Naamah's Blessing - Jacqueline Carey [69]
The Low Council was composed of fourteen seats from the Lesser Houses of Terre d’Ange. These too were hereditary, held by descendants of the minor lords and ladies who had formed a shadow Parliament under the aegis of Alais de la Courcel, the Queen’s younger daughter, in a desperate attempt to restore order during a time when most of the Great Houses had been driven mad by dire magic and the realm torn asunder by the threat of civil war.
If I had any allies, it would likely be in the Low Council. It was a pity there were only fourteen members.
The Hall of Parliament was an imposing chamber, a vast space of unadorned marble with a high, vaulted ceiling. The members sat in tiered rows in a gallery that curved around the room, looking down on the speaker’s floor.
I’d been allotted a mere quarter hour in the early afternoon to address them. When I arrived, the atmosphere was calm, and I had the feeling that a consensus had already been reached. It made what I was about to do harder. Bao and my father both accompanied me, but they had to remain in the background while I walked onto the center of the speaker’s floor alone. Faces peered down from the gallery, some neutral, some curious. Only Celestine Shahrizai met my gaze with sympathy. Duc Rogier’s expression was unreadable.
“My lords and ladies…” My voice shook. I cleared my throat and took a few deep breaths. “You know me as Moirin mac Fainche of the Maghuin Dhonn, but as I stand here before you, I would remind you that I, too, am a descendant of House Courcel—a direct descendant of Alais de la Courcel. There are fourteen of you sitting here today who would not be here were it not for my great-great-grandmother’s strength and courage.”
There were nods of agreement all along the upper tiers of the gallery, where members of the Low Council sat.
It heartened me. “In Alba, her counsel is credited with ensuring peace among all her folk,” I continued. “There, she is remembered as Alais the Wise. And I stand before you in the spirit of my great-great-grandmother, who never quailed in the face of terrible truths.”
Murmurs ran around the chamber. Rogier de Barthelme frowned. It was not a tack he had expected me to take.
I took another deep breath. “It is a difficult truth I must ask you to hear today. As you know, I also stand before you as Desirée de la Courcel’s oath-sworn protector, chosen by King Daniel himself. What you do not know is that his majesty planned to replace Duc Rogier de Barthelme as the Royal Minister.”
In the shocked silence that followed, his face flushed with anger.
“Is it true?” someone from the upper tiers called.
“No,” Duc Rogier said shortly. “It’s not.”
“His grace was unaware of this turn of events.” I met his gaze. “The day after his majesty made his decision, he received news of Prince Thierry’s return, rendering his decision moot. After that…” I spread my hands. “To our everlasting sorrow, we all know what transpired.”
There were a few moments of shouting and pandemonium before the Parliamentary adjudicator banged his gavel and called for order. “Your grace, do you wish to rebut the accusation?” he inquired.
“I don’t deem it worthy of a rebuttal,” the Duc retorted in a scathing tone. “But I would ask Lady Moirin on what grounds she bases this ridiculous accusation. Why would the King replace me?”
“Because he grew wary of your ambitions when you proposed a betrothal between your eldest son and his four-year-old daughter,” I said.
Duc Rogier laughed. “Because I proposed strengthening the alliance between our houses based on the fact that the young princess dotes on my boy? Why in the world would Daniel take offense?”
I raised my voice. “Because she’s four years old!”
He shrugged. “And if she were to come of age and have a change of heart, the betrothal would be annulled. This is Terre d’Ange, after all.”
It was a lie, but it was an effective one. In the gallery, even in the upper tiers where the Low Council sat, heads nodded. I’d had them—and I’d lost them.
Even so, I shook my head. “By then it would be too late. You’ve coached