But then it was Proposal Day, so perhaps a little celebration was warranted.
The very first Chancellor’s Proposal had been made by Cadmus. It had established Britain as a republic, governed in perpetuity by the Skilled. In the centuries since then, the annual Proposals had ranged from the sensible – such as 1882’s suspension of the legal rights of commoners during their slavedays – to the sensational. Chief among the latter was the 1789 ‘Proposal of Ruin’. This had urged Britain’s Equals to obliterate the city of Paris and crush the revolution of French commoners against their Skilled masters. That had been narrowly defeated – an unforgivable act of cowardice, in Bouda’s opinion.
The first Proposal she had heard and voted upon had been Lord Whittam Jardine’s last. This was seven years ago, at the end of his decade-long incumbency as Chancellor. He had unsurprisingly proposed removing the one-term restriction upon the office.
Bouda had been just eighteen and newly installed as Appledurham’s heir. But her sights were already firmly set on a match with Gavar Jardine, so Bouda had supported the Proposal. Her father did likewise. (Daddy had never been able to refuse her or Dina anything.) The vote went against Whittam. But Bouda had eventually achieved her goal, and was now engaged to Kyneston’s heir.
It wasn’t Gavar himself that she wanted, though. That fact wasn’t lost on Bouda as she caught sight of her fiancé. She and her father passed through the great doors to the debating chamber, and she felt the Skillful wards tingle across her skin. Gavar stood straight ahead, beneath the marble statue of his ancestor Cadmus.
He was as handsome as any girl might wish, but his skin was blotchy with anger and his mouth set in a petulant sneer. Beside him was his father. Both men were tall and auburn-haired, their shoulders squared back. But where Gavar’s emotions were plain in his face, his father’s expression gave away nothing at all. All Bouda could tell from their watchful posture was that they weren’t happy, and that they were waiting for someone.
For her, she realized, as Lord Jardine caught her eye.
Cold trickled through her. What was wrong? She was so close now to her prize of marriage into the Founding Family that she didn’t know what she’d do if thwarted.
She swiftly sorted through the possibilities. Nothing had happened that she knew of that might jeopardize the alliance. She hadn’t woken up one day ugly or Skilless, nor had her father’s vast wealth vanished. Indeed, the only stumbling block on their way to the altar had been provided by Gavar, in the form of a bastard child sired on some slavegirl. Bouda’s affront at the brat’s existence had been surpassed only by the fury of Lord Jardine, but she had contained her emotions. Her future father-in-law had been impressed with Bouda’s cool response to the whole distasteful episode.
She nodded an acknowledgement to them then looked around the chamber. Thankfully Lord Rix, who was Daddy’s best friend and her and DiDi’s godfather, was waiting over by the Matravers seats. He could keep Daddy entertained with his usual convoluted anecdotes about racehorses. She waved at Rixy and gave her papa a kiss on the cheek, a whispered ‘Be with you in a minute’, and a gentle shove in the right direction.
Then she hurried to hear what Whittam and Gavar had to tell her.
It was nothing she could ever have expected.
‘You can’t be serious?’ she hissed.
‘Silyen informed me of it only last night,’ said her future father-in-law. While he spoke, Gavar was watching the chamber to see if they were noticed, but only Rix was looking their way, concern plain in his face. ‘While buttering a bread roll at dinner, as casual as you like. I assure you, it was as much of a surprise to me as it appears to be to you.’
‘Appears to be?’ Bouda didn’t care for the insinuation in those words. But she couldn’t make sense of what Lord Jardine had just told her. ‘Silyen has bargained with the Chancellor, using Euterpe Parva – and he’s asked Zelston to Propose abolition? We’ll be a laughing stock if this gets out. How could you let it happen?’
‘I let it happen?’ Whittam’s eyes were flat and assessing. ‘You are quite certain your sister has nothing to do with this?’
‘My sister?’
And there, thought Bouda, was the one aspect of her life she couldn’t control: her daft, darling sister, Bodina. Dina was a fashionista, a party girl, and prone to handing wads of Daddy’s cash to ridiculous causes such as animal rescue, international poverty relief – and abolition.