by E. E. Holmes
Celeste spoke, but we were not out of the spotlight yet. “Jessica. Hannah. My Caomhnóir tells me that you are both uninjured?”
“Yes,” I replied, and felt relieved to hear that my voice had stopped shaking.
Celeste turned to Finvarra, presumably to give her the opportunity to speak, but Mrs. Mistlemoore was now providing her with oxygen, and she seemed unable to address the assembly, so Celeste went on. “I cannot begin to express my horror at what has just occurred. We will be taking a recess for the remainder of the afternoon so that we may investigate further. Let me just say this: never in the history of our sisterhood have we allowed fear and division to halt our democratic process, and today shall be no different. When we reconvene tomorrow morning, our nomination process shall continue unabated. Clan Sassanaigh, I will ask that all members of your clan here present please proceed to my office forthwith.”
We all nodded. I had expected that. Surely someone was going to tell us more about what the hell had just happened to us and why.
“Very well, then,” Celeste said, “In that case, I would like to adjourn the—”
But Hannah had stood up, her hand raised high in the air. I looked curiously at her, but she did not acknowledge me.
Celeste lowered her gavel and pointed to Hannah. “Yes, the Council acknowledges Hannah Ballard of Clan Sassanaigh.”
“Thank you,” Hannah said. “I just wanted to know if we would be given the opportunity to respond to our nomination?”
Celeste looked taken aback. “Well, yes, of course. Every clan will have the chance to do so. But you’ve just been through quite an ordeal. We hardly expect you to make any sort of decision under the—”
“We accept,” Hannah said firmly. “And I will personally be running for the seat.”
7
Baggage
“UNBELIEVABLE. Truly unbelievable,” Milo said, shaking his head and laughing.
“Which part?” Hannah asked dryly.
Milo, Hannah, Karen, Finn, and I were sitting in the Council office, waiting to meet with Celeste. Several other Durupinen were loitering around outside; I could see the shadows of their pacing feet stretching underneath the doorway.
“The part where you upstaged an attempted coup and a failed assassination,” Milo said.
Hannah rolled her eyes. “If by ‘upstaged’ you mean that I still somehow managed to be the most horrifying thing to happen in that meeting, then yes, I guess you’re right.”
“It was pretty epic, though, Hannah, you’ve got to admit it,” I said. “I mean, just accepting right there on the spot, minutes after that woman attacked us? Awesome.”
“I wasn’t trying to be awesome,” Hannah said, still not cracking a smile. “I was trying to get the acceptance over with so that I wouldn’t have time to talk myself out of it before tomorrow’s meeting.”
“Yeah, well, no one in that room knew that,” Milo said. “I’ve never heard a silence that loud in my life. It was sheer awe.”
Hannah snorted. “Sheer horror, more like. I’m surprised no more knife-wielding Durupinen leapt from the crowd to finish us off.”
“That’s not funny,” Karen said quietly. She had barely spoken a word since we’d left the Grand Council Room. She sat between us, arms folded tightly across her chest as though to keep all the emotions from spilling out.
“Sorry,” Hannah murmured. “I know it’s not. Do you know who that woman was?”
Karen nodded stiffly but did not elaborate, and we had no chance to ask her to do so. At that moment, the door to the hallway opened and Celeste swept into the room. As she had so often recently, she looked harassed and rather tired. I wasn’t convinced that she’d given herself enough time to recover from the harrowing experience of being a Host during the Shattering.
“Thank you for your patience,” Celeste said to us, dropping into the chair behind the desk with a wan smile. “I wanted to be sure I had as much information as I could gather before I met with you.”
“Of course,” I said. “I think we’d all like to know whatever you can tell us about the random lunatic who tried to kill us, if possible.”
Celeste tried to smile at my joke, but couldn’t quite pull it off.
“Clan Sgàil is one of our oldest documented clans in the north, and one of the proudest. They have a long history of staying well clear of Durupinen politics and often had to be dragged to the Airechtas under threat of repercussions. They were also one of the largest clans, maintaining a Geatgrima on their native land, and seeking very little protection or power from the hierarchy. But that all changed about twenty-five years ago,” Celeste began.
Beside me, Karen sat rigidly in her chair. She seemed barely to be breathing.
“The woman who attacked you today is Bernadette Ainsley. She had a . . . falling out with your grandmother,” Celeste said, clearly choosing her words very carefully. “She has never fully recovered from what she considers to be the injustice of it and, from what I understand from what her daughters just told me, has become increasingly unstable over the years because of it.”
“What kind of falling out?” I asked. “I mean, I know our grandmother made a lot of enemies over the years, but I didn’t think any of them would actually want to kill us.”
Celeste glanced at Karen again, who was looking determinedly at the wall over Celeste’s shoulder. “Karen, do you . . .”
“No, I do not,” Karen said stiffly. “You can tell them.”
“Bernadette is a Muse, just like you, Jessica. When your mother and your aunt were just starting at Fairhaven, she made a spirit-induced sculpture that she did not fully understand. She interpreted it as a warning about the Prophecy and brought it from her clan seat to Fairhaven to inform the Council. When she arrived, she passed your mother in the entrance hall and realized that it was her face in the sculpture.”
“Our mother?” Hannah and I both gasped at the same time.
“Yes,” Celeste said. “The Council studied the sculpture at length and came to the conclusion that the face could not be positively identified. The work was incomplete, and the carving was rather crude. Of course, knowing what we know now . . .” Celeste shook her head regretfully. “However, at the time, the Council decided to dismiss the claim as unsubstantiated.”
“That’s it?” I asked incredulously. “That’s why she tried to kill us?”
Karen let out a sharp bark of bitter laughter. “Of course, that wasn’t it. Haven’t I taught you anything about your grandmother?”
Hannah threw her a wary look. “What do you mean?”
Karen dropped her hands into her lap. “Mother was livid. I don’t know if I’d ever seen her so angry, until Lizzie vanished, of course.”
“But why?” I asked. “The sculpture was rejected. The Council dismissed it. What did it matter?”
“Any stain on our family reputation, no matter how small, was an utterly unforgivable offence. Your grandmother would not rest until Bernadette was so thoroughly discredited that no one would believe a word she uttered again in her life,” Karen said.
“So, what did she do?” I asked tentatively.
“She waged an all-out war on Clan Sgàil,” Karen said bluntly. “She dragged Bernadette before committee after committee, demanding that her abilities as a Muse be tested over and over and over again. She used Council legislation to strip Clan Sgàil of their honors one at a time, first finding a pretext to shrink their territory, then placing their stewardship of the Sgàil Geatgrima under advisement, then slapping them with sanctions for infractions they probably weren’t even committing. And all the while, Bernadette Ainsley was desperately trying to prove that her sculpture was a legitimate piece of spirit-induced art. She soon found herself banned from seeking audiences because of her constant harassment of Council members, and, from what I understand, she spent years searching fruitlessly for the inspiration that led her to create the piece in the first place. Over time, it’s become rather an obsession for her, and her mental and
physical health have suffered for it.”
“Yes, I have heard that as well. I haven’t seen her here in years,” Celeste said. “Her elder daughter has been looking after her.”
“Why didn’t we ever hear about her?” I asked. “When people were telling us about the Prophecy and explaining the history of it, why didn’t she ever come up?”
“We agreed that knowing about her might negatively impact one of your relationships here,” Celeste said.
“What do you mean?” I pressed. “Which relationship?”
“Ours,” said a voice from the doorway.
I spun in my seat to see Fiona standing there, framed in the doorway, her face looking so long and tired that her paint-spattered bandana might have been holding it on. She smiled sadly. “Bernadette is my mother.”
I gaped. “Your . . . your mother just tried to kill us?”
“My dear old mum, that’s right,” Fiona said.
“I . . . can’t believe . . . wow,” was all I could muster in response. I had no idea what to say. I half-wanted to apologize, although something about the absurdity of the situation—that somehow I owed someone an apology when I was the one who’d just had a knife swung at her—gave me pause.
“Yeah, well, sometimes I can’t believe it myself,” Fiona said tartly before turning to Celeste with a grim expression. “Nan’s here and she’d like to tell you something.”
Celeste sat up a little straighter in her chair. “Very well, she may enter.”
Fiona looked over her shoulder and jerked her head sharply. The woman called Nan shuffled out from behind her, her long dark hair half-concealing a freckled, tear-stained face. She did not look up or speak but continued to sniffle piteously. I recognized her as the woman who had been pleading with the Caomhnóir not to hurt Bernadette.
“Out with it then, you bloody fool,” Fiona spat at her. “Tell them what you’ve done.”
Nan jumped and began to speak quickly, so that she tripped over her words in her effort to get them out. “I brought my mother here today even though I knew she was unstable.”
“And why did you do that?” Celeste demanded. “You knew that Fiona would vote on behalf of your clan. Neither of your presences was required.”
“I know that,” Nan said, nodding. “But then Marion came to see us.”
Karen, who until now had seemed reluctant to even turn to look at Nan, whipped her head around. “Marion? When? For what purpose?”
“On Christmas Day,” Nan said. “We were not expecting her. I don’t think I’ve spoken to her since our school days at Fairhaven.”
“Lucky you,” muttered Fiona.
“She asked to come in, and we saw no reason to refuse her,” Nan said, as Fiona snorted derisively. “She explained to us that she had long felt our family had been ill-used by the Council, and that she wanted to right some of the wrongs that had been committed against us. I was skeptical at first. I could not understand why she would care one way or the other about our clan. She’d given us nary a thought before, as far as I could see.”
“Your instinct was correct, and you ought to have followed it, you useless twit,” Fiona snapped.
Nan sniffed louder and when she continued, there was a pleading note in her voice. “I told her that I couldn’t see what she could do to help us. We had heard all about her fall from power after the Prophecy came to pass. What could she do, when my own sister, who was sitting on the Council, couldn’t even repair the damage that had been done?”
Fiona and Nan glared at each other. It was impossible to tell which face held more contempt.
“How did Marion respond to that?” Celeste prompted quickly, in an obvious attempt to defuse the situation.
“She explained that, while she wasn’t technically on the Council anymore, her influence within the Council, and within the other powerful clans, was still strong. She could pull the right strings, if we would help her.”
“Are you saying,” Karen said in a deadly quiet voice, “that she orchestrated the attack on these girls?”
“No!” Nan cried, looking horrified. “No, of course not! She wasn’t asking us to hurt anyone and I had no idea that . . . that my mother would ever . . .” she burst into hysterical sobs.
“All right, Nan. All right. Get ahold of yourself, now. There are still many questions to be answered here, and no one’s got time for your useless tears,” Fiona said impatiently.
“What did Marion want you to do, and what, specifically, did she offer you in return?” Celeste asked.
It took Nan several more false starts and deep shuddering breaths before she could continue with her story. “She wanted us to come to the rest of the Airechtas. She said there was a chance that someone was going to nominate Clan Sassanaigh back onto the Council. She would not let that happen, she said, and she needed our help to ensure that they did not win back the seat.” Here, Nan threw a half-ashamed, half-defiant look at Karen. “Karen, you know I hold no ill-feelings toward you personally, but your mother has ground our clan into the very dust. We cannot forgive such crimes against us.”
“I do not deny it, and I deeply regret that our clan has caused yours so much grief,” Karen said stiffly. “My mother was not a compassionate person and her legacy as a Council member is not one I wear with pride.”
Nan blinked once, and then nodded stiffly in acknowledgment of Karen’s words before continuing. “Marion asked for us to attend the Airechtas and, if needed, to testify against the nomination of Clan Sassanaigh. She also asked us to persuade as many of our ally clans as possible to vote against them. She thought just the sight of my mother there would be a stark reminder to many at the Airechtas of the damage Clan Sassanaigh has wrought within the Council. If possible, we were also supposed to convince Fiona to vote against them.”
Hannah was watching Nan with a horrified expression, pulling obsessively on the sleeves of her shirt. Beneath her trembling fingers, one of them had begun to fray.
“And in return?” Celeste prompted again.
Nan swallowed. “In return, Marion would ensure a request for full restoration of our ancestral lands would be brought before the Council for a vote, and that she had the support to pass it.”
Fiona scoffed. “I’ve tried it twice already, so I can’t see why you’d fall for that load of tosh.”
“Marion said she has far more influence amongst the sitting clans than you’ll ever have,” Nan shot back. “And I daresay it’s true.”
Fiona scowled, but did not answer. From all I’d ever seen, she was certainly the black sheep of the Council. I silently wondered how she’d ever been elected in the first place, and made a mental note to ask Karen about it later.
“And your mother? How did she feel about coming?” Celeste asked.
“She wouldn’t let it go, once we’d heard Marion’s offer,” Nan said. “It wasn’t the return of our lands that tempted her, though she was pleased to hear that Marion intended to make it happen. She was terrified that Clan Sassanaigh would get the Council seat back.”
“Of course she bloody was, which was why you should have kept her far away from this place!” Fiona said. “Nan, she hasn’t been stable for years and you know it! What were you thinking, bringing her here?”
“She wouldn’t let it go, Fiona!” Nan cried.
“And so, you just let her have her way, like some spoiled child?” Fiona shouted.
“You don’t understand what it’s like, caring for her day in and day out!” Nan spat, and her eyes began to fill with tears again. “You’ve no idea the hardships I put up with while you sit up in your little tower playing with your paints and your clay!”
Fiona reached right out and slapped her sister, as hard as she could, across the face. Nan stumbled back, clutching her cheek and staring at her sister in horror. Celeste stood as though readying herself to step in, but Nan did not move to retaliate.
“Never,” said Fiona in a deadly quiet voice, “degrade my work like that again. You chose to care for
Mother. You wanted the job. You said you could do it. This,” she held up her paint- and plaster-spattered hands. “I never asked for this. Some days I’d like to cut these hands open and let the Muse drain out of me. Then I might get some peace. I expect Mother has felt the same way.”
No one spoke, because no one knew what to say. I had never heard Fiona speak of her gift as a Muse as anything other than just that: a gift. I’d always accepted her artistic temperament—her mood swings, her quirks, her obsessions—as a sign of her devotion to her work, rather than a sign that she was struggling with it. I felt as though I was seeing her clearly for the first time.
So, perhaps, was Celeste, for when she spoke again, it was in a gentler tone than she had yet used. “You have both done much in service of your clan; that is not in question here. Nan, at any time did Marion suggest that your mother take matters into her own hands?”
“No!” Nan said, sounding horrified. “No, of course not! I would never have come if such a thing had been suggested!”
“And your mother never gave any indication that she wanted to hurt or harm anyone?” Celeste asked.
“No!” Nan said, and then she bit her lip. “She . . . she was really anxious about what would happen if Clan Sassanaigh retook the seat. You know what she went through, and then the Prophecy came to pass . . . she . . . I think she was very scared it might happen.”
“And the knife? Did the Caomhnóir show it to you?” Celeste asked.
“Yes.”
“It was extremely distinctive. Have you ever seen it before?”
Nan shot a nervous glance at Fiona. “Yes. It’s a clan heirloom. It usually resides in a case over our fireplace with other clan relics. She must have taken it out and concealed it before we left. I didn’t notice it was missing.”
Fiona literally stuck her fist in her mouth and bit down on it to stop herself from shouting at her sister again.
“Very well,” Celeste said, perhaps sensing the same mounting tension. “Finn, please escort Nan to the hospital wing. Nan, you may await news of your mother there, but I must insist that you remain until I have spoken to you again. I am sure that there will be further questions for you.”