bookpub Chapter 583 The Vote - Part 4
Chapter 583 The Vote - Part 4
Oliver could hardly look as Tavar plunged his hand into the coin pouch again. The sheer laws of probability, to pick so many fors in a row, in a mere bag of ten, he knew it was over, even without looking.
Hod's eyebrow was wrinkled, disbelieving. He knew his efforts had been worth more than one vote for Against. He thought he knew the minds of people, how to influence them. He hadn't expected an easy victory, but he hadn't expected a complete blowout. Could it be, that the corruption ran deeper than he thought?
Perhaps that old fool of a High King had seen this, and he'd meddled with the Lords in advance? It was not impossible. Hod cursed himself for overlooking it. He'd grown rusty this wasn't meant to be—
"Against," Tavar declared, setting the stone down into the opposite tally. Oliver dared to glance, but he didn't feel even the slightest shred of hope. One more little tilting of the scales, and it would all be over. His life would be sealed. That was the sort of imbalance that it should have been impossible to live on... And yet, he had.
"Against," Tavar said again. Oliver squinted. In line with those thoughts, the very imbalance of his existence. From the start, the scales were set against him. He was meant to die the moment he bore Ingolsol's Curse of Despair. Your next chapter is on My Virtual Library Empire
"Against," Tavar said again. Oliver half rose out of his seat. Who was he to be feeling down from the likes of mere probability? The probability of him doing all he had was infinitesimally small. All of it. His very life was impossible.
Why could he not produce another possibility here today? He couldn't win. Indeed, winning was over. He didn't know what a draw meant, but it was all he had to grasp for, the alternate path, just as he always had—
The doors drew back, despite Jolamire's protests and Lazarus' urgent and rather swift steps towards Tavar to mount a protest of his own.
Lombard was revealed, as stern-faced as ever, in full military uniform, with his helmet tucked under his arm, and his sword sheathed at his side. He wore the owl of the Blackwells on his breast proudly. Not as a badge as Oliver did, but sewn in as a crest, signifying him as a soldier, rather than a man of higher relations to the Blackwell house.
The guardsmen saluted at the door on instinct. Indeed, they were guardsmen, but they had all been trained as field soldiers before they'd ever gotten the post. It was a selection process that they went through before they were even offered a chance at defending the Academy's walls. It was one of many things that made the attempt on Oliver's life so egregious.
Lombard nodded crisply at the guardsmen as he stepped inside, his boots polished to a perfect shine. It was more like he was going on an inspection of his campgrounds than he was plunging into the very heart of the Hall of Ministers and the trial that awaited their in.
His stone-faced expression didn't sleep, even as he cast the slightest glance over the crowd. Somehow, in the face of Captain Lombard, they all seemed insignificant. Dressed in military uniform as he was, the only men that mattered to him were those of higher rank – and they did not count as such unless they were wearing their military dress.
He streamed past Princess Asabel. In her case, it seemed as though he genuinely didn't realize she was there. No one would expect that a Princess of all people would be tucked right at the back of the hall. And as with Asabel, he all but ignored the gathered Lords.
Instead, his eyes were firmly focused on the Minister's platform, and with swift and even steps, as though he was marching on a parade ground, he was there.