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Evan tensed up when he noticed the rifles pointed a young boy, much younger than himself. He was only mildly aware of the situation, much too busy taking in the strange, silver man and who the guardsmen were. They weren't simply thugs or mercenaries. They were Imperial Guard. They could have been of the same rank as Lander. From his seat he couldn't see the ties of the military men well enough to check if there were any members not native to Helios so he could only assume that none were there. They were like Lander in aesthetics, wearing the same uniform and a similar tie, but in in demeanor. These men reminded Evan more of the faceless thugs he used to write about. The thugs would follow the order of their head to the tee and kill for that very man if needed. He speculated that the guard was the same. But if that's true, how'd Lander be fine with that?

He only relaxed when the rifles were taken off the teenager, but gripped the arms of the seat he rested in. It was one of his strange habits, like craning his neck rather than sitting straight in a chair. The silver man was announcing some strange, but quite interesting things. A thief, The Emperor, and the threat of physical force (though that was not something foreign given their attitude toward the teenager earlier). Everything was still a big knot to him that only became more twisted as the silver man continued to speak, giving scant amounts of information while opening up a network of questions Evan had no idea about.

Sitting up, he felt a crick in his back but was rewarded with the sight of the back of a blonde-haired man. A blonde, short-haired man. A blonde, short haired, perhaps familiar man? His height allowed him to see over most of the other seated guests and notice that yes, it was!

Dorian Agrelren Or was it Arelgren? No matter, his name was irrelevant. The fact that he was at the meeting brought up (and answered) a question from a short while ago. His knee-jerk reaction to the weather vane and the dub of "grimm" made sense now even if the term itself was still nebulous. He's a grimm too.

Dragomir remained absolutely silent and listened. His posture tightened when a few names the silver man mentioned struck a chord - of course Wickwright was here; he had Hopkin, and Hopkin was a plague, and Wickwright was the one who made him realise what the house had done to him - why wouldn't he be here? And then the warning came to not cause any harm and his back stiffened further. Was Dorian here, then? He would've craned his neck around, to look - he didn't even register that he might not have been able to see the man, or that he might look different after time away - but the fear, the threat of death was there and visible and hanging over his head. He slunk down in his chair and quieted up; if such threats were being made, his plans to leave wouldn't matter. He would die here, no matter what they said, and he tensed up visibly in posture. and then the other guy was tormenting the man in silver, making him sleep as though they're children, and then Sedgwyck Kirkaldy took the stage, so he introduced himself, and Dragomir folded up in and on himself.

He, unlike the man with the accent that was harsh on his ears, did not want the Emperor around. He did not want any of these famous people here, people that could order him dead with a flick of their noble hands. He wished to go home, now, without seeing anyone else.

---

Chayele was in turmoil. She tried to curl her lips into a smile when Hopkin addressed her but then he lost interest and Lettie left her even as the quiet sobs still rocked her frame and escaped her mouth.

She did not know what to feel at first. She felt nothing, a numb shock, a disbelief that Lettie abandoned her not only for Hopkin but to speak to a plague they had never met before. It was a moment, a long moment, before the icy nothingness melted. And melt it did, into a deep, hot fire, and she stood all at once, bringing herself to her full height no matter how meagre it was. Chayele was not happy. She stared at Lettie and Hopkin, her mouth drawn into a firm frown, lines creasing the corner of her mouth with the strength of her vehemence, her forehead wrinkled where her brows would have knitted together had she had them.

Lettie was no better than Dragomir. She was worse. Dragomir said he hated her but Chayele knew he did not. Dragomir was there. He was there always, there when she cried even if all he suggested was that she stop making so much damned noise. Lettie could not even remain at her side to hold her. Her breathing quickened in speed as she riled herself up even further. Lettie had said they were friends and she had believed Lettie and where was Lettie now? Focused on Hopkin, on Armaud, on the only chance they had to escape. She moved towards Armaud, briskly, and came to her side, her head tilted lightly. She nodded to Armaud; she wanted to learn more, she wanted out of here. She wanted to return to her Dragomir, now. She sat down at Armaud's side and breathed deeply, trying to calm herself, soothe the fire that was burning bright in her chest. But she did not put it out. This flame, which was new to her, seemed valuable. She dimmed it, she tucked it away, but she kept it lit. She did not know when she would need it again.

Wickwright listened to Chauhn's rationalizations, but his eyes were locked on the stage as well, silently willing his own Plague not to do anything foolish. Rash, he did not have to worry about. Hopkin did not move rashly, the concept was not one that he was familiar with. Hopkin thought and thought and thought, but the problem was that Hopkin did not think like Wickwright Finch. Hopkin's mind was so simple that it became complex again, and led him into dangerous places that, in this particular instance, he would not be able to fish him out from.

There were too many stimuli, but Wickwright became accustomed to it soon enough. Wickwright was a people person, though he spent much of his time alone on the road, he lived for interaction, for information to process, for things to consider, and, most importantly, write down. He flexed his hands, once, twice, wishing he could pull some parchment from the book bag Hopkin had been all too recently safely lodged in, but hardly daring. His book was on the stage and vulnerable, he was not about to take chances on anything.

Chauhn asked a question. Wickwright was pulled back into the moment. "Ah?" He glanced at the frightened boy, a moment's thought crossed his features, and he replied with "Of course. Have you ever played chess, Clemmings? The Emperor is the head of this country, no matter whether he's a sickly boy or a man with the strength of ten horses. If Panymium loses Emperor Rine VIII, they lose more than a powerful political figure, the head of the Panymese nation is chopped off, we go from being a country plagued by Plagues to a country doomed to die. So long as the Emperor lives, our faith and fatherland in theory unite us. You do not place the symbol of your country into a situation where he might run the risk of dying, therefore, the Emperor's presence signifies that this meeting is not intended to end violently. If they were about to perform messy business, the Emperor would be farther removed, his hands quite clean of the matter."

Either that, or if it came to messy business, they were confident they could contain it. Wickwright grimaced, but kept the thought to himself for the sake of the already-distressed Clemmings. The Emperor's presence was a hint that they were safe, but the only thing it really and certainly indicated was this: that the Emperor himself was safe. Clemmings was right in being worried, the situation looked fishy. So here was the question that nagged at him. According to the speaker Plague, he and the Plague-General did not know the full details of this meeting. Why not inform them? What could the emperor know that he did not wish to divulge to the very beings who were designated to open the meeting for him? Did their human counterparts know more? If not, and that seemed likely considering the Plague had been sent out to speak to the assembled Grimms at all, what did the Emperor deem fit to keep from both factions that appeared to be involved in collecting this assembly, thus putting everyone on edge in this already strange situation?

Nothing to do but wait and find out, he supposed as he rose with Chauhn. The sooner the Emperor arrived, the sooner the situation would be clear, and the fact that money would be involved was nothing to sniff at either. Wickwright was not a mercenary man, but he was a poor mendicant, and he never turned his nose at alms of any sort, especially not the large and generous sort. However, his anticipation was sharpened by the fact that the Emperor did not emerge, and instead a woman dripping blood was led to the stage. A Plague, he realized, flinching at the initial shock of the sight. He shifted irritably, waiting for her Grimm to make themselves known, hoping that her being out of place would not trigger a reaction against the Plagues on stage.

The Plagues on stage. In horror, Wickwright looked back at the woman, and noticed two things. One, she was stunningly gorgeous. Two, she was as red as red could be. Fearfully, he willed that Hopkin for once, for once in his accursed, Plagued existence would see a being that he found to be lovely and simply stay put. Lettie, he noticed, appeared to be next to him. Hopkin liked Lettie, he knew. The thing prattled of her beauty and kindness often. Stay, he willed, stay near Lettie. If his gaze were fire, the message would have been burned into the fool book's bandages.


The fool book was lost in confusion. He reached for Chayele Meschke as she went over to Armaud, mistrustful of the strange Plague and possessive of one of the few acquaintances he firmly associated as 'his'. Chayele Meschke, he thought, was possessed of an addled mind, being so unable to read and speak, and therefore it was doubly his responsibility to make sure she saw the truth. He was a Jawbone Book, and able to see clearly where she could not, after all. "Chayele Meschke," he insisted as firmly as possible, puffing out his chest, "I would like you to return to me." Dourly, he turned to Chayele Meschke's corruptor, adding words he had not believed he would ever say. "Clurie speaks the truth and sense. You say you are powerful, but all you have done is cloud the truth from a learned Plague of science and wisdom. I will not follow one who dulls and tricks the senses when before us there is no reason but a rationalized separation from our Grimms to flee. We do not know whose rules we break when we leave this place, nor do we know whose aid we accept, except for this man of mysteries you have painted before us," Reaching out for Lettie, as the only one of his friends who remained near him, and stepping closer to Clurie, as the Plague he felt most true at the moment, he insisted, "Tell us solid truth or I will seek it myself from a more learned source. I am less afraid of those who I can identify as pursuers of wisdom than those who say everything and nothing at once." His eyes were insistently on Kirkaldy, and so distracted was he that he did not espy Sanguine until Kirkaldy turned towards her, at which point his breath drew in sharply. Suddenly, the world made even less sense, and it had not been progressing well to begin with. Clutching at Clurie as the Plague he had been initally categorized with, he murmured, "Clurie, who is the woman they are holding. Why is she being held in such a manner?"

Of course, Chauhn had never played chess. That was a game he had seen on the tables of workers, on crates in the harbors of Imisus where tired sailors sought reprieve from their work by resorting to tabletop games, it was a game that he only managed to catch glimpses of. He had no time for games, not when he could be earning wages and finding work. At least he was familiar enough with the structure of the game to understand just what it was that Wickwright was talking about. Chauhn could relate, for when Clurie was an Excito, Clurie was Chauhn's king, the piece that, if lost, would spell the end for Chauhn Clemmings. He understood why the importance of the Emperor rose over all, how his safety transcended every law and warped the world around his being, the fragility of his existence. If the Emperor meant stability, then Chauhn was all for keeping the balances of Panymium level, especially if it meant that the balance for him and Clurie's world would be kept in peace as well. Chauhn was beginning to feel comfortable again, assured by Wickwright's words. He allowed his posture to relax, his hands to unfurl from their clenched fists, and he did his best to steady his breathing as the Lady in Red was presented for all to see.

But then Chauhn's posture tightened up again. In response to the Plague's unexpected and rather abrupt arrival, Lord Yizhaq stood out from the crowd with the expelling of a worried cry. Chauhn clenched down hard on his teeth, hissing in worry as he watched silence fall around Yihzaq, singling him out from the masses in the audience. There was no knowing what would happen, especially when the same guards who now looked at Yizhaq were the same guards that threatened Chauhn's life just a moment ago, a boy who had stood up from his seat in worry, mumbling and hardly able to get out more than a word before he felt the cool mouths of guns pressed against his neck. How would they react to a full grown man stepping free from the crowd, bursting out, and speaking up for a Plague that they obviously distrusted? No matter the Lord's eloquence, the guards were the ones in power here, and should his outburst be taken negatively, Lord Yizhaq would face something worse than Chauhn's close encounter.

Tightening his fists, Chauhn had to force a couple steadying swallows of air. Old feelings of duty and protection were swarming up in his gut, the feeling of being devoted to one's Lord, despite his no longer being in service, a loud cry to action. Chauhn, though, had to remind himself that he wasn't answering anymore to the Lord's call, he was a free boy, no longer a servant, but a wandering student. Still, such thoughts couldn't quell his inborn necessary to remain loyal to his Lord. His feelings for him ran deep even though they had suffered a tragic fall out, but what Chauhn had to hold him in place was the even deeper feelings he held for Clurie. If he moved, if he so much as called out, Clurie's life would be forfeit, and Chauhn had made the solemnest of vows never to put his Plague in harm's way again.

Strangling himself silent, the Clemmings boy remained stiffly where he stood, his worried green gaze following every motion of his Lord and the Lady in Red.

The introduction of the Lady in Red distracted Clurie as much as it distracted Hopkin. After his troubles and trials with Chauhn, the sight of blood beckoned only one emotion and that was a weird and warped sense of protection. It all had to do with Sloane, actually, the noble blood drenched knight who had saved Clurie's life and saved Chauhn's more than once. The Lady, her fingers dripping in red, brought to mind that kind and giant Plague, whom Clurie had yet to see since his sight fell short of Sloane's presence in the chambers. He gulped, noting that one of the people required for the trickster Plague's plan was present and now all they would have to wait for was the prince wrapped in spring.

To Hopkin, Clurie bent his other hand low, cupping the Plague in a comforting manner. It was obvious that the Book Boy was bothered by the appearance of the red woman and so, straining with the click of thought to graft his arm into the semblance of humanity for Hopkin's sake, since he had learned from before that being near heat was something akin to death for his fellow Plague, placed his fingers around him to cling to since Clurie's knees were still singed and crackling with embers and ash. "I don't know who she is...She looks like she's in trouble," said Clurie initially, before the other Plague in his hand, Hayat, spoke up. Apparently she had met her before.

Clurie swallowed, his cheeks burning with anticipation as he echoed the Lady's name. "...Lady Sanguine."

Voluntary? Theo held back the look of contempt that threatened to surface. There was quite a bit of creative wording going on here, but all of it was evasive of the real intent of the meeting - that much he could see. The Emperor's need to "unify" the Grimms and Plagues, as Kirkaldy had said, was something that perhaps he could see the need for. The panic that had seized Panymium (during which he had been arrested and held in prison) could attest to that. But there was more beneath the workings of this event that was being artfully avoided. What did they really want?

When the Dean's assistant asked that all rise for the Emperor, Theo rose to his feet stiffly. The hymns were buzzing around in his still-aching skull, and he pressed long fingers to his temple and massaged gently. Like many others around him, his interest was garnered when the lady in red was brought before the audience. Moreso it was the attention that she had drawn from others (a lord with the Mages that he vaguely remembered from the Troupe incident, as well as Lady Estratus herself), and he watched the events unfold with nerves fluttering about.

Recalling his words earlier to the scarlet-hooded woman who had deigned not to reply to him, something was very much amiss. No monetary award or promise of power seemed very appealing at the moment. He just wanted to get to the bottom of the issue.

-------

Ophelia returned Hayat's acknowledgement with a nod of her own and listened to the small brown Excito spout more of her nonsense. It heartened her in the slightest to hear others take up the same query she had supported (the Anhelo in the back and the paper-wrapped Excito, in addition to the feather-bearing Plague). The ruckus caused by the presentation of yet another Plague - one unaccompanied and apparently trespassing on the meeting - drew the Ring's attention, and she turned her gaze to watch the event unfold. The murmurs around her, the outbursts from the man in the audience and the Grand Magus in the balcony (her eye momentarily wandered towards Sir Sloane, who looked rather upset by this newcomer) were all very interesting.

Lady Sanguine, was it? Ophelia nodded towards Hayat's demand to know Armaud's Grimm's identity and finally moved her gaze away from the bleeding Plague towards the small trickster.

"While the 'lady in red' -" the Ring indicated Sanguine with a wave of her hand, "is assuredly present, you have indicated that nothing is to happen until the end of this 'event,' anyway." Her hands returned together and rested on her arms. "It is not to say that we are all eager to go running off into the wood workings with a trickster as our guide, but I do not see any other option but to wait and see how proceedings will play out for the time being." The Plague looked to the others around her and paused momentarily, before adding, "However, the answer to our questions is paramount. Avoiding it will not garner assurance nor trust, and I for one will not join you until you have given us proper cause." Her eyelids dropped into a small glare, indicating she would not budge on her opinion.

This was not sitting right with Danylrein, not at all, even if he couldn't quite put his finger on why. The words spoken by Erasmus, by Kirkaldy, might seem reasonable enough, but there was an undercurrent that sparked unease and perhaps even paranoia within the young mage. These feelings were no longer directed at the council itself, not entirely, since he did not feel malicious intent from those speaking on stage - even so, lack of malice from the messenger did not necessarily mean the original sender did not mean ill. And that is what he saw the council as in this moment: a messenger, and not the instigator. This personal thought both soothed and agitated him, for while those before him on the stage did not feel like a direct threat, this also meant that he did not know who or where his foe was, and think of them as foe he did after his forced separation from Nella.

This inner tumult was finally interrupted by the call for all to rise, and the young Galdenin came to his feet smoothly, hands resting by his side. Living in a noble family had taught him to look and act properly in many situations, even if (sometimes especially if) he had less than pleasant feelings about what was occurring. Tumult returned far too soon however, as a woman garbed in red with hands dripping blood was roughly dragged into the room..... and she was a plague. He found himself transfixed by the scene before him, and therefore when a familiar voice rang out from the audience it took all of Dan's will to avoid whipping around in a fashion that would draw undue attention to himself. Instead this movement was translated into a slow turn of the head, and his sight confirmed what part of him had dared not believe. The individual responsible for the outburst was Lord Yizhaq, both neighbor and acquaintance to Dan, and not the individual he would have expected such an outburst to come from. Even as the stately noble explained his intent to those on the stage, the young mage still found himself worried, remembering all too well how the guards had responded to the movements of a single boy.

Then another voice washed out across the audience and towards the stage, and Dan found his eyes widening. The new speaker was the Grand Magus. At another time her words might have sent him into deep thought, and while they did still begin a buzz of curious wondering, they took second priority to the current situation. Turning ever so slightly more he now found himself gazing at Grand Magus Sage Estratus, his own leader, who was looking much more composed than he felt. Next to her was Sloane, and Dan felt a pang of worry as he saw the state the knight was in, looking as if the bottom his world has just dropped out. He had never forgotten the plague's help on that terrifying day in March, and to see someone he still considered a comrade in such a state was..... distressing to the young mage. It was clear that the plague on stage was important to the sword, and so as he turned back to face forward he found himself hoping fervently that the woman before them would be alright.


Nella found herself becoming slightly annoyed with the trickster before her - no direct answers, but then again, why should she be surprised? It was a self proclaimed trickster after all. The phasmas crossed her arms as she observed the conversation before her, head turning in time with the words volleyed back and forth. While there were plagues here that she recognized and could name, none of them could be said to be friends or close acquaintances, simply not enough time having been spent with them in the past. This realization made Nella wilt inside, and while she knew it was no fault of hers or Dan, it did nothing to abate the feeling that she had failed somehow, that the loneliness she felt right now was her fault. Time to try and make a change then.

Drifting away from her position in the middle of everything the lantern floated over to the ash anhelo and his group. Only a few of them were familiar her, some only through the briefest of meetings, but at least she knew them, unlike the rest of the company. As she came before them her hands clasped over her chest in nervousness, face apprehensive but hopeful as she looked up towards the quietus. Before she any words left the small red mouth however, a much larger commotion came to the stage and when the lantern turned she found her sight confronted by a new infitialis. If she had possessed eyes in that moment, they would have widened like those of her grimm as she looked upon the blood lady. The words of Yizhaq that came to the stage effected Nella little in comparison to her grimm, for she had not known the noble for long, but the words of the next speaker did have an effect. It was the Grand Magus, which meant that there would also be........ Sloane.

Upon seeing the sword's state she nearly cried out, but stopped herself before doing so, knowing that it would do no one any good. How wretched it was to see the white knight in such turmoil, and she could also see that her grimm was working to hide his own deal of emotional turmoil. In that moment her view towards Armaud's word's changed. If there was a way to help Dan, Sloane, the Grand Magus, the blood lady, and all the others, she wanted to hear it........ but that didn't mean she was going to just follow blindly. She turned once more to face the trickster, not leaving her new company, but still making the direction of her voice clear as she squared her shoulder, her arms returning to her side and chin coming forward.

"If you speak true, Armaud, of being able to help both us plagues and the grimms, it is great news indeed, and I will hear what you have to say. If you speak false however.... if harm befalls my grimm or others because of this, I will not forget." As the last words were spoken the lantern's fists tightened, showing that this young, and possibly foolish phasmas meant for her words to be taken seriously, and would be willing to back them up. A dangerous move perhaps, but it was the path she willing to take in this most worrying time.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Hopkin stared at the proceedings with mounting horror, as things began to fall apart. From one nightmare to the next, the scene unfolded, Armaud, Armaud the trickster, informing him that they should trust a Waldgrave, the brother of a monster who had corrupted the Fellowship from within and brought the dark stench of Obscuvos into the halls of Anica. To him, that seemed to settle the matter, and for a moment he was almost thankful for it, the simplification of matters. He would never, could never, trust a Cultist. Wickwright was most firm on that. But as Lady Sanguine, the Blood Lady, he realized with a lurch, descended into madness, perhaps contracted from her dead mistress, the alarming surroundings pressed on his mind, made it hard for him to vocalize his discontent. Instead, to try to center himself, he muttered Ardenian practice phrases, declining words like Wickwright had made him those first few days he spent as an Excito, simply to prove he could. The sharp tang of blood, the sound of the hymns, it was all cloying and pressing, he wished only for silence-

And got it. With surprise, he paused in his declamation, and looked up only to see the cause was a young boy, most lovely in form and elegant in clothing. He relaxed, shoulders slumping slightly. A young boy of such demeanor with order cloaking him like a veil could mean them no wrong, like the Ardenian speaking Scientists who Armaud had tried to trick them into fleeing from. However, though he brought calm, Armaud herself still had to be dealt with, as she was wittering away despite everyone else having gone silent, totally unaware of how irritating she was being, Hopkin supposed irritably (and rather hypocritically, as usually he was wittering away in her stead). He intended to quiet her, and got as far as "You must-" before being further interrupted, this time by a boy from the far off balcony where Sir Sloane's pleasing red hair was just visible. Wickwright rarely ever interrupted him, he thought angrily! How glad he would be once he finally returned to him.

The boy finished, and Hopkin stared straight ahead, holding onto Clurie very hard. "I still do not trust you, Armaud the Trickster," he stated finally, "Being a Cultist is no better than being a liar! I know the story of Benedikta Waldgrave, and she is little more than a perverse grotesque in a sordid history." He was little concerned about the balcony boy's statement. He was not so aesthetically pleasing as the boy on the stage, and thus, Hopkin put less stock in what he said. At any rate, there was no question about what Wickwright would choose. Wickwright did whatever was best for Hopkin, and if he had to be branded a traitor in order to make Hopkin into his contribution, he would. One could not become a traitor to the Jawbone Men merely by becoming a traitor to the Empire. Even if the ultimatum was true, Wickwright would already have a plan to deal with it.


Wickwright had no plan to deal with it.

After the boy above's dramatic statement, the first thing he did was reach out for Clemmings, for the Guard was still present amongst them, and fighting back one by one would do no one favours but the Empire. Furthermore, the offer the boy had revealed in hopes of shocking and alarming the gathered Grimms might not seem so unpalatable to all present. It certainly would have seemed reasonable to Wickwright, had his Plague not had such personal value invested in it. As it was, the ultimatum sent strange ripples of panic down his spine. And that- What was said of the other Grimms? It was now suggested that their absence was more than an oversight. Had they been bought off? Killed? If they had been dealt with earlier, why was the seemingly random mishmash of Grimms present being dealt with here?

Furthermore, how would the Grimms deal with the situation before them now? He wrinkled his nose at the cultist defector Sanguine, the 'blood lady', he supposed, from the stories he collected in Shyregoad during the summer. Sloane had said she was quite well- if the pitiful thing in front of Lord Yizhaq was any indication, the Mage idea of 'quite well' was the same as O'Neill's reckoning of the word while he was trying to keep wary Jawbone Men from converting to more secure faiths during these hard times.

He had promised he would help O'Neill, he remembered. Finch being branded a traitor was hardly conducive to the cause.

Thus, with everything at stake, he put his mind, not on the other Grimms, but on himself. How would he deal with this situation? He was sure Hopkin could not return of his own accord, and if he could, what of it? They would still be branded traitors. Giving Hopkin up was no option, either, and as for rallying the Grimms, what good could such a small handful do? A small handful that may not even concur with each other?

The best way, he thought, might have to be the old standby, the Finch tactic to everything, which was to throw words at the problem until it went away or became a different (and hopefully not bigger) problem that he might have a solution to. The Emperor had not immediately confirmed the boy's words. Perhaps he might be open to persuasion.

The idea itself, he admitted, was ludicrous, but he had little other choice. If the Emperor confirmed, what else could he attempt? He was hardly young enough to fight off guards, and far too dull to be a traitor. Quickly, he tried to think of bargaining points to bring up. There was the weakness in Shyregoad, he thought rapidly. And with Sanguine right here, it was a pressing, present issue. Were Lady Sage to lose her Plague, she could be seen as weak. Plagues had become symbols of status, and Sage's served further purpose as necessary protection. Shyregoad's Grand Magus could not waver, not so soon after Waldgrave's descent into madness, not if the Emperor wanted the Shyregoadians placated like the people of Imisus once the riots finally died down. But assuming that the Emperor let her keep her Plague...

No, there were still those among him like Lord Yizhaq, those who were seen to be trusted Fellowship members whose Plagues would be an equally harsh blow on the Fellowship's already battered image. And Lord Yizhaq himself did not lack influence- if one noble felt threatened, they all ruffled their feathers. Plus, the removal of one generation of Grimms' Plagues would not stop the damn things from being made. And if Grimms loyal to the Emperor now lost their Plagues, there would be resentment, and if every generation of Grimm was treated thus, the Emperor would be breeding a rebellion force right under his feet. At any rate, this offer, if real, was nothing more than a foolish and makeshift patch when a much larger problem had to be addressed.

If he was lucky, the shoddiness of the offer was representative a rash young Emperor's foolish whimsy. If the Audience helped him reach the decision, it could be almost impossible to change his mind. Anyway, he was a Finch, and Hopkin was up there, likely expecting him to do something, so he did the only thing he could do, considering the circumstances.

"Before this debate incites a riot, if I might interject?"

Damn and blast and corpus bones. If young boys were going to bicker over Hopkin like a plaything, couldn't they have been ones he knew how to deal with? Feilim and Tadhg and Yawley were quite another thing from the blasted Emperor. Still, he supposed he had nothing to lose. He was no Finch without his contribution, dead meat as a traitor, and making an upstart of himself was at least nothing new.