Brilliant, Peter thought sarcastically. The king can’t back down.
“Either he’s a political imbecile or a lunatic who thinks he can push the matter as far as necessary,” Harrison stated. “Or he could easily be both.”
“Very well,” Duchess Zangaria said. “What do we do about it? How many of us will support the bill?”
Janet made a face. “About a third of the commons will support the king, even after the reality of the situation dawns on them.” Her voice was very cold. “They are linked to the king’s patronage network. Another third could probably be talked into providing support, in exchange for later concessions. At worst . . . the king might be able to muster enough votes to get it through the House of Commons.”
“And yet, they’d have to get it through the House of Lords,” Duke Rudbek pointed out. “We could invoke the Ducal Veto.”
“We’d have to get all thirteen dukes to agree,” Peter pointed out.
“They all stand to lose,” Duchess Zangaria said. “They have no reason to support the bill.”
Peter frowned. The king knew that . . . surely. He’d probably be getting chapter and verse from the Royal Trustees about the political and financial realities soon enough, if he hadn’t heard them out already. He had to know the House of Lords would kill his bill. It made no sense.
Unless he wants to blame us for his failure, Peter thought. But . . . what would it get him?
A nasty thought struck him. “Does anyone know which way Cavendish will jump?”
Harrison sucked in his breath. “Shit!”
“The king could offer the Cavendish Corporation a loan to keep the corporation afloat long enough for them to restructure,” Pamela said slowly. “They’d have great difficulty in meeting their obligations, even if the best-case scenario is true, but they’d survive. The king could make sure they get enough contracts to stave off a complete collapse. And . . . if that is the case, Duke Cavendish will not join the Ducal Veto.”
“Which will ensure that we can’t veto the bill,” Peter finished. He glanced at Rudbek. “If we can’t veto, can we still kill the bill?”
“Perhaps,” Rudbek said. “But the king does have his supporters in the House of Lords too.”
Peter gritted his teeth in frustration. The king would have problems getting the bill through the House of Lords, but it wasn’t impossible. Peter could easily imagine the king horse trading like mad, making deal after deal until even he couldn’t remember just how many promises he’d actually made. It would all catch up with him very quickly—patrons who forgot to reward their clients tended to have their clients looking for support from more generous patrons—but Peter suspected the king was past caring. If he was determined to force the bill through, he’d make whatever deals he had to make and worry about keeping them later.
“Perhaps it is time to consider the nuclear option,” Duchess Zangaria said. “We impeach him.”
“That would be tricky,” Harrison said. “We could challenge him openly and demand a vote of confidence, but . . . we might well lose. Not everyone in the Lords would be comfortable with demanding impeachment because of a bill that hasn’t even been passed!”
That, Peter admitted sourly, was true. The House of Lords included a number of people who’d won a peerage through sheer merit, but the vast majority of Lords were hereditary aristocrats. They might not like the king, and they might not grant him their automatic support . . . yet they’d be opposed to anything that challenged their power. An opposition that brought down the single most powerful man on Tyre would have no difficulties in dealing with a mere earl or knight. The aristocracy wouldn’t want such a precedent to be set without very solid cause. Someone who didn’t run a vast corporation might not agree that such cause existed.
“So,” Duke Rudbek said, “what do we do?”
“Perhaps we could find a compromise,” Janet said. “If we agreed to fund some of his programs—the naval patrols in the occupied territories perhaps—he might agree to drop the others.”
“Except the commitment is likely to keep draining our resources,” Harrison growled. “We should cut it completely.”
Duke Rudbek eyed Peter. “What does your sister say about all this? Does she even know?”
“She hasn’t expressed an opinion to me,” Peter said crossly. “I intend to discuss the matter with her once we have decided on a response.”
He scowled at the table. It was hard to hide just how irritated he was. Kat was going to find herself in an invidious position. If she’d thought to ask him, as her superior, before she’d accepted the seat on the Privy Council . . . He sighed. Their father had neglected her political training. She should have realized that the seat would trap her between two masters. Technically, he should order her to choose between the Privy Council and the family; practically, he rather feared he knew how she’d respond. Kat had never allowed her older brother to dictate to her when she’d been a child.
And she might not even know what’s happened, he thought. Did the king tell her?
It wasn’t a pleasant thought. The king’s Privy Council included quite a few people who should have known just how many people would resist the wretched taxation and spending bill. Kat was no political authority, but . . . Peter wondered, sourly, if the king had thought to ask for advice from anyone. It would be interesting to see how many privy councilors resigned over the matter. He wasn’t precisely obliged to consult his councilors, but it was generally accepted that he should.
“We need to build up a solid resistance to the bill,” Harrison said. “If nothing else, we merely need to mobilize one-third of the MPs and Lords against it.”
“And we should at least try to find a compromise,” Janet said.
Harrison’s voice hardened.
