Sidorov stared at the coroner’s report. It had been a heart attack. The old man’s ticker just stopped. Exactly as his prognosis indicated. He had been diagnosed with a faulty heart many years prior, it was no secret. Indeed, Iphan had been an immensely forthright Siro for many, many years.

  At least, that was how the public saw him. The man was blunt to a degree that made even the most hardened and devout Istroa nervous. The Siro made no secret of the fact that he found his assignation unpleasant. Inhumane. And yet he performed the Rite day in and day out for six decades.

  She turned the pages over again, edges crinkling under her grip.

  Why hadn’t his Nother called the doctor when he began showing signs of cardiac distress? Or his valet?

  She shook her head, she knew it was because he likely asked them not to summon help. He served for a very long time; his own predecessor was one of the longest serving Siro recorded. Sidorov marveled at how their combined service almost spanned one hundred fifty years. A remarkable achievement.

  A smirk crossed her lips. Remarkable… and punctuated by peculiar and unexpected events. The appearance of a strange boy. The disappearances of more than one citizen, including a few Istroa. A Siro lost to the Sear, another to suicide.

  Remarkable.

  Sidorov steepled her fingers. If the old man had really died of natural causes, the timing was pure dumb luck. If he hadn’t, it was a crime, but one whose prime suspect was currently trudging through an unmitigated hellscape.

  “It’s the President, ma’am,” Sidorov’s assistant interrupted her reverie.

  “Send him in,” the older woman nodded.

  “Katrin,” Driscoll greeted her. “I see you received your copy. Heart failure.”

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  “So it seems,” the Dowager nodded.

  “I don’t trust it,” Edwin Driscoll cracked his meaty fingers as he sat, stretching his entwined hands behind his head.

  “The man had a history of heart trouble,” Sidorov said emotionlessly. “There isn’t much reason to question it.”

  “It’s too conveniently timed,” her old ally continued.

  “Convenience isn’t evidence,” Sidorov replied.

  Driscoll shrugged. “It’s motive.”

  She paused. “For what?”

  “To end it,” he said, as if it were obvious. “He hated the Rite. He was old. He chose the moment.”

  “By sending her alone?”

  Driscoll looked at her then, properly, “Someone had to carry it. And she was willing.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have gone with her though? If you believe it is about the timing,” Sidorov paused. “Surely it would have been more effective for the old man to accompany the young Ashwalker to the Sear?”

  “Yes, perhaps,” Driscoll pulled a stocky ankle over the opposite thigh. “Maybe he knew he wouldn’t survive another crossing,” he paused.

  “My question is really whether the old man was willing to sacrifice her in the Sear to end the Rite entirely,” Sidorov interrupted the President’s vacuous musing.

  “Why else would ask her for the Rite at all?” She continued. “Everyone knows he saw it as a curse. Did he think so little of his Nother that he would put that yoke around her neck? Especially given that he knew she had no Nother rising to take his place?”

  Driscoll frowned in confused silence. Sidorov couldn’t stand him, but his friendship was necessary.

  “Could he have hadconnections with the ascetics? Has Luther followed up with any of them? Checked that their fines have been paid? Maybe someone didn’t pay their fines in anticipation of no Rite being performed whatsoever,” her gears were turning rapidly.

  “I don’t know!” The President finally huffed. Sidorov wondered if he had actually considered any of the questions she posed. “I still can’t even fathom why people would choose hearty fines over the Rite at all; the Rite is good and essential. Ridiculous fools. What I do know is that it very much feels like he chose this moment to croak,” he finished.

  “Edwin, do show some respect for the dead,” Sidorov mock chided him.

  “Oh yes, of course,” Driscoll sniffed. “The People will see the veritable picture of a grieving head of state. Whatever the the truth is, it won’t be the official story.

  “But between you and me, Katrin, I did open a bottle of the good stuff when I heard.”

  Sidorov laughed hollowly, “You saw him more frequently than most, and yet you loathed him.”

  “I loathed the man; I live and die by the Rite.”