Part 5. The Vote

  Debate continued for another hour.

  Lelya listened, recorded, tried to find something encouraging. But with each new speech, it became clearer: Monolith had lost.

  No one openly supported Citadel. But no one supported Monolith unconditionally either. Everyone spoke of "the need for dialogue," of "finding balance," of "justice for both sides."

  Beautiful words that concealed a simple unwillingness to quarrel with Citadel.

  On screen, the chairman rose.

  "The Council moves to a vote."

  Lelya straightened. This was the finale.

  "The question is posed as follows," the chairman spoke slowly, articulating every word clearly. "Does the World Council recognize Citadel's violation of the 1847 treaty concerning the northwestern territories? And should sanctions be applied?"

  A pause.

  "A majority vote is required for a decision—no fewer than twenty-one of forty Council members."

  Lelya quickly calculated in her head. According to their projections, before the date was moved, they had counted on twenty-three votes. But after their allies had been intimidated...

  "Who supports Monolith's demands?"

  Hands began to rise.

  Lelya counted. One. Two. Three—Monolith itself, that was expected. Four—a small principality that always voted with them. Five. Six.

  Elin slowly raised his hand. So the House of All Winds had supported them after all, despite the vague speech.

  Seven. Eight.

  Hands rose reluctantly, as if each person was weighing the consequences. Lelya watched someone glance at the Citadel delegation, then at Monolith, then look down again.

  Nine. Ten. Eleven.

  The count froze. A second. Two. Five. Ten.

  No one else raised their hand.

  "Eleven votes in favor," the chairman stated. "Who is opposed?"

  A forest of hands. Citadel and everyone who didn't want to quarrel with them.

  Lelya didn't even bother counting. It was obvious.

  "Twenty-seven votes against. Two abstentions."

  The chairman paused, his gaze sweeping the hall.

  "Monolith's demands are rejected. The Council does not recognize treaty violations. The matter is closed."

  On Monolith's bench, stillness reigned. Varvara sat with a stony face. Svarog's expression hadn't changed—it never did. Roslava lowered her head.

  Radimir sat staring at the floor. Shoulders slumped, hands clenched into fists.

  On the opposite side of the hall, someone from Citadel's delegation clapped Wulf on the shoulder. He nodded, smiled—restrained, without triumph.

  A victor who knew that winning must be done gracefully.

  Lelya closed the laptop.

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  That Monolith had lost.

  She stood and walked to the window. Alnar stood on a hill, and from here the entire city was visible. Thousands of roofs, roads, lives.

  Lelya ran her hand across the glass—cold, smooth.

  Somewhere out there, Monolith's delegation was packing up. Soon they would return. And then the debriefing would begin.

  She needed to prepare.

  She returned to the desk, opened her notes. Three hours of observation, analysis, annotations. Everything that had gone wrong. Every mistake. Every missed opportunity.

  In four hours, they would return.

  And she would need to be ready for the conversation.

  Part 6. After the Battle

  They returned late in the evening.

  Lelya heard footsteps in the corridor—heavy, slow. Voices—muted, lacking their usual energy. The sound of doors opening and closing.

  She sat in her office and waited. Before her lay her notes—three notebook pages in small handwriting. Analysis of the speech. Diagnosis of defeat.

  A knock at the door.

  "Come in."

  It was Miroslav. He looked tired, but something tense burned in his eyes.

  "Varvara is convening the Supreme Council of Monolith. In ten minutes. Conference room. Attendance mandatory."

  "Me too?"

  "You especially. Her words."

  Lelya went up to the top floor. In the conference room, all members of the Supreme Council sat at the long table.

  Varvara in the center, her face like stone. Svarog to the right, motionless as always. Roslava to the left, drumming her fingers on the table. Nikolai Shotsky, Polina, Mislav, and others. And Radimir—he sat in his usual place and looked emptied.

  Lelya took a seat at the end of the table.

  Varvara waited until everyone was seated. Then she stood.

  "Today Monolith suffered defeat at the World Council," she began without preamble. Her voice was even, cold. "The question of the northwestern territories was decided against us. Eleven votes for us against twenty-seven. This isn't just a loss. This is a demonstration of weakness."

  Her gaze swept the table. No one spoke.

  "We prepared for three months. Gathered evidence. Built alliances. Rehearsed the speech." Varvara paused. "And still lost. The question is: why?"

  A heavy silence hung in the air.

  "Wulf was better," Shotsky finally said. "More convincing. He commanded the room from the first minutes."

  "Exactly," Varvara nodded. "He was better. Because he knows how to speak. And we don't."

  She looked at Radimir. He didn't raise his eyes.

  "Radimir," Varvara's voice grew harder. "You're a brilliant strategist. You see connections no one else sees."

  Radimir raised his head. Lelya saw him tense, sensing the trap in those words.

  "But," Varvara continued, "you know your weakness. And Citadel will press on it. Every time. At every negotiation."

  "I understand," Radimir said quietly.

  "The northwestern territories question was a warm-up," Varvara walked along the table. "Important, painful, but a warm-up. The main battles are still ahead. Citadel is preparing something big—we all feel it. 'New Order.' 'Final Phase.' And I cannot go into those battles with a minister who loses in verbal duels."

  Radimir did not move. Lelya watched his fingers clench on the edge of the table.

  "I am removing you from the position," Varvara said. "You remain on the Supreme Council, as first deputy to the new minister of foreign affairs. You'll plan strategies, analyze the balance of power, prepare materials. Everything you do better than anyone. But someone else will speak."

  Radimir was silent. Lelya watched the muscles of his jaw work as he tried to process what he'd heard.

  Varvara turned to Lelya.

  "Lelya. From this moment, you are Monolith's minister of foreign affairs."

  The air seemed to leave the room.

  "I..." Lelya swallowed. "I'm three years old."

  "And you conducted eleven meetings over the past two months and restored connections that Citadel tried to destroy. You know how to speak so that people want to believe you." Varvara sat back down. "Radimir will be your advisor. He'll see the system. You'll voice it. Together you are what Monolith needs."

  Lelya looked at Radimir. He was staring at the table, and she couldn't read him.

  Radimir slowly raised his head. He looked at Lelya—long, carefully. Then lowered his gaze again.

  "Lelya, starting tomorrow, you assume the position. Radimir, transfer all matters to her within the week. Meeting adjourned."

  Everyone began to rise. Radimir stood first and quickly left the room without looking at anyone.

  Lelya remained seated, staring at the door that had closed behind him.

  "He understands this is right," Roslava said quietly, passing by.

  The room emptied.

  Lelya remained alone in the conference room. She slowly stood, walked to the window. Beyond the glass was the night city—thousands of lights in the darkness.

  Three years ago, she had been a student.

  A year ago—a junior assistant.

  This morning—first deputy.

  Now—Monolith's minister of foreign affairs.

  She placed her palm on the cold glass and exhaled.

  Work lay ahead. A lot of work.

  And somewhere out there, in the now-empty Alnar, in his former office, Radimir sat trying to accept what had happened.

  Lelya knew she should go to him. Talk. Explain that it wasn't her choice, that she hadn't asked for this.

  But the words wouldn't come.

  So she simply stood at the window and looked at the city that now partially depended on her.

  On her words. On her decisions. On her ability to say what was needed, when it was needed.

  Tomorrow a new life would begin.

  Today she allowed herself one last minute to be who she had been yesterday.

  Then she turned and walked toward the exit.