by E. E. Holmes
Hannah and I looked at each other, mystified. “Fix it how?” Hannah asked.
“The seat that once belonged to your family is now open. Your family is part of the Durupinen once more. I think you should run for the open seat and reclaim your family’s legacy.”
29
Pros and Cons
I BLINKED. Beside me, Hannah may as well have been made of stone. Only a tiny exclamation of “Oh, shit!” from Milo intruded on the surreal quality of the moment.
“Come again?” I whispered.
“Tomorrow at the opening of the Airechtas, the Council will hear nominations for the open seat. It will be one of the first orders of business. I intend to nominate the Clan Sassanaigh. I am hoping you will accept the nomination.”
“I… I don’t… what?” I stuttered helplessly. I looked at Hannah for support, but she was staring at Finvarra as though she had just suggested that we jump out of the window behind her.
“You want one of us to be on the Council?” I asked.
“I know that your aunt will have nothing to do with it. She has made it very clear over the past few years that she has no intention whatsoever of jeopardizing the life and career she has built to take up the mantle. But you girls are young. You have not yet carved out a path. The options lay before you, as numerous as the stars in the sky. I am merely presenting one of them for you to consider, a constellation that may not have caught your eye.”
I swallowed, but it did not help me find more of my voice; my throat suddenly felt like it was full of sand. “I still don’t understand. You all hate us… don’t you?”
Finvarra shook her head impatiently. “That is a juvenile interpretation, and I think you know it.”
“Well, if we’re so juvenile, I can’t imagine why you’d be offering us this opportunity,” I said, a spark of anger cutting through my shock. “Have a good long look at how we’ve been treated here from day one and then you tell me how we’re supposed to interpret the Council’s feelings!”
Finvarra closed her eyes and pressed her fingers over her eyes, as though her head were beginning to ache. Carrick slid forward a few feet, hovering like a concerned shadow, but Finvarra merely sighed and looked up at us again. “Forgive me. I do not wish to argue with you. I merely meant that there are many complicated emotions surrounding the Prophecy and your role in it, but hatred is not one of them. I will not deny that some Council members fear you and your abilities. Others simply mistrust you because you grew up away from our ways and traditions. But there are those among us who believe you would be an excellent addition to the Council.”
“And are these individuals on drugs, or just crazy?” I asked politely. Milo burst into nervous, maniacal laughter, which he quickly stifled. Hannah elbowed me hard in the ribs.
“What Jess means is, it seems unlikely that anyone would want us on the Council,” Hannah said. “We haven’t exactly had a warm reception since we’ve been back here.”
Finvarra nodded. “I do not deny that there are those who will not understand my decision to nominate your clan. However, there will be many more who will see your history, your abilities, and your perspective as an asset to our Council.”
“Did Karen know about this?” I asked. So help me, if she knew this was coming and didn’t warn us…
“Not in the slightest. I imagine her shock would mirror your own,” Finvarra said. “I am preparing myself for what will surely be a devil of a phone call, in fact.”
It was a joke, but I didn’t laugh. I couldn’t even smile. I could not seem to form a complete thought; my brain was sputtering inside my skull, like an engine that wouldn’t turn over. What Hannah said next further incapacitated my ability for coherent speech.
“What do you think, Carrick?” she asked.
Carrick looked positively alarmed at being addressed, but he recovered quickly. Throwing a quick glance at Finvarra, he said, “I do not pretend to understand all of the inner workings of Council politics,” he began carefully, “but I am sure that your experiences with the Council, especially your negative ones, will have endowed you with some strong opinions about how things should be done differently. Joining the Council would ensure that those opinions would be heard and respected.”
Finvarra smiled indulgently at Carrick, and I was seized by a sudden suspicion that she had fed him the answer through their connection. Could he really give us his honest opinion while in her presence?
Carrick did not stop there though, and I was quite sure that his next words were his own. “In her time here, your mother saw much she would have liked to change. I believe Elizabeth would have leapt at the chance to enact some of those changes.”
I could not tell how these words affected Hannah. Her face, though thoughtful, remained inscrutable. For me, they were like a sucker punch to the stomach. There was no way that dragging my mother into this conversation was going to help me make up my mind. The mention of her name merely added another log to the fire of confusion burning inside me.
Perhaps some of this confusion was showing on my face, because Finvarra cut in, her voice calm. “I do not expect you to make a decision here and now. I only wished to warn you that the nomination is coming. You are free to accept or decline as you see fit. I have no expectations about your decision, and I make no guarantees about the outcome of the vote, should you decide to run for the seat. It is simply my wish to give you the opportunity to reclaim what should have been yours. Please consider it.”
It felt like a dismissal. Hannah and I looked at each other and then stood up, turning for the door. But a question bubbled up from deep inside me and I had to ask it, no matter how rude it sounded.
“Finvarra, you and I have never gotten along. From the beginning, I resented being here, and you resented having me here. We’ve had more than our fair share of arguments. I harbor no illusions that you actually like me.”
“I don’t have to like you to nominate your clan for the Council,” Finvarra pointed out.
“No, but you do have to respect us, and I’m not convinced that you do,” I said. “So, I have to ask: how much of this nomination is because you think we really would do well on the Council, and how much is because you’re trying to ease your own burden of guilt?”
If Finvarra was offended, she did not let on. Perhaps she had no energy left for such taxing shows of emotion. She merely looked thoughtful for a moment, weighing the question carefully before answering it.
“I am not sure. It is certainly some of both. But I will say this. I do respect you. You have faced great hardships, and you have overcome them. You have persevered against incredible odds and shown great bravery and resourcefulness. Either one of you would be a credit to the Council of the Northern Clans, whether it eases my guilt to see you there or not.”
§
“So, that was bizarre, huh?” I said across the space between our beds. Hannah and I hadn’t slept in the same room since college. There was something warm and comforting about it, a biological something that felt soothing and complete when I could hear my twin breathing in the same room. How strange that I had never realized I was missing it for so many years.
“Very bizarre,” Hannah agreed. “That was not what I was expecting Finvarra to say, that’s for sure.”
“No kidding.”
“So, what are we going to do?” Hannah asked, after moment of silence.
“About what?” I asked.
“About the nomination. When she calls for us to run for the seat, what are we going to say?” Hannah asked.
I rolled over and looked at her, incredulous. “What are we going to say? Are you really asking that?”
She frowned at me. “Yes, of course I am.”
“We’re going to politely decline. Thanks, but no thanks,” I said.
Hannah didn’t answer. She looked back up at the ceiling, her face thoughtful.
“Aren’t we?” I asked. “What possible other response could we have?”
“You don’t think we sho
uld at least consider running for the Council seat?” Hannah asked quietly. Her shoulders were tensed, anticipating the intensity of my reaction.
“Us. On the Council. Here. At Fairhaven.” I said blankly.
“Yes.”
“You think we should consider it.”
“I think it’s worth discussing, yes,” Hannah said.
I sat up, tucking my legs under me and staring at Hannah. “Say that again with a straight face.”
She too sat up, tucking her knees up to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. “I think we should discuss the option of taking the Council seat.”
We sat staring at each other in absolute silence for a solid ten seconds.
“Say something, Jess,” Hannah finally said.
“I can’t,” I said. “My brain just exploded.”
“Oh, come on!” Hannah cried. “Is it so absurd that we just talk about it? It’s a big opportunity to just blow off without a second thought.”
I took a deep breath and blew it out slowly in an attempt to remain composed. “Hannah, where do we live?”
Hannah hesitated, as though this were a trick question. “Salem.”
“That’s right. And where is Salem?”
“In Massachusetts.”
“And is Massachusetts located in the English countryside?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “No.”
“No! And how about our jobs? Your graduate program? Our apartment? Our friends? Every plan we’ve ever made for our future? Are any of those things located in the vicinity of this godforsaken castle?”
“No,” she said dully.
“Exactly! So, what is there to consider? When the Prophecy came to pass and we actually managed to survive it, we made a pact never to come back here if we could possibly help it. We’ve been forced to break that promise a couple of times, but by and large, we’ve stuck to it pretty damn well. What in the world would possess you to go back on it now?”
“I… I don’t know. When we made that decision, there was no prospect of a Council seat,” Hannah said.
“You’re right, and if there had been, I would have run away even further and considerably faster!” I cried. “Are you telling me you actually want to take this seat?”
Hannah shrugged. “I don’t want to dismiss it out of hand.”
“So, you would consider quitting school, giving up on all your future plans, and moving here?” I asked.
“Well, it sounds ridiculous when you say it like that,” Hannah said.
“That’s because it is ridiculous! It is one hundred and fifty percent insane!” I cried. “What about becoming a social worker? What about helping kids like you get out of the system? What about all of the good you wanted to do?”
“Jess, I haven’t decided anything yet. You are getting way ahead of me here, and it’s starting to feel like an attack. Will you please just stop talking and listen to me?”
“But Hannah, this doesn’t make any—”
“Jess, seriously, shut up!”
And I did. I shut up, mostly because I was shocked that my sweet and mild-mannered sister had just told me to shut up. She had never done that before, no matter how often I might have deserved it. She took advantage of my momentary silence and plowed on.
“I do want to do good,” she said. “I’m not going back on any of that. But doesn’t this Council thing seem like it might be an opportunity to do good? Just think about it, Jess. Just think of all the Durupinen rules and regulations and policies we have complained about since we got sucked into this system. Now imagine if we were actually in a position to change them!”
I had no desire to be in that position, but I humored her and let her keep talking.
“Just think about how long some of those Council members have been here. The same families. The same representatives. The same ideas and traditions, just recycled over and over again. What if someone could come in and shake things up? What if some new blood was exactly what this Council needed to force it out of the Dark Ages and into the 21st century!”
“And you think we should be that new blood?”
Hannah bit her lip. “I don’t think we should completely rule out the possibility. I… I think we might actually be able to do a lot of good here, too. Imagine, somewhere in the world, two girls just like we were: lost, confused, terrified about what was happening to them. Now what if we could enact policies and safeguards so that no one was ever left in the dark like that again?”
This brought me up short. “I… that would be good, I guess.”
“Exactly. And who’s to say anyone else on that Council would ever even consider addressing that issue? They’re all generations deep, steeped in Durupinen culture from the time they can speak. Wouldn’t it be nice for the outsiders and the reluctant ones to have a voice in that room?”
“Well, sure, but…”
“Just imagine if someone on that Council had been looking out for us instead of for themselves—if someone had had our backs when we got here. Things might have gone very differently,” Hannah said.
“That’s not really fair,” I said, starting to feel defensive because she was making so much sense. “Celeste was there for us. And Fiona is a great mentor.”
Hannah raised one eyebrow. “Jess, the first time you met her, she threw a chair at your head, didn’t she?”
“Well, yeah, but once she resigned herself to the fact that I wasn’t going anywhere, she got over it,” I said. I wasn’t quite sure how, but all of a sudden I was practically yelling at her.
“My point is that it all could have been so much easier,” Hannah said. “And I’m not just talking about us! Think about how many times you’ve complained about something the Council said or did!”
“Exactly! And they’re not going to change just because we’re around! I don’t want to subject myself to them on a regular basis!”
“Neither do I, particularly, but I might be willing to, if it meant we could enact a decision based on common sense instead of tradition! There could be a voice for the way things should be done instead of the way things have always been done!”
I shook my head. She was making too much sense, and I was determined not to be influenced in the slightest. “I get it. I just don’t see why that voice has to be us.”
Hannah laid back down. “It doesn’t have to be us. I just think we should consider it, that’s all. Just consider it. You honestly couldn’t think of a single Durupinen policy you’d like to change? Any mandates you’d like to help overthrow? This could be our chance.”
She was staring at me, eyebrows raised and a knowing look in her wide brown eyes. I felt the heat rise to my face and I looked away. She didn’t need to say anything else. I knew exactly what she was talking about, and it was probably the only thing in the world that could convince me to consider Finvarra’s offer.
I wasn’t sure how much Hannah knew about Finn and me, but I didn’t underestimate her intelligence. She was one of the most quietly observant people I’d ever met. I knew she had her suspicions. She hadn’t asked me outright if Finn and I were together, but I knew that that was out of respect for me. We were close, but we didn’t force each other to confide in one another. Maybe it was because we had spent so long apart that we could allow each other this space without resentment. If one of us said that we didn’t want to talk about something, that was the end of it. Still, though I had never told her that Finn and I were together, she found little ways to hint at her suspicions. When Finn came over to our apartment, she would always find a reason to excuse herself, so we could be alone. When he called, she always handed me the phone. And she smiled at me in these moments, just a little. Because of course, she knew.
She knew that Finn and I were in love. She knew that we were secretly seeing each other. She also knew that there was a very good reason my relationship with Finn was completely under wraps. If the Durupinen or the Caomhnóir ever found out we were together, we would likely never see each other again.
I
was not being dramatic. For centuries, relationships between Caomhnóir and Durupinen had been forbidden because of the very Prophecy Hannah and I had been the subject of. The Prophecy had spoken of twins, born of the relationship between a Durupinen and a Caomhnóir, who would have the power to save or to destroy the entire Gateway system. Trying to prevent the Prophecy from coming true—and because none of them had ever read even a single Greek tragedy, apparently—the Durupinen had instituted the ban on these relationships and brutally punished those who broke the law. Of course, their attempt to avoid the Prophecy only served as the vehicle to bring it about. But we had survived it. Hannah and I had saved the Gateway system, not destroyed it, and a centuries old fear was laid to rest. But in its wake, the law against Durupinen-Caomhnóir relationships remained, and Finn and I were forced to live a life in the shadows, unless someone fought to overturn it.
Someone like me. Damn it.
I had absolutely no desire to voice any of this, so after several minutes of loaded silence, I muttered, “I didn’t realize you were so political.”
“I don’t think I am, really. But when something like this falls in your lap, you can’t just ignore it. Not even you, Jess.”
The stubborn childish part of me longed to shout, “I can, too!” I grudgingly told it to shut up. Instead I said, “Okay, okay, I will think about it.”
Hannah’s expression cleared. She gave me a small smile. “That’s all I’m asking. Thank you.”
“Whatever. Now can we talk about something else? Like, anything else?”
“Sure.”
In the silence that followed we both cast around for something to say. Then, in a very different voice than before, Hannah said, “So, Finvarra is really sick, huh?”
I sighed. This wasn’t really what I had in mind when I suggested a topic change, but I couldn’t exactly ignore it. “Yeah. It’s awful, isn’t it?”
“Well, I was just thinking… what does that mean for Carrick?”
“Obviously it must suck for him. I mean, he’s devoted first his life and then his afterlife to her protection, and now this terrible thing is happening to her and he can’t protect her from it. I bet he’s feeling pretty helpless right now,” I said.