The Tyrant by Eric Flint and David Drake

Can I keep any secrets from this cursed woman? Demansk asked himself sourly.

“—also a good idea, since it’ll bring trade from the islands somewhere other than into the hands of those damned rapacious Emeralds, who are the greediest folk in the world as well as probably the smartest—but, what’s more to the point, will also bring Islander artists too. A whole new territory for me to conquer. As it were. So. To get to the point—”

Please!

“—new temple for Jassine is essential. Furthermore—”

“I agree, Arsule, I agree!” The smug look on her face alerted him. “Ah . . . exactly how big a temple are we—”

“Well, that’s just the point. If you hadn’t interrupted! Since this will be the temple in the new capital, well—naturally!—it’ll have to be of a size and splendor to match. Be a terrible stain on your reputation if it weren’t.” Sweetly: “Which you can hardly afford now, dearest, seeing as how the only legitimacy you have is based on intestines. Yours and your enemies. In rather different ways, if you see what I mean. Nothing could enhance your reputation more than founding such a magnificent—”

“Enough! I agree!” Gloomily: “I suppose you’ll want me to pay for the priests also. Fine. As long as they don’t get extravagant.”

“Priests of Jassine? Don’t be ridiculous, Verice. The most abstemious bunch imaginable.” She paused for a moment. Demansk began to heave a sigh of relief.

Short, truncated sigh.

“Of course, while their own needs are modest, they will need help in their charitable works. Quite a bit, too, seeing as how you’ve bankrupted and ruined half the population. Yes, yes, all in a good cause—no doubt. Still, facts are facts, and the fact is that you could walk from here to Vanbert on the corpses of emaciated children.”

That was an exaggeration—rather a gross one, in fact—but . . .

There was enough truth in it to make him wince. Demansk sighed, not with relief, and resigned himself to a long day. Arsule, clearly enough, was just getting started.

* * *

Adrian enjoyed the next day, himself—and several thereafter. Helga was in very good spirits. So was he, for that matter. Since they had no particular duties to distract them until the Paramount decided to return to the capital, they spent much of their time in bed.

When they finally did leave Franness, almost a week later, Adrian was in a better mood than he’d been . . . in a very long time. And he was pleased—though he was not foolish enough to say so—that Helga had chosen not to wear her sword while she rode alongside him.

He was not entirely pleased by the gaggle of barbarians who were plodding along behind their wagon. But Helga explained that it was a favor she had agreed to do for Prelotta which, since it was a small thing, she’d seen no reason to decline.

Before Adrian could ask exactly who they were, Helga drove on to another subject.

“This notion you have—heh; or should I say Center and Raj?—Father was telling me about it. Dissolving the Assembly entirely and replacing it with local, what did he say you’d called them?”

“Speakers’ Houses.”

“Yes, that. Interesting idea. Father thinks you’re probably crazy, but then he admitted he always think that when he first hears your ideas so maybe you’re not. But I don’t understand it.”

“The Assembly’s nothing but a source of trouble, Helga. Might have made sense, back when Vanbert was a small nation. But today? There’s simply no way that the commoners can have their voice heard in a single ‘popular assembly’ in the capital. Even if they’re literate, which most of them aren’t, they can’t afford to make the trip. So, in the real world, the Assembly’s just become a place where ambitious politicians can bring mob pressure to bear. Capital loafers, to boot, not farmers.”

Helga waved her hand impatiently. “I understand all that! Don’t disagree, either—nor does Father. It’s the other business. Why the new ‘Speakers’ Houses’?” Her eyes widened. “And why—especially—this bizarre idea of giving them, rather than the Council, the exclusive right to approve new taxes. That’s crazy, Adrian! If you let—”

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