mudslinging, the trench-digging, the speeches and the calls for action, that’s all on me.”

“I’m afraid so. And I… I fear for you. This is clearly the most brazen, the most confident… the most powerful Matron we have ever known. She appointed herself to the Diet, for Akrona’s sake. She’ll do anything. You know it, I know it. Everyone knows it. She’s the most popular Matron in decades, quite possibly the most popular ever. She commands the hearts, minds, and souls of tens of millions of people. She even has her own fucking army now, thanks to those idiots blowing up the Temple in Rodoka. They have no idea what they did. They have no idea how much power they gave her.”

The roar of the plane’s engines was now nothing but a quiet whisper under the sound of the Prime Minister’s pulse pounding in her ears. She desperately wanted to put the call on speakerphone so she could use both of her hands to fan herself, she was suddenly feverishly hot. She did what she could with one hand. Again, she was out of words to say. And relentlessly, the King kept speaking.

“That all said, you are also the most popular Prime Minister in my lifetime. At the very least in my reign as King. If anyone can go up against her, it’s you. And I am with you. I’m with you. She is going to do everything she can to throw this on us, she will twist it and twist it until she can use it to increase her power at the expense of ours. And when I say ours, I mean the people’s. At best, she will have all this swept under the rug. At worst… at worst, the Marshals will end up replaced by Temple Peacekeepers. I swore an oath to protect, serve, faithfully execute and faithfully embody the Constitution of this country. I take it damned seriously. We can’t let her turn this tragedy into an opportunity to consolidate her power. We have to act to defend the right and the power of the civil government. I’d sooner Acronis be a republic than a theocracy.”

The King’s voice had changed. He was… passionate. Emotional, even. Žarís could hear the urgency in his voice. The King had just stated point-blank he would rather there be no monarchy than entrust the law to the Matron. The Matron, the literal mouthpiece of Akrona Herself on Urth.

“I’m in to the tips of my ears in violating Constitutional convention at this point, and I know it, and I’ll be back to normal tomorrow. But again, I implore you, coordinate with my office on these matters. We need to be a united front. Monarchy, Parliament… quite frankly, this might even be something the Opposition should be involved with. Everyone from Goddess and Country to the Communists… all of us stand to lose this war if we don’t work carefully. And mark my words, Žarís, there is going to be a war. A bitter, ugly war. And it’s going to start the minute the first person on Pigeon blames the Church Inquisitor in Indar for failing to act on these crimes. And that could come any time. It could be happening now.”

Žarís exhaled. It was a long, slow exhale, and it didn’t make her feel any better. In fact, she could hear how charged her tone of voice was. It made her even more nervous. Here was the King of the Acronian Empire, the 19th regnant descendant of the founder of the Empire himself, and he was shaking in his boots at the prospect of a public relations battle with the Matron. But he was right. He was damn right.

“I will designate a point-person in the Internal Affairs ministry to speak with your office about the investigation. Step by step. You will be informed the entire way. I’ll make sure our press office runs things by yours, so long as you can promise me the same. Next Council meeting, we can grab Atra’s attention. I can’t imagine we’ll need much cajoling to convince the Socialists that the power of the established state church is a threat to democracy. In fact, frankly, I worry more about my own party. The Deputy PM would probably step in front of a train for the Matron,” said Žarís.

“You have the largest majority in twenty years, and every single person in Remembrance knows they’re in office because of you. Lean on that. Even Jeila Telan Vandrovat knows that. You will make enemies. Lose friends. But at the end of the day, the law says you get to be Prime Minister for the next seven years. Use every day of those seven years if you have to. The coming war between church and state will tear this country apart if we don’t act carefully. And beyond anything… beyond any Constitutional convention that tells me what I can or can’t say in public, beyond any law that says I can or can’t take whatever action unless it’s countersigned by the Minister of Whatever, beyond anything… my duty is to ensure the continuation of this country.”

“Mine too,” said Žarís. “Mine too.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister, for taking my phone call today. We won’t be able to have phone calls like this very often. We might not be able to ever again, not with the attention about to come our way. The fate of our country is at stake. Let us work with great care, great deliberation… and great speed. March on.”

“March on,” replied the Prime Minister.

Suddenly, the phone was silent. All that was left was the dull roar of the plane’s engines, and the sound of her own breathing. A few days ago, her greatest worry was getting enough laughs at a little photo-op on Rosamund Island. But now… now, very likely for the rest of her political career, the fate of the country was at stake.

Would it be this that defined her? The “coming war”? The struggle between church and state, which for most Acronians were one and the same? The ANG, the Tavari detente, the LN, Ni-Rao… were they all just an opening act for, as the King called it, “the single most controversial civic conversation of our lifetimes”?

Well, she couldn’t really know. And she couldn’t choose her own legacy, either. All she could do was get to work.

Žarís took a deep breath, smacked her face a few times to wake up, and then pressed her finger on the intercom button. “I need the Chief of Staff and the Internal Affairs Ministry on the phone ASAP.”

“What will the subject be?” Her aides, ever helpful, always asked so they could give notice to the people they were calling.

“State secret,” was all Žarís could say. “But… tell them it’s urgent. Tell them… tell them it’s going to be a long night tonight.”