A Woman Named 'Ellis'

Part XIV - Say 'Yes' (End of Arc I)

A young student with thick glasses called out, "If this power exists in law, why hasn't it been used before?"

Maria hesitated. Then told the truth.

"Because we were lucky. I was tempted. I know what that temptation feels like. The law shouldn't tempt a Chancellor."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then came the thunder of applause.

Moira Cavanah's The Book Club printed a rare guest column that week. It bore a simple title. The Spouse and the Vote.

Mireille's words were precise and thoughtful, about neutrality, trust and why governments should build guardrails, not monuments. It was clipped, reprinted and quoted more than any op-ed in a decade. Even Fausta passed it around her staff meetings.

One midnight, under a cobalt sky streaked with trainlight, the campaign train rumbled through the borderlands. Fausta sat upright, reviewing notes for the hundredth time. Madoc played cards with a grinning volunteer, too young to vote but already political. Mireille dozed on Maria's shoulder, one hand looped around Maria's arm like a promise.

Maria watched the moon from the window, voice low. "This is bigger than us."

Fausta, eyes never lifting from the page, replied, "That's the only reason I'm still doing it with you."

At the Rollo Rocks Debate, they stood on stage against a slick Unity League candidate in a scarlet tie who said, pointedly, "You're institutionalising authoritarianism."

Maria's answer was calm. "We're deconstructing it."

Fausta followed. "We're removing temptation, not building thrones."

Then Madoc, grinning, "Funny. The only ones who seem to fear losing power are the ones not in it."

The crowd roared.

Between cities, they found shelter one night at Makar and Nicander's villa in the country. Mireille baked. Makar made Maria drink tea and sit in the garden and breathe.

Nicander pulled Fausta into a firm hug, murmuring, "He would've been proud of you."

Fausta didn't ask who.

She already knew.

On the eve of the vote, Saint Marcia Square overflowed, shoulders pressed together, candles in hand. No one jostled. No one shouted. They simply waited.

Maria stood beneath the great window of the cathedral. Her voice was raw. Humbled.

"If you vote 'yes,' I will not abuse what remains. I will build a wall of scrutiny so high that no Chancellor could ever climb over it."

Fausta followed, pledging oversight.

Madoc pledged vigilance.

No cheers.

Just quiet.

Then, from somewhere deep in the crowd, a voice began the Anthem of the Republic. Others joined. Not out of habit, but hope.

And across the capital, the Republic held its breath.

II. The Count

The chamber had never looked less like itself.

The grand Council hall of the Republic, usually a sanctum of polished speeches and silent judgment, had become something between a war room and a storm shelter. The long central tables were cleared of their usual agendas and replaced with sprawling ward maps, open ledgers and chalkboards already fogged with half-erased data. Telegraph machines tapped in the rear like anxious fingers drumming a desk. Clerks hurried between corners with reams of paper, collars askew, shoes squeaking on marble. Even the lamps buzzed a little louder, as though the wires themselves sensed the gravity in the air.