The voices continued to be the sole occupants of the desolate hall. Blackthorn followed their echoes to a set of double doors thrown wide, spilling both light and debates into the desolate halls. "There is no need to invoke the clause." Blackthorn stiffened as he recognized the voice. "It might only be a matter of weeks before His Majesty's expedition returns from the Underworld. In the meantime, the representatives of the people, those they elected, can lead."

"And by representatives, thou dost mean us, of course," someone scoffed. "Now that our leader is missing, 'tis the Council's chance to take the throne, is it, Windemere?"

"I mean nothing of the sort, Felespar," Windemere answered, acidly. "If Lord British had not entrusted the Council to oversee the rule of Britannia, then he would have invoked the clause before his departure. Clearly, His Majesty believed we were capable of governing in his absence."

A woman next, solemn and quiet: Fiona of Minoc. "His Majesty tried to invoke the clause. 'Twas Blackthorn who insisted it should not be so. He believed His Majesty would return in a few weeks. Surely, if he and Lord British had foreseen this—"

"Foreseen? Dost thou honestly believe our Lords did not understand the risks of this venture? Dost thou truly think they did not foresee the possibility of this outcome? Yet they chose to forsake the clause, and allowed us to govern in British's stead."

"Within the limits of our jurisdiction," a fourth voice said, wise and aged, that of Hassad, the Councilor from Skara Brae. "As always, we may oversee, even write and sign and overturn, the laws of our own localities. We may even settle disputes and sign agreements between cities without the consent of his Majesty, but as for matters that affect the whole of Britannia, we require the consent of our monarch. 'Tis the law, Windemere, as agreed and signed by our predecessors."

A boom, as if someone had hit his fist against a table. "Laws can be changed," Windemere said.

"But not without the consent of His Majesty, or, in his absence, that of his appointed Regent," Blackthorn announced, striding into the chamber. "To do otherwise is to constitute revolt, and with the recent departure of our good Captain Geoffrey, I, for one, have had enough mutiny this night."

The prolonged silence that greeted his entrance came as no surprise. He had not expected a warm welcome from the Great Council, especially since he had arrived on his own accord, not through their summons. The councilors sat around the great table, brows and frowns creased. Annon, old and grave, acknowledged his entrance with barely a nod, as did the women, Fiona and Malifora. Felespar chuckled quietly; his neighbor, Goeth, appeared perplexed, as if uncertain of what to make of this event. Sindar showed no reaction: As usual, he dozed contentedly in his chair. Hassad's smile, however, was broad and genuine.

Windemere, the only councilor on his feet, was the first to speak. "Thou art not the Regent yet, Blackthorn, and I would hardly consider Captain Geoffrey's efforts to lead a search party as a mutiny. 'Tis his duty to protect His Majesty, Lord British."

"His duty is to oversee the Royal Guard, they who are stationed here to protect Castle Britannia and those within its halls, especially the members of the Great Council," Blackthorn responded, striding to the head of the table, opposite of where Windemere stood. "That I made to clear to him."

"We gave him leave—" Windemere began.