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"You did notice, I hope—you being the prime minister now—the results of the recent fracas between the CoCs and the anti-Semites?"

Her husband's sneer had never wavered. "Oh, yes. Wasn't that splendid? Thousands of reactionaries dead all over the country, the CoCs triumphant everywhere—and you might ask that pack of semi-literate exile noblemen from Mecklenburg why they haven't returned to their homes. Consider that, Wilhelm, before you get too cocksure about triggering a civil war."

But it was no use. The prime minister's expression might as well have been set in stone. The statue of a dwarf king, perhaps, determined to do what he was damn well determined to do, no matter the consequences.

After Rebecca finished speaking, Gretchen nodded. "Thank you for the information. Would you care for some more tea?" With a little smile, she wiggled her fingers at the large tea pot on the kitchen table between them, with its very ample accompanying provisions of sugar and cream. "It turns out I can afford a lot of tea, these days."

Rebecca shook her head and then cocked it sideways a little. "You don't seem upset by the news."

Gretchen shrugged. "I was expecting it. This clash is inevitable, Rebecca. There won't be any way to negotiate with the Crown Loyalists until they fracture and real political parties emerge from the wreckage. That . . . thing they call a party is nothing of the sort. It's an unholy alliance whose sole basis of agreement is seizing and holding power. Wettin is no more in control of it than a wave controls the sea."

Rebecca sighed. "I fear you may well be right."

She rose from her seat. "I must leave." Hearing the sounds of teenagers quarreling in a nearby room, she smiled. "The demands of children. As you well know."

Gretchen accompanied her to the door. Two Yeoman Warders were waiting in the corridor beyond, ready to escort Rebecca home.

"Thank you," she repeated.

Gretchen had been notified by Rebecca ahead of time that she'd be visiting this morning. That meant important political news, of course. Gretchen, in turn, had sent word to all the CoC leaders in the city.

So, within half an hour of Rebecca's departure, most of them had arrived at the apartment building and were gathered in Gretchen's kitchen. It was a very big kitchen, as it needed to be given that it was the kitchen for the entire complex.

"So it's definite then?" asked Spartacus, who was standing near one of the stoves.

"As definite as any information from Rebecca," she replied. "But, certainly on a subject like this one, that's pretty damn definite."

Across the table from her, Gunther Achterhof nodded. "Yes, I think we can assume it's true. As soon as the parliament begins its session, Wettin will introduce bills that will force through the reactionaries' positions on citizenship and the established church. The only question is: what do we intend to do about it?"

Gretchen reached for the tea pot. "Tea, anyone?"

Achterhof grinned. "Better get a bigger one. We're going to be here for hours."

"Days," predicted Spartacus.

Chapter 13

Stockholm

"Just as ugly as I remembered," Baldur Norddahl said to Prince Ulrik, who was standing next to him on the ship coming slowly into Stockholm's harbor. They were looking up at the Swedish royal palace, known as the Tre Kronor—"Three Crowns"—because of the shape of its central spire.

The palace sat on the island of Stadsholmen, which was the center of Stockholm. In this day and age, there wasn't much of the city lying outside of it. That would change in the future, Ulrik knew, when Stockholm would expand across many of the islands of the great archipelago situated off Sweden's eastern coast where Lake Mälaren met the Baltic. But at least for now, Sweden's capital was a relatively small city.

Stockholm was dominated by two buildings, the Tre Kronor and the Church of St. Nicholas, most commonly known as Storkyrkan and sometimes as the Stockholm Cathedral. The church was an imposing brick edifice located close to the palace, with an even more