The Palazzini di Veranti set a grim mood for the proceedings, no matter how flag-bedecked. Where the ducal palace soared, it crouched instead, a colossal grim toad wrought of massive granite blocks overlooking the Ottian estuary. The centrepiece and lynchpin of the city’s military district – and its formidable primary coastal fortifications, sheltering much of the merchant marine and the navy dockyards beneath its guns – the ancient and much-expanded fortress positively bristled with guards and cannon. 

It was a far cry from the marble halls and perfumed courtyards of the Palazzo Ducale that Giovanna was used to, and rather than the silken whisper of power drifting on the air, here the atmosphere was positively [i]electric[/i]. Small wonder: everyone was on edge, the guards with their arquebuses and swords at parade rest but with tension crackling along every line of their bodies; the functionaries and bureaucrats who kept the mundane business of the city turning over rushing frantically to and fro with piles of papers and ancient, crumbling scrolls; the lesser peers and greater merchants jockeying for position with only the thinnest veneer of politesse present…and over it all, the numinous, crackling electric cloud of [i]uncertainty[/i]. 

It had started as such a fine, normal day – springtime in the city, the sun warming the golden stone and dancing on the placid river Otium, sea breezes filling the sails of the merchant marine and filling the city streets with the fresh smell of the ocean. It had quickly proven to be no ordinary day, however; a flying column of the feared Inquisitorial troops – the axe which had decimated the ranks of the ancient high nobility in recent years, enriching the Church with centuries of carefully-husbanded wealth – had plunged into the Palace, taken the Duke and his family, and then retreated to the cathedral and the forbidding White Citadel even as the Cardinal assigned to the city began to read out his proclamation of heresy to a stunned and disbelieving population.

Giovanna di Mora heard of these things quickly; House Mora was a power on the peninsula and in the city both, and her employees were everywhere. Engaged in lawful activity, of course, but nonetheless with fully-functional eyes and ears – not that the Church was trying to [i]hide [/i]what it had done, of course.

Information on the extraordinary gathering of the suddenly-decapitated body politic – at the heavily-defended Palazzini, no less – also filtered rapidly through to her, and she had been one of the first to arrive at the coastal bastion.

She listened carefully to the tumult as Ignatius, rotund and rubicund in equal measure, irrepressibly putting Giovanna in mind of a jolly street-corner butcher despite his wealth, called the meeting to order with some difficulty.

His proposal was…surprising, to say the least, and she hid her reflexive flinch behind her mirror-smooth mask of etiquette and manners, every inch the poised and elegant Marquise. She herself was a member of the Council of Peers, and to hear of its dissolution prompted an almost-instinctive reaction.

A second’s thought, though, a more tempered consideration, and her agile mind began to spot the advantages, the points in favour, the ways to massage perception of the power transfer. Giovanna remembered the ecclesiastical proclamation of Duke Fiore’s appointment, a richly gilded and illuminated thing of beauty in pride of place in the Palazzo Ducale’s library, proclaiming Carlo Fiore ‘a goodly and holy man, rich in virtue and absent of deadly sin’. For him to now be accused of heresy by the same Church…well. The commons of the city might hold the Church and Pope in veneration, but the wealthy and the educated – of which Veranth had no small supply – they were a different matter, and the Inquisition had been a growing worry for years.

Giovanna took the floor, then, a carefully-managed entrance. Her boots clicked loudly on the stone flags as she glided forwards, her purple gown glimmering richly in the light, and a path to the centre of the chamber opened up for her in the press of people. Black opals blazed and shimmered at her throat and ears, drawing the eye with their display of shifting colours and focusing the attention of the onlookers on [i]her[/i]. She held the moment there, for just a second, judging her audience with a skill born of long familiarity, and then began to speak.

“[b]Fellow peers, gentlemen and ladies…many of you know me. [i]I[/i] certainly know many of you,[/b]” she added, with an arch, purring laugh that stroked wickedly up the backs of many of the listeners. “[b]And I would hope most of you have fond memories of visiting my humble home.[/b]” It was anything but [i]humble[/i], and all present knew it – but such was the game, the delicate social dance at which Giovanna was so skilled. She had many friends as a result of it, from peers and merchants to artists, academics and artisans, worlds that would otherwise never meet gently blended together at the Palazzo Moravese with a master’s hand, all of it handsomely lubricated with the rich and heady wines of her estates.

“[b]Thus, I will trade on such delightful currency and beg your indulgence a while,[/b]” she continued with a smile, lips curling upwards into a perfect Cupid’s bow, dark eyes dancing over the assembled pageantry of the great and the good of Veranth. ‘[i]That’s it[/i],’ she thought, in the privacy of her own head, conducting the refined gathering with the baton of her words and body both. “[b]House Mora has prospered alongside Veranth since time immemorial. Long before the first foundation stone of the Bank was laid, we held the lands of the Reach and were-[/b]” her lips curled up at the mercantile metaphor hurrying to her lips “[b]-invested here. The guilt, [i]or innocence[/i], of His Grace our erstwhile Duke is, of course, far beyond my ambit; I am no scholar of ecclesiastical law and jurisprudence, but from a secular standpoint we must acknowledge him as a capable ruler. Veranth and our ancient rivals of Mersolan remain as the last independent states on the peninsula; we, this great city, hold hegemonic dominion at bay by the depth of our coffers, the ingenuity of our artisans and academics, and the doughty resolve of our fine guardsmen and sailors – and [i]I will not see that squandered[/i]![/b]”

 She strode the length of the hall in a flash of purple and turned abruptly on one heel to look out at the assembled dignitaries. A finely-tuned pause, a breath to fill the lungs and subtly adjust her pose, and she began again, speaking softer, now, the lilting cadences of her voice dancing into the ears of her listeners. “[b]Make no mistake, the moment our rivals hear of today’s tragic events, they will come circling, looking to plunder us if we allow a moment of weakness, of indecision.[/b]” Another gaze across the hall, glittering dark eyes wide and serious. “[b]Before the Dukes, there were Masters, and in these troubled times when we can no longer rely on ducal leadership, I fain we are [i]right [/i]to cleave to our ancient tradition – for the good order of the City and the safety of her citizens. I do not have the fine strategic mind of Nantua-[/b]” a graceful half-curtsey to the blade-like presence of the man “[b]-and freely concede him the martial arena. Bladelli, now [i]there [/i]is a name all know, and his skill in all the arts of currency is indubitable. A worthy competitor and a fine merchant; had I a glass I would toast his talent even as our Houses cross swords in the markets. A finer man-[/b]” and let the more perceptive of the audience think on her choice of words, carefully innocuous “[b]-to care for our great city’s fiscal health I cannot think of. [i]However[/i].[/b]” 

A change to her mellifluous voice, throaty and rich, a rolling purr rising from the depths of her chest. “[b]Two of our traditional seats remain unfilled, as yet. I put myself forward, therefore - as a servant of the City - for the ancient and honourable role of Doge, if this esteemed council will have me.[/b]”