Antebellum Awakening (24 page)

“No, they’re bluffing. Fina won’t let them do it.” He waved the matter off. “Now leave me alone. I have work to do.”

“Very well. I’ll go tell Fina you said that it wasn’t important enough to address,” I said in an even tone. “Thank you for your time, Donald.”

He looked up as I started walking away with a mild expression of panic.

“I didn’t say that. Don’t tell Fina I said that!”

“What can I do, Donald? She wanted me to bring you to help her sort the issue out. Clearly, you are too busy.”

He chewed on his bottom lip. “You said she sent for me specifically?” he checked again.

“She said you were the only one maintaining an even head today, and that your decision would be the most trustworthy with the High Priestess tied up.”

The flattery worked. He cleared his throat and straightened the collar of his shirt with his spindly fingers.

“Well, I have been pretty calm, if I do say so myself.”

I nodded in willing agreement. He cast an uneasy look at the door.

“But I can’t leave while the High Priestess meets with Jansson. I’m supposed to keep other witches from disturbing them.”

“I could sit here while you go,” I said, as if the thought had just come to me. “I have a few minutes to spare.”

He studied me in wary indecision before finally giving in.

“Very well. I shall be quick.”

His long body took awhile to unfold and start walking toward the stairs, stretching my patience. I sat down after he vacated the desk and stared innocently at the wall-sized painting across from the office. He cast one look over his shoulder, remained satisfied I hadn’t moved, and disappeared.

The moment his steps faded away I jumped to my feet and ran to the door. If I stood almost pressed against it, I could pick up every word. Just in case, I muttered an incantation under my breath, one that made sounds expand, and kept my eye on the hallway.

“Yes, I’m aware that the Western Network has successfully diverted most of the river. Derek said they were able to save a small amount, but it will only help the northern farmers. I plan to bring the matter before the Council for discussion later tonight.”

Jansson’s even tone followed. “Very well. Two more items of business. I wanted to speak with you personally in regards to the Derek issue before the Council meets on it. I come at no one’s behest but my own.”

The Derek issue?

“Proceed,” she said.

“With war nearly inevitable now that Almack is gone, the Council Members are planning on reviewing Clive’s petition tomorrow. Their first priority now that Almack has died is to have you put a new Head of Protectors in place. It doesn’t look good for Derek, Your Highness."

“No, it doesn’t.”

“I’ve spoken to all of the Council Members. I know of at least six guaranteed votes to exile Derek. The rest are undecided but one. Stella votes to keep him in office.”

His words made my heart turn cold in a way I never could have imagined. Six out of ten already? The odds were against him.

“It’s exile they want?” the High Priestess asked. “Not just removal?”

“Exile,” he confirmed.

A silence stretched through the room, filling me with dread. “I can’t say I’m that surprised,” the High Priestess said with a low breath.

“Forgive me if I sound impudent or am speaking out of place,” he said. “But I would strongly advise you to not divide yourself from the Council over the issue of the Head of Protectors. There are some witches on the Council that would not hesitate to invoke the old rules and pull you out of office alongside Derek.”

“The old rules?” she repeated. “Those have never been used. Not since the Networks were formed. They feel so strongly about it?”

“Some of them do, Your Highness. Though I’m not sure that their motivations are entirely pure.”

His cryptic response gave me chills. Miss Mabel must have Council Members on her side. Miss Mabel, or the woman she was working with.

“Thank you for your help, Jansson.”

“Your Highness, I have one other item to bring to your attention. This I do on behalf of the Council and not myself.”

“Go ahead.”

“If a High Priest is not chosen in three days, along with a new Head of Protectors,” he continued, “the Council has requested that I inform you of their plans to invoke the ancient Rule of Settlement.”

My gasp came out before I could stifle it, and I slapped both hands over my mouth. The Rule of Settlement declared that the ten Council Members could vote, on an eight out of ten majority, to put a High Priest or Priestess in office if the current leader had not done so already. At its best, it was a protective mechanism to ensure we always had a leader. At its worst it was a political slap in the face, an insinuation that the current leader didn’t know well enough to choose the right counterpart. The High Priestess’s unchanged tone rang out as clear as a bell.

“Three days, you say?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Thank you for delivering that message, Jansson. You are dismissed.”

Before I had a chance to resume my innocent position on Donald’s chair, the door popped open and hit me in the face. I fell back onto my bottom. Rupert, Jansson’s assistant, peered out around the door. He had an orange mustache that came to a point on either cheek and wore his red hair slicked away from his face.

“Sorry, miss,” Rupert muttered, casting me a suspicious eye. “What were ya doing right there?”

To my shock, Leda came out next. Her mouth dropped when she saw me on the floor, then she quickly clamped it shut and moved out of the way. Jansson followed behind her.

“I’m sitting here while Donald takes care of an issue downstairs,” I said, probing the stinging flesh of my nose. “I stood to stretch my legs and the door flew open at me.”

Rupert offered his hand, but I ignored it and climbed to my feet myself.

“Council Member,” I said, bobbing out a curtsy. Jansson gave me a startled glance, nodded, and turned to walk away. Rupert cast me a once-over as well, rolled his eyes, and departed at Jansson’s side.

“What are you doing?” Leda hissed, taking a step toward me.

“Me?” I cried in a low voice. “What are you doing with Jansson?”

She looked over her shoulder at Jansson’s and Rupert’s retreating forms and bit her bottom lip.

“I work for Rupert now,” she said.

“What? Why?”

“I’m trying to get my foot in the door for a job once I finish my marks,” she said, as if it should have been obvious. “Jansson is the busiest Council Member of all, and the one with the most influence, so Miss Scarlett helped me get a job as the assistant to his Assistant. If I do a good enough job, Rupert will help me try to get a better job next year once I have a completed circlus.”

“Is that where you’ve been disappearing?”

“Yes, of course,” she said quickly, glancing around again.

“Oh,” I said, breaking into a smile. “That’s wonderful!”

“Yes, but don’t tell anyone yet! I’m in a trial period to see if they really need me or not. Please?” Her gaze turned pleading. “I’d just die of embarrassment if it didn’t work out.”

“Of course not,” I said. “Good work, Leda. I’m proud of you.”

She edged a few steps backward.

“I-I have to go. Don’t tell anyone!”

She quickly whirled around and dashed off after them. Her bag bulged with scrolls, quills, and the lumpy edges of ink bottles. I stared after her in disbelief until the slap of Donald’s large feet started up the stairs. Startled back to action, I dashed into his seat and lounged back, pretending to be bored.

“There you are!” I cried the moment his perplexed face came into view. He opened his mouth to speak, but I brushed past. “Sorry, don’t have time. Merry part, Donald!”

He called after me, but I quickly slipped away.

•••

I wandered down to the dining room that evening after practicing by myself in the Forgotten Gardens for several hours. Footwork, sword routines, swings and arcs, all ran through my head. My shoulders ached from the work, but I enjoyed it. Merrick and I hadn’t gone for a run in Letum Wood ever since our talk and I was happy to leave it like that.

Two maids walked past me in the hall, whispering in low tones.

Well, the night maid said that the High Priestess declared war during the Council meeting.

They say that the West is trying to infiltrate from the Borderlands.

I heard the Southern Network heard our bugle as well.

Gossip about the possibility of war rang through the castle all day, leaving me with a dour feeling. None of it meant anything, but that didn’t seem to matter. Witches would believe any information to gain some sense of control over a moment in their lives. I knew the feeling, even if I didn’t understand it.

I steered myself into the dining room with a sigh and headed toward the food table, my stomach growling. Night had fallen, and the candles and torches flickered from a breeze whistling through the open windows, winding around the wooden tables and chairs.

After piling a plate high with roasted potatoes, a chicken leg, a mound of buttery corn, and a dinner roll, I snatched the last brownie before they disappeared. Michelle sat at our usual table with Nicolas at her side. He had a swatch of brown hair on the back of his head that ran against the rest of his mop and, as a result, stuck almost straight up. It looked endearing in a boyish kind of way.

“Merry meet,” I said, sitting across from them.

“Merry meet, Bianca,” Michelle said in her quiet voice. Nicolas smiled at me, his baby blue eyes lighting up.

“Merry meet, Miss Bianca. It’s good ta see ya this evening.”

I smiled at him. Unlike the other witches from Chatham City, Nicolas had an undeniable warmth in his accent. Michelle’s cheeks flushed to a bright red, and she ducked her attention back to her plate.

“Where’s Camille?” I asked.

“By the Guardians,” Nicolas said.

I looked up to find Camille sitting in the midst of a table of off-duty Guardians. Brecken sat several chairs away, ignoring her completely. Camille made an obvious point of never looking his way.

“Where’s Leda?” Michelle asked. “I tried to find her earlier but couldn’t. She wasn’t in the Witchery or the library.”

“I’m not sure,” I said vaguely. “Maybe she’s doing something with Miss Scarlett.”

“Have you heard about the forest dragons?” Nicolas asked. A fluffy little cloud of mashed potatoes sat on the end of his fork. “Word is just getting out about them tonight.”

Michelle smiled a little. “Nicolas loves dragons,” she explained. “Actually, he’s quite obsessed with them.”

“No,” I said with a little curl of worry. “What about them?”

He shifted in his seat, moving a little closer. His voice lowered to an excited, conspiratorial tone. There was a bright spark in his eyes.

“Two dragons were spotted flying over Letum Wood yesterday, after Almack died. That’s as good as a signed declaration of war, if ya ask me.”

“How so?” I asked.

“The dragons only come out if there’s danger headed for Chatham Castle. With the Southern Network doubling their guards at the wall, not ta mention the issues with the West, there can’t be any other assumption, can there?”

A bleak spirit slid into the conversation, and I nudged at my pile of corn dismally. Nicolas dropped his fork back to the plate with a little clatter and gave himself wholeheartedly to the tale.

“Witches started spotting the dragons at odd times the past week or so. I saw one myself in the distance, flying over the boundaries. They’re beautiful animals. I’ve read about them my whole life. And just think: I might get close enough ta see one flying by!”

Michelle shot me a secret smile.

“Yes,” I drawled. “That would be unforgettable, wouldn’t it?”

“But mark my words,” he finished in a sour tone, “bad things are coming ta the Central Network if the dragons are out. I don’t want anything bad ta happen, but I do want ta see a dragon.”

Dragons in flight, Miss Mabel’s use of Almorran magic, and Papa’s head on the chopping block with the Council tomorrow. Could anything else go wrong?

A loud chorus of laughter interrupted my grim thoughts. Camille shot to her feet, desperately reaching across the table at which she sat. A Guardian named Luther held something out of her grasp, taunting her. The witches at their table laughed uproariously while she swiped for it.

“Come get it, Camille!” Luther taunted.

“Please,” Camille pleaded, looking worried. “Give it back. It was my mother’s. Please! Oh, don’t break it! It’s all I have!”

“You can have it as soon as you can get it!” another Guardian said, holding up his hands for it. Luther tossed it to him over Camille’s head. The necklace glinted as it flew through the air between the two of them. I pushed to my feet, my chest flaring with anger, when Michelle stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“Wait!” she said. “Look at Brecken.”

Brecken stood up from the other end of the table, grabbed Luther by the back of the neck, and whispered something in his ear. The laughter at the table dwindled. Luther scowled, but his face turned pale beneath his display of bravado. He surrendered the locket to Camille, shoved away from Brecken, and stormed out of the dining room.