Antebellum Awakening (20 page)

•••

Clive, that disgusting pile of a witch, waited inside the High Priestess’s office with a thoughtful look on his face. The High Priestess came to an abrupt halt a few steps in.

“What are you doing in my office?” she demanded.

“Waiting, Your Highness,” he said with a dip of his head.

“I did not invite you in. Get out.”

Stunned, he hesitated, looking at Stella, who had the same annoyed expression on her face, then slowly walked past us into the hall. Once there, he turned around, hovered for a second, and tapped on the open wooden door.

“Um, may I . . . may I come in?”

“When I’m ready,” the High Priestess replied.

Stella, a hint of a smile on her face, nudged me to stand with her behind the High Priestess’s desk. I didn’t fail to notice the strategy. In reasserting her authority by ordering Clive out, the High Priestess had shifted the power balance in the room back in her favor.

My stomach gave an uneasy lurch. My life would almost certainly end in a few months. Clive couldn’t do much to hurt me. But I feared what this meant for Papa. My heart lodged in my throat and stayed there.

The High Priestess pushed around a pile of scrolls, divided a mess of letters into two piles, and murmured under her breath. In short, she didn’t really do anything. When Clive edged toward the doorway the High Priestess shot him a sharp look. He moved back, lingering in the shadows again. Marten moved into the room without invitation and walked up to her desk.

“Your Highness,” he said. “Forgive my intrusion but I have some paperwork for you that cannot wait. Here are the letters and . . . a few other items of interest.”

Marten set the papers on the desk in front of her. The High Priestess glanced at them, then jerked her eyes up to his in surprise. Her eyebrows lowered into a question and he nodded once, grim.

“Yes,” she said, taking the top paper into her hand, her expression troubled. The paper disappeared. “Thank you, Marten.”

He left the room without another word or backward glance. I wondered where he went. Marten seemed to slip in and out of life here without making a single ripple. It seemed awfully covert for an Ambassador, and I wondered what he really did.

“Move it,” a deep voice commanded Clive, and before he could obey, Tiberius lifted him out of the way. He strode over, stood on my left side, crossed his arms over his chest, and glowered at the office door. Papa stood a few paces away, near the window, deep in thought. Clive, looking a little paler than before, swallowed but stood his ground.

“We are waiting for Jansson,” the High Priestess announced, looking at everyone but Clive and myself. “Then we may begin.”

Jansson stepped up to the doorway only a few moments later. He stood there, awaiting permission to enter.

“Yes, please come in, Jansson, Clive.”

The two of them moved into the room and stood across her desk from us. I met Clive’s gaze and kept it, striving to keep my face as eerie and impassioned as Papa’s. He looked away first.

“Well?” the High Priestess demanded, lifting her thin gray eyebrows and glaring at Clive. “We’re here at your insistence.”

Clive stepped forward.

“I have respectfully submitted the signatures needed to go before the Council in an appeal regarding the matter of removing our current Head of Protectors.”

“That has nothing to do with you being here,” the High Priestess snapped. “You’re here for Bianca, not Der–”

“I beg to differ,” he interrupted. “I believe the two problems are linked.”

Stella gasped. My stomach turned to jelly. Had he just interrupted the High Priestess?

Jansson shot Clive a look of warning. Tension tripled in the room as Clive, realizing his mistake, stopped talking and deferred his gaze to the floor.

“I suggest you get to the point,” the High Priestess said in a cold tone. “Before I kick you out of my office.”

“Indeed, yes. Thank you. Your patience is exemplary. I’d like to address the grievance against Miss Monroe regarding the violence in downtown Chatham City just a few hours ago. I apologize for the delay. I would have liked to address it immediately, but—”

“List your grievances,” the High Priestess said.

Pompous donkey,
I thought, noticing Clive’s Chatham accent was all but gone now. I looked at the clock, confirming the time. It was well into the evening, which meant I must have blacked out for several hours. I wondered if Merrick had to carry me back all that way.

“The first grievance,” Clive began, happy to oblige, “is inciting violence in a public place. Two, responding violently without sufficient cause, and three, denying the citizens the right to express their opinion.”

I pressed my lips together in livid disbelief.
Without sufficient cause? Inciting violence?

“Denying the right of expression?” the High Priestess questioned. “Please, do explain how Bianca’s self-defense in an openly violent crowd suppressed anyone else?”

Clive’s eyebrows lifted halfway up his forehead.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he said in a low voice. “The witches at the rally felt that they couldn’t be honest about their opinions of Derek with her in attendance. Obviously they were right, as we see from the many injuries inflicted.”

“Yes, yes,” she muttered impatiently. “What eyewitnesses do you have to support your claim?”

“I have twenty, Your Highness.”

He stepped forward with a small scroll. She pulled it open to skim it, rolled her eyes, and set it down. I wondered how many of those witnesses had been under the influence of ipsum. All of them, perhaps? Papa’s mouth twitched and he shifted his weight. I could tell he wanted to say something, but held back.

“What is your desired outcome for the grievance?”

“Ultimately, Your Highness, all I ever want is the safety of my people in Chatham City.”

“Don’t try to impress me.”

“Send her away,” Clive said, his voice sharpening, now both demanding and tight. “At least until such time as she can prove herself in control of her emotions.”

Clive met my eyes again, and this time, he did not cower. My fists tightened.
So that’s your game,
I thought. He hoped that by sending me away Papa would go with me; that he’d break under the pressure and give up his job.

Sneaky, underhanded snake.

The High Priestess turned to Jansson without a ruffle in her composure. “As Clive’s supervisor, do you agree with his grievance and expectations?”

My heart stalled in my chest while Jansson thought over his reply.

“Clive is free to make any grievance he wishes,” he said slowly, “but I feel that there is enough evidence that she acted in self-defense to say the punishment may be too steep. I recommend that Bianca be restricted to the castle grounds and asked to do work hours with Mrs. L.”

My heart both lifted and fell at the same time. Work hours with Mrs. L? I’d prefer exile.

“Your Highness, the real question here is whether Bianca is receiving the attention she needs in order to deal with her grief,” Clive interjected. “With her mother gone, it’s only natural that her father should step up and fill the empty spot in her young life. Quite frankly, I doubt that’s happening and this uncontrolled temper is the result. Perhaps we should look at giving Derek more of an opportunity to take care of his daughter.”

Both Tiberius and I started forward, but Stella yanked me back before my foot touched the floor. Tiberius snarled low in his throat. Clive didn’t move, but looked for all the world like a small animal trapped in a cave of lions.

“Your opinion was unsolicited and therefore not received,” the High Priestess said with a withering gaze.

“Does that have anything to do with the fact that Bianca is a favorite of yours and has received your official pardon before?” Clive asked.

“Silence, you fool!” Jansson hissed under his breath.

Papa stepped forward, his face hardening into furious lines. My powers surged, gaining more strength than should have been possible. Stella reached over and put a hand on my arm. A cool feeling flooded my body, settling me.

“Be still,” she whispered and the magic obeyed.

“This is the third time you’ve spoken out of turn during one meeting, Clive. Should you feel the need to speak one more time in my presence without invitation, you will be placed under impudence and banned from your position as Coven Leader for the rest of your life,” the High Priestess said in a calm, dangerous tone. “I am, quite frankly, insulted at your insinuation.”

“I didn’t mean it in that way, Your Highness,” Clive stammered, shuffling back a step under the terrible power of her beady eyes. “I would never wish to insult you.”

“I’m not convinced. You are banned from Chatham Castle for one month and will not be allowed to attend meetings or events. Should we have this problem again, I will exile you without hesitation. We’ll see what you think of your own opinions then.”

Clive’s face fell. He opened his mouth to respond, but Jansson put a hand on his shoulder.

“In addition,” the High Priestess continued in a cold tone, “I recognize four names from this petition as wanted witches from the Factios. I expect your full cooperation in finding these criminals. Bianca is hereby restricted to the grounds at Chatham Castle. Leave my office this instant.” She turned to Jansson. “If I have any further problems from him, the responsibility for it rests on your shoulders. I suggest you control him if you want to keep your job.”

Jansson nodded once and steered Clive from the office with a bit more force than necessary. Tiberius flexed his hands and wrists, trouble brewing on his face.

“Spineless coward,” he muttered, ensuring it was still loud enough for Clive to hear. Papa drew in a deep breath, and the tense muscles in his shoulders relaxed. The High Priestess removed the incantation that held my throat hostage.

“I’d like those names, High Priestess,” Tiberius said. “I’ve got a hankering for a Factios bust, if you don’t mind.”

“What’s a Factios?” I asked.

“They are a recent problem from within the last year or two, possibly connected to Mabel,” the High Priestess said in a weary tone. “Factios is just a name. They are a group of organized criminals living in Chatham City stirring up trouble. They’re also a bunch of sodden idiots, although they must have some kind of intelligent leadership amongst them.”

She waved a hand at the scroll with a disgusted look and sent it flying to Tiberius, who tucked it into his pocket with a happy little pat.

“Always glad to plan a raid, Your Highness,” he said in a jovial tone. “It keeps the captains and me happy. There’s nothing more fun than busting the ugly mug of these Factios members.” Tiberius shot me a wink as he gave me a light slug on the shoulder that knocked me into Stella.

“Maybe I’ll have you teach the Guardians how to fight since you fended off an entire crowd.”

I couldn’t even smile, but Tiberius didn’t notice. He nodded once to Papa before swaggering out of the room and shutting the door behind him with a violent slam that rattled the paintings on the walls.

“I’m sorry this happened, Bianca,” the High Priestess said in a voice that was—to my surprise—calm. “I was not angry at you, you must understand. It’s not safe for you outside the castle anymore. Your restriction is a safety measure, not a punishment.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

She studied me for several long moments, then let out a quiet sigh and turned to Papa.

“Derek, please send for Merrick. I would like to talk to him in private. Stella, please remain behind. I have something to speak to you about. The rest of you may go.”

The paper that had disappeared earlier reappeared in the High Priestess’s hand. Papa put a hand on my back and escorted me away as the High Priestess handed the paper to Stella, a frown on her face.

•••

All my friends waited for me in the Witchery.

Camille paced back and forth across the width of the turret, tugging on the ends of her hair in agitation. “You’re okay!” she cried as soon as I walked inside, throwing her arms around me.

“Relatively.”

She pulled away with tears in her pretty hazel eyes. “We’ve been worried sick! We searched the crowd forever trying to find you before they did something terrible. They were chanting and screaming. I was so scared.”

“We were really frightened,” Michelle said with a little shiver. “I caught a glimpse of you just as they started dragging you toward Clive. If Leda hadn’t told Merrick, I don’t know how we would have gotten you home.”

“Leda?” I asked, whirling around. She sat on the edge of the divan, her pale hands folded in her lap.

“I saw glimpses of it,” she said. “I was in the middle of talking to Janss—in a meeting, and I just up and left without a word of explanation. Luckily Merrick and Brecken were on the Wall, talking. As soon as I told them what I thought might happen, they transported.”

I collapsed onto one of the large piles of pillows, surprised to find my knees so weak. The images of the rabid crowd and being thrown around flapped through my mind, wanting to be processed, but I wasn’t ready and pushed them away.