12
For a wonder, the clouds above Denabria had parted somewhat, leaving patches of blue sky in the ceiling of gray. The sunny weather brought with it a bitter chill. This far south, it only dropped below freezing for a few miserable days each winter, but this was one such.
It made Larani uneasy. The last waning days of autumn reminded her of the coming New Year and of the election that would follow. Anxiety had formed a lump in the pit of her stomach when she considered the possibility of Dusep's victory.
Larani sat in her office chair with legs crossed at the ankle, facing the large window behind her desk. “And what shall we do then, Jeral?” she murmured. “When you drag us back seven centuries?”
Her desk chirped with a priority message.
Larani swivelled her chair around.
A blinking
