by E. E. Holmes
“Yes. Is that okay with you?”
“Yes, indeed. I daresay it will be a relief to have someone we don’t have to hide from,” Finn said.
Even as I thought about it, one of the tense knots in my stomach began to loosen. I looked up into Finn’s face and felt, for the first time in days, that the invisible barrier there had been lifted. I could see straight through to the man I knew he was, rather than the façade of the man he pretended to be.
“There you are,” I whispered. “God, I’ve missed you.”
“And I you,” he replied. “But we will need to miss each other a little longer, I fear. It is time to go. The Airechtas waits for no one.”
§
Knowing the Durupinen love of pageantry, I was sure that we would be forced to participate all over again in the elaborate opening ceremony that we had marched in on the first day, but thankfully, the Council decided to plow forward with the meetings instead. This was a blessing, because I think if Hannah had to stand around biding her time amongst the other Durupinen in the entryway, she might have had enough time to talk herself out of entering the Grand Council room at all. She had no chance to bolt for the doors, though, and before I knew it, she was sinking into her seat beside me, her face pale, but set and determined.
Perhaps to spare her the indignity of another spectacle of an entrance, Finvarra’s wheelchair was already stationed on the platform near the podium. I wouldn’t have thought it possible for her to look frailer or more sickly than when last I’d seen her, but I was very wrong. She was skeletally thin now, and her skin had taken on a waxy, yellowing quality, as though her body were already breaking down even as her spirit fought to retain possession of it. Her head lolled to one side as the seats filled before her, as though she could barely keep herself awake. Carrick hovered beside her, his face set in a mask of repressed pain.
Hannah was staring at her, too, and the sight of Finvarra had a strange effect on her. Her face suddenly flooded with color, and her eyes became bright, almost feverish.
I leaned over and whispered to her. “Are you okay?”
She kept her eyes on Finvarra. “Am I okay? Of course, I’m okay. And no matter what happens today, no matter how terrible the response, I will still be okay. Nothing we will face down today can ever be as frightening as what she is facing down right now,” she said, pointing up at Finvarra. “If she can battle her way down here just to nominate us for this seat, then I can certainly take a little heat for accepting it.”
“Hannah, someday maybe I’ll remember that you are the toughest cookie on the planet, but in the meantime, you continue to impress me,” I said. “I made something for today, but I hadn’t decided if I was going to give it to you or not.”
Hannah turned to me, her expression quizzical. “You made something?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, what is it?”
I reached into my bag and pulled out a red and yellow striped bag, which I thrust into her hands. The smell coming from it made several people around us turn in their seats to stare.
Hannah looked down, and then rolled her eyes. “Oh, my God, Jess. You are so ridiculous.”
“Every good spectacle needs popcorn, and I think it’s safe to say we’re about to put on a real showstopper,” I said, grinning. Hannah tried to look stern, but her lips were trembling and twitching with suppressed laughter. I grabbed a second bag and carried it across the aisle to Savannah.
“Here,” I said, dropping it into her lap. You’re going to need this.”
“What’s this, then?”
“Snacks.”
She looked down, confused. “I’m not one to say no to nibbles, but are you taking the mickey?” she asked.
“A lot of the people in this room will probably think so, after this meeting,” I said. “Enjoy the show, Sav.” And without another word of explanation, I slipped back across the aisle just as the last of the Durupinen filed into their seats and the door closed with a resounding thud at the back of the room.
The Council members filed in from a side door in a long, orderly line, sliding into their benches and sitting in unison except for Celeste, who took her place at the podium and called the meeting to order.
“I welcome you all back to the 204th Airechtas of the Northern Clans. This has been an—ah—eventful gathering thus far, but I think it is safe for me to say that we can hope for a smooth and uneventful process from here on out.”
“Famous last words,” I muttered to Hannah, who smirked.
“If everyone can please open their itineraries to the first page, you will find our agenda for today. The first and most pressing matter is the filling of the vacant Council Seat. Siobhán will review the nomination process, and we will hear all nominations today.”
Siobhán stood and took her place behind the podium, Celeste moving smartly aside to make room for her. I couldn’t help but think, as I watched the two of them standing there, that only a few days ago, they were both possessed by Shards of a Shattered spirit in this very room. In fact, Siobhán had been standing in the precise spot she occupied now. Perhaps she was thinking the same thing, for she gave a wary look around her before she opened her massive tome of guidelines and the first few words of her speech were delivered with a tremor in her voice.
I supposed I ought to have been paying attention to the details of how we were about to handle the nomination, but it was difficult to concentrate on Siobhán’s words when Marion was attempting to burn a hole through my head with her vicious stare. Not one to miss an opportunity to psych out a mortal enemy, I turned to her and winked, and then, for good measure, blew her a kiss. She betrayed no reaction but for a slight tightening at the corners of her mouth.
“That bitch just moved right to the top of my list,” came Milo’s hiss of a voice through the connection. I turned to see that he had manifested between Hannah and me, his arms crossed tightly over his chest and his lips puckered into a bitter little knot.
“You mean there were actually people above her?” I shot back, the thought zinging between us like a current.
“Not many,” he admitted. “But they have officially been supplanted.”
“. . . at which point, every clan will be called upon to put forth their nomination, should they choose to make one. Please remember that you cannot nominate someone from your own clan, a clan that has been disqualified from running, or anyone who has already been put forward by another clan. Also, no single clan may occupy more than one seat on the Council. If your nomination meets with any of the aforementioned qualifications, it will be stricken from the record,” Siobhán said, her voice cutting through our mental conversation. “Once all nominations have been put forward, the nominees will have the opportunity to accept or decline. Those who accept will be given formal paperwork to fill out and will attend a meeting this afternoon to further explain the election process. All nominees are permitted to drop out of the running at any time. Are there any questions?”
Heads turned and bodies shifted in their seats, but no one raised a hand or spoke. I could feel the tension mounting.
“Will there seriously be a nominee from every clan?” Milo asked through the connection. “That’s ludicrous! How is anyone supposed to win a majority of votes that way?”
“Karen talked to us about it last night,” I said, glancing over at Karen, who was sitting a few rows away, looking tense and combative. “She said that while the clans all have the chance to nominate, only the really powerful ones ever do.”
“But why?” Milo asked. “How do they ever expect to get a voice if they don’t nominate anyone?”
“Perceived power,” Hannah’s thoughts joined the conversation. “The more powerful clans form alliances for votes before the nomination process even begins by promising to address pet issues and concerns. They shut out the lesser clans from influence by stacking the deck ahead of time, or else secure their support by promising them something.”
“So, in other words, Durupinen politics is ju
st as dirty as every other kind of politics?” Milo asked.
“Yup,” Hannah and I thought together, so that our voices rang inside our heads and we both winced.
“So, what’s the point of even accepting the nomination, if the other clans have already rigged everything?” Milo asked.
“Well, there is the element of surprise,” I pointed out. “As long as Marion has kept her mouth shut, the majority of clans probably don’t know we’re being nominated.”
Milo snorted. “Marion keep her mouth shut? Fat chance.”
“You never know. This might be the kind of information she doesn’t want getting out, especially since she doesn’t know if we’ll accept or not,” Hannah reminded him. “And besides, even if she told her little pack of minions, there’s still the rest of the clans to consider. If they were looking for a way to take the power out of the hands of the current Council clans, we might be able to sway some of them to vote our way.”
“Always assuming they don’t run screaming the moment they see you approaching,” Milo said.
“Assuming that, yes,” Hannah said dryly.
“The point is that, by and large, we’ve got the element of surprise on our side,” I said, “and that will probably help us as much as it hurts us. Marion might know the ins and outs of the political system, but she’s at least as unpopular as we are these days, after the stunt she pulled three years ago.”
“You mean she might have as much ugliness flying her way as we do?” Milo asked, his tone brightening.
“A girl can dream,” I muttered, and then closed off the connection as Celeste raised her hands to signal our attention again. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought her eyes flicked over to us just before she began speaking.
“If there are no questions as to the nomination process, we shall move forward. As is tradition, our High Priestess has the privilege of putting forth the first nomination,” Celeste called.
Every eye in the room now fell upon Finvarra, who seemed to be in a light doze, but jerked to attention as Carrick bent his head and spoke to her. Her body managed to summon some blood from somewhere to faintly color her cheeks in embarrassment at being caught sleeping, but by the time she had cleared her throat, she was deathly pale once again. She did not have the chance to utter a single word, though.
“Deputy Priestess? Do forgive the interruption, but I am afraid I do indeed have a question,” a familiar voice called over the loaded silence. I closed my eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Marion always did like the sound of her own voice within these walls.
Celeste, too, looked like she was praying for patience as she turned, slowly to acknowledge Marion. “Yes. The Council recognizes Marion Clark of Clan Gonachd with a question about the nomination process.”
“Thank you,” Marion said graciously, rising from her seat and smoothing a non-existent crease in her crisp skirt suit before continuing. “I should clarify that this is as much genuine concern as it is question.”
“Bollocks,” snorted Savvy from the back of the room. I turned, along with many others, to see her munching her popcorn while looking daggers at Marion.
Marion, however, ignored the comment, choosing instead to keep her back turned firmly on Savvy. Her voice, as she continued, was dripping with overplayed courteousness. “I am well aware that it is a long-standing tradition to give the High Priestess first nomination. I don’t for a moment mean to disagree with the practice on principle—indeed, I think it only fitting that the leader of the Northern Clans be afforded such an honor. But I wonder—under this particular set of circumstances—if it is entirely . . . advisable?”
“Aaaaaaaand, here we go,” Milo muttered. “Let the fireworks begin.”
I threw a look over my shoulder at Karen, who raised an eyebrow at me as though to say, “Brace yourself. Here we go.”
Finvarra shifted slightly in her wheelchair. Celeste might have been turned to stone, so still was she standing at the podium, her hands gripping either side of it with white-knuckled intensity. Her lips barely moved as she replied. “And what particular set of circumstances are those, just for clarification?”
Marion glanced around her and gave an incredulous little cough, as though she couldn’t quite believe she was being made to clarify something so glaringly obvious. “I do not wish to be indelicate . . .”
“Like hell you don’t,” Savvy’s mutter carried clearly.
“. . . but I really think we must stop to consider the conditions under which our High Priestess is making this nomination.”
Finvarra drew herself up to her full height in her chair, her face tense with anticipation of whatever callous machinations were about to fall from Marion’s lips. Sure enough, Marion’s next words set Finvarra’s nostrils flaring. Beside her, Carrick was clenching and unclenching his fists in fury.
“Please do not make me ask for clarification again,” Celeste said through gritted teeth. “Either make your intentions known regarding this interruption of the nomination process or risk your own nomination being stricken from consideration.”
Marion put her hands up demurely on either side of her, as though she were surrendering. “Now, now, Deputy Priestess. Exercise a modicum of patience, if you please. You may not believe this, but I am endeavoring to be courteous, and in so doing, I am choosing my words carefully.”
“Please. As if everything that’s about to come out of her mouth hasn’t been scripted and memorized since the day she found out about this nomination,” Milo scoffed inside my head. “This woman has never improvised in her life.”
“Calculating to the core,” I agreed, but quickly tuned him out as Marion began to “choose her words carefully” once more.
“I do not mean to minimize the incredible hardships that the High Priestess has had to battle against as she has faced down this devastating illness.” She placed a hand on her chest, as though scandalized by the very thought. “Indeed, quite the opposite. I think we should more strongly consider what the effects of those hardships have wrought upon her.”
“Do you honestly mean to say,” Finvarra said coldly, speaking for the first time in a hoarse whisper of a voice that nevertheless carried, “that there could possibly be one soul in this hall who cannot see the effects for themselves? I am quite literally on display before you.”
Marion inclined her head toward Finvarra, a respectful gesture marred by the smile still playing about the corners of her mouth, giving her away. “We all applaud your bravery in making the effort to be here, High Priestess. Do we not, sisters?”
Marion gestured around, inviting the rest of the Durupinen to weigh in on this pronouncement. Most everyone looked far too wary to reply, though a few people murmured in agreement and others clapped awkwardly.
Fiona stood up, her face scarlet with anger. “The Council would like to move that Marion cease and desist with the theatrics and get to the fecking point.”
Celeste banged the gavel, but Fiona was already waving her off and taking her seat again.
“Gladly, Fiona,” Marion said, making the same phony little bow in Fiona’s direction. “As I said, we commend you for your fortitude in attending the Airechtas at all, High Priestess. But I think it is also painfully obvious to all of us here, though it grieves me to say it, that you are in no fit state to be putting forth a nomination for consideration.”
A wave of reaction swept through the crowd. A few, those surrounding Marion, mostly, were nodding sadly, as were a few Council members up in the benches. For the most part, however, the response was one of outrage. A few Durupinen in the front rows actually stood up and started shaking their fists at Marion.
“How dare you insinuate . . .”
“That is your High Priestess and you will show respect when…”
“. . . unfair accusations . . .”
“Have you no decency . . .”
Under cover of the uproar, I leaned in to Hannah. “She’s actually trying to argue diminished capacity, isn’t she?”
; Hannah nodded, laughing incredulously. “She’s hoping she can get the nomination thrown out before it’s even made by arguing that Finvarra’s health is too compromised for her to participate at all.”
“Can she do that?” Milo asked.
“She’s doing it,” I replied. “Bit of a hail Mary, don’t you think?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Hannah said grimly. “And she is definitely desperate.”
“Mmm-hmm, and it is not a good look on her,” Milo replied. “She must realize everyone knows exactly what she’s doing.”
“Of course, she does, but she doesn’t care,” I said. “As long as it gets her what she wants, she doesn’t care how transparent it is.”
Marion’s voice rose up over the end of the tumult. “I understand how painful it must be for many of you to face this obvious truth, but I beg of you all, for the sake of our future, to consider it carefully. Our High Priestess is, forgive me, barely conscious. It’s a miracle she’s been able to make the journey from her bedchamber to this room! She has been on all manner of medications and drugs, and the toll it has taken on her body and her mind is no doubt severe. Perhaps you think me cruel for inviting you all to face reality in this manner. But our crucial election is not the moment for naïveté or wishful thinking. It is the moment to make the hard decisions that will place our sisterhood in the best possible position to retain its strength, resilience, and formidable leadership. I cannot believe, and nor do I think can many of you, that we can risk allowing Finvarra to put forth a candidate for nomination.”
Celeste’s gavel was pounding upon the podium, but it was another sound that brought the clamor in the hall to a ringing silence. From atop the platform, still somewhat slumped in her wheelchair, Finvarra was bringing her hands together in a slow, steady clapping motion.
“Brava. Brava, indeed,” Finvarra said, raising her head to reveal, miraculously, an amused smile on her face. Everyone in the room dropped immediately into their seats with the exception of Marion, who remained on her feet, staring the High Priestess down defiantly.