Authors: Anise Rae
Its long-dead creators had extracted a deep cross section of rock, laid it on its side, and forced the layers to spin into the complicated maze that spanned most of the floor. It must have taken enormous power. But unlike the Rallis gyre, which was alive with the goddess’s blessing, no sense of sacredness dwelled here. It was consumed with itself, with ambition and authority.
The uneasy crowd, segregated by family, was solemn and quiet despite their ballroom attire. Dozens of warrior mages stood guard outside the massive room, ready for the attack that the majority of those present were unaware of. The High Council had forbidden Vincent and General Wilen from sharing the threat they faced, even though the extended families of all senators were present, from the youngest to the oldest. No, it was not the expected DW attack that inspired their fear. Nor was it being in the presence of a syphon. It was the threat of the mark’s power that had them shivering in their finest garb.
Vincent leaned against a column near the rest of his family. He gazed at her as if she were on the other side of an impenetrable divide. The sadness in his eyes matched her heavy heart. She gingerly held out her right hand to him. It wobbled in the air, and the medallion clattered around her wrist. Her courageous warrior mage walked forward, daring to venture closer to the powerful mark.
He bowed to kiss her hand and then tucked it back across her stomach. He wrapped his arm under it like a living sling. With his other arm encircling her back, he pulled her into a sideways embrace. She savored the moment with him, even it if it was under the eyes of the most powerful mages in the world. After a lifetime of avoiding mages, her lack of worry was a new experience.
She leaned against him, his uniform scratchy along her bare shoulder and upper back. The elegant navy dress, courtesy of Helen, displayed her every curve. It had a sleeve for her left arm, but the right arm was bare. It showcased the medallion—the wretched thing. But she wouldn’t let her resentment of it pollute this time with Vincent. She closed her eyes and focused on his energy. He’d been distracted since they’d left the basement, security uppermost in his thoughts. Though she’d spent last night in his bed, she’d been alone. He’d worked, finalizing defensive measures for this event, and coordinating a quiet search for their main suspect.
“Is there a solution to the maze?”
Vincent chuckled. “No. The thirteen families are symbolized in the mark. No one gets in. No one gets out. The labyrinth is too powerful to walk anyway.”
A small whisper of voices slowly built. Vincent’s laugh had caused a stir. The crowd relaxed a bit as they took their cue from the colonel.
His lips brushed against her skin. “Can you feel the mark’s power?” he whispered.
She ought to be able to, considering the intensity of the last Gathering here had killed three senators and two Council members. That had been a quarter of a century ago. The mark’s power had grown since then.
“Barely. It’s nothing like what I pick up from you or the gyre. A soft hum, nothing more.”
“It senses you. I can feel it brushing against my vibes as you syphon it away. Some of its energy anyway. Enough for everyone to stand inside this room.”
“Is it too much for you?” she asked. “The energy? The mages?”
“No. I can handle anything with you. I was seven years old when the Gathering was last held here. Mother nearly passed out. Grandfather couldn’t be moved for three days afterwards, so we couldn’t go home. But right now, I’m fine. As is everyone else.”
Bronte glanced around at the mages lingering along walls. “I feel like I was born blind. All this energy that I don’t know exists until someone tells me it’s there.”
“It’s the goddess’s way of making sure you can’t take advantage of the rest of us.” Behind them, an old woman’s crackly, loud voice rang through the sanctuary. The crowd hushed.
The crone walked up next to her. “It allows the rest of us to take advantage of you though.” Long gray hair hung in thick waves to her knees. Her face was finely wrinkled all over. Bronte was the exact height to look the woman in the eye. Except the woman’s eyes were stitched shut.
The remaining seven councilors, clad in white ceremonial robes, stood behind her. The blind woman reached out and plucked at the medallion wrapped around Bronte’s wrist. “An improvement for Casteel. If you weren’t a senator, I’d keep you for the Council.” She shifted to Vincent, patting his cheek.
He let go of Bronte’s right arm slowly enough that she could take over supporting it, and he bowed to the woman.
“Lady Glender.” He greeted her with a cold, formal tone.
“Such a handsome man, you are.” Lady Glender stepped up to the edge of the mark and took Bronte’s bare elbow. The move ousted Vincent from Bronte’s side. “She’s mine now, colonel.”
Bronte met Vincent’s eyes over the old woman’s head. She couldn’t find a smile for him. He seemed to share the same problem. She could almost hear the damn clock carelessly ticking away, a countdown to the dissolution of the bond that existed between them. They didn’t have a future. Vincent could never be bound to Casteel Territory. He was a Rallis clear through to his soul. She was the Casteel senator. They only had now. She smiled after all, bittersweet and small, but there. He narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t given up. Yet. Her heart cracked a little more at the hopelessness of it all. He turned away.
The other councilors floated around the room and took their positions along the huge labyrinth. The remaining twelve senators left their families at the walls of the sanctuary and filled the spaces between the councilors. Vincent’s grandfather stood on the other side of Lady Glender. The only other woman senator stood four mages away. Bronte was the youngest by at least twenty years.
Behind them, the founding families moved forward as other spectators crowded in along the walls of the room. The High Council’s entrance was the lower guests’ cue to cross the threshold of the sanctuary. Selene stood among them, her white sheath, the color of the Council, blended with the rest of her coloring, elegant and frosty.
“The Gathering is the time that each family renews our commitment to hold a free land for all mages.” Lady Glender’s voice permeated the vast space. “We devote our lives, our blood and our energy to the goddess’s gift of this Republic. Let the heirs come into the labyrinth to represent the people of the land, and we will seal the circle.”
“No,” a young mother protested, clutching an infant to her chest, her eyes wild with fright. Other parents joined in. “I won’t do it. The last time—”
“This time is different, Annabelle,” Lady Glender snapped. “This time the power is muted thanks to our newest senator. Your babe will be fine. You, of course, will go in with her. Choose your marks, children.” One by one the heirs walked into the labyrinth. Some were young, others adults. All were tense as if they expected to be thrown out by the force of the power. Everyone knew their history.
Edmund walked in for Rallis, winking at Bronte as he passed by. Apparently he wasn’t tense.
“Now there’s a big boy,” Lady Glender chuckled.
The heirs stayed in the spirals closest to their senators. The circle in front of Bronte was empty.
“Casteel needs an heir.” The High Councilor’s tone slashed through the air, her sightless face stared at Bronte. “Call my daughter to you.”
“She’s not your daughter,” Bronte retorted. She held no fondness for Selene, but the High Council had left her sister devoid of warmth and love, her heart welded shut without a touch of lightness. It was a dismal way to raise a child.
Lady Glender cackled. “The brave senator defends her people already,” she announced to all. “Now call your sister.” She threw the last words to Bronte’s ear.
Bronte looked through the crowd until her eyes found Selene. Her sister was oblivious to the situation, focused on a tall, dusky man whispering in her ear. Selene shoved him away, her face narrowed in a scowl.
The man stumbled back with a grin.
“Sister, come stand as my heir.” Bronte revealed their relationship with the single, bitter word. The crowd’s murmur rose as Selene strode out of the audience, rewrapping herself in her usual cold grace. She passed between Bronte and Lady Glender. Bronte had yet to forgive her.
“See, I told you she likes you,” the old woman said to Selene.
The moment Selene stepped into the spiral in front of Bronte, something snapped. The mages jerked like it had touched them. Complete silence fell.
The councilors and senators held out their hands, palms up, elbows only slightly bent, but the circle was too large for anyone to touch. Bronte looked around her. She could not reach out her right arm for long. It was too sore.
“Just stand there, Senator Casteel.” The high, sweet voice came from the councilor to her left. “You can’t throw out any power anyway. We’ll close the energy’s circle into you.” The young woman, draped in a councilor’s robes, was no more than twenty. Her golden hair fell around her shoulders in fat ringlets. Lush red lips turned into a snooty smile.
The air grew heavy. A slow current moved through it and blew Bronte’s dress against her legs. The force batted her back and forth from the inside out. Selene stared with wide eyes. Her chest moved in shallow, quick breaths. She was scared. Bronte had no words of reassurance to offer.
A whispered hush pressed down from the top of the room, so heavy it held everyone under its weight, as if the goddess’s unseen hand came down and closed around them. Bronte felt pulled into the circle, as if she might fall into the power of the mark and into Selene, into something beyond, a vastness she didn’t recognize—the goddess gathering her people anew into this land, a place of safety and freedom. She closed her eyes.
She wasn’t sure how long it lasted—hours, days, mere seconds. No formal closure ended the silent ceremony. The pressure simply eased. The energy level dropped to normal, dragging her strength with it. She could have lain down and slept, but everyone else seemed energized. A glad cheer swept through the room. Parents gathered their children, heirs fled the labyrinth’s spirals and they all swarmed past Bronte to the exit. She wavered in the wind of their departure.
Vincent appeared at her side, his stern brow wrinkled. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her from the room. No lingering allowed. “That was exactly what the healer said you didn’t need.”
“I’m fine.”
They stepped into the gleam of the sanctuary’s large outer chamber where the Republic’s finest mages gathered, outshining the gleaming floor and polished walls of the grand room. Vincent guided them to a stop between two of the numerous elaborate staircases that rose with a graceful twist to the balcony. He raised a brow as she leaned against him. “You are not fine.”
“Tired, that’s all.”
“We need to get you out of here then.” He motioned to Gregor, who waited against the wall along with Ansel.
“That’s not allowed, remember?” She wouldn’t be the one to break the rules, nor would she get Vincent in trouble for helping her do so. Attendance at the Gathering was mandatory.
“Bronte, there isn’t even a place to sit down.”
“I noticed.” Mages took
show no weakness
to extremes. “All the more reason to stay. The first syphon mage to come out to the public cannot sneak away because she’s tired. Besides, you’re here…even if you’re not standing next to me.” Her voice faltered, but she refused to cry. “I’m not giving up my last minutes with you because I need a nap.”
He pressed his mouth to her ear. “Then leave because this is the scene of DW’s grand finale, Bronte. Please. I can get you out.”
“No. You can’t.” Lady Glender’s mouth joined Vincent’s at her ear.
Bronte jumped back.
Vincent thinned his lips into a hard line, a barrier for angry words.
Bronte reached for his hand as Lady Glender gave them a sly smile.
“I’ll stay with Gregor. Would that suit you?” She watched Vincent scan the balcony with a trained eye. The high space was dotted with prominent mages who hadn’t been invited into the sanctuary.
“No. It doesn’t suit.” He scowled and at the same time nodded a greeting to two guards stationed at the foot of the nearest staircase. They eyed the crowd, extravigilant.
“If that scowl is for me, then look at me when you do it. You’re confusing your own men.” She reached up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Go. I’ll be safe enough. After all, Lady Glender is here.” She spared the councilor a sideways glance. “I’m sure she wouldn’t insist on everyone staying if it was unsafe. She has the best interests of all the mages at heart.”
The old woman nodded and walked away as silently as she’d arrived.