No one moved. Not right away. It was as if the words still echoed in the rafters, too sharp, too sudden to be believed.
Venet’s fingers twitched over the rim of her teacup. "This is political theater."
"And yet the curtain just rose," I said.
Grath leaned forward, trying to recenter control. "Lady Ashcombe, a subcommittee does not equal authority."
"No," I agreed. "It’s more powerful. It means scrutiny. It means testimony. It means dragging things into daylight."
Caldoran muttered, "It means trouble."
Avendell’s voice was smooth as oil over ice. "Which is exactly why the King chose her."
"He chose chaos," Venet snapped.
"He chose accountability," I said. "And that’s only chaos to those who’ve never had to answer questions."
A murmur rippled across the council chamber.
The secreta
