She was astonished enough without that revelation, a great deal of her ire directed toward the attack on me. She wholeheartedly agreed that Jareth’s presence had been highly suspicious, despite Darius’s excuses for him, and she looked ready to storm his suite.
“I just wish we could have kept the gathering Council from him.” I sighed. “But Darius will have told him, of course. For an emergency session, the messages go direct to the ten discipline heads, and they know better than to explain the summons to anyone. But I’m afraid Jareth will tell his father, and then the king will arrive and ruin everything. Or Jareth will find some other way to destroy Darius’s chance.”
“You need to be there,” Bryony declared. “If anyone tries to use a composition to interfere, you can turn it aside. You’re more powerful than any shield.”
I bit my lip. “But how could I possibly arrange that? Not even Darius could get me into that meeting.”
“We’ll think of something,” Bryony said.
But in the end, it was Zora who held the answer.
I skipped classes the next day without a second thought, pacing up and down in my suite and listening to Darius doing the same in the room next door. I thought the tension of the initial wait was bad enough, but it was nothing to the feeling when he finally left the room, closing the corridor door behind him.
I wasn’t left to wait alone for long, however. Zora appeared at my door and beckoned for me to follow her. I did so in silence, hardly daring to breathe, afraid of giving in to false hope. Perhaps she just meant to console me with tea while we both waited to hear the outcome.
She led me into the back passages, winding through increasingly dusty and unused spaces until she gestured me into a narrow cupboard. I peered into the space, bare except for a single chair. But when I began to ask her where we were, she gestured for silence. I gave the room a second look and saw a pair of holes at the height of a sitting person.
I turned back to thank her, but she was already gone. Without hesitation, I entered the narrow room, closing the concealed door behind me. Had this space always existed, or had the duke had it installed so his secret wife could be privy to his important meetings? I imagined the true council room at the palace was protected against such intrusions, but this was probably the first Council meeting the Academy had ever hosted.
In normal circumstances, I would never have hidden in such a way to spy on the deliberations of a Mage Council—Kallorwegian or Ardannian. But my aunt had sent me here to be an intelligencer of sorts, and Bryony’s words kept ringing through my head. I might be needed to protect Darius and the Council itself. I was still wrestling over where my true loyalties lay, but here was an opportunity to serve them both at once.
Chapter 21
At first the only thing to be heard was grumblings from the heads who had ridden through the night, along with questions directed at Duke Francis. He refused to answer, however, saying they would all hear what he had to say when the Council was officially begun.
Finally Duchess Ashten arrived, apologizing for keeping everyone waiting. She took the only remaining seat, and nine pairs of expectant eyes fixed themselves on Duke Francis.
I knew the cost of this action for him, but there was no sign of it in his unperturbed features. Having decided on the right course, he pursued it as steadfastly as he had pursued neutrality all these years.
“Come then, Francis,” Duke Rennon called. “You can have no more reason to delay telling us the meaning of this. You can imagine how astonished we were that you of all people would call such a meeting.”
“I did call it,” the Academy Head said, “but not on my own behalf.”
“Not on your own behalf?” The youngest man present leaned forward with a creased brow. He wore a full red robe and must have been the young law enforcement duke I had heard about from Darius—the one open to new ways. “But you know these meetings are closed, Francis. Especially an emergency session. Only a member of the Council can call one.”
“And a member of the Council did,” Duke Francis replied calmly. “It was my choice to call the meeting. But you are forgetting that there are two other people who have a traditional right to speak at such a gathering, though they are not officially members of the Council, as such.”
“I suppose you mean the king,” Duchess Ashten said. “There’s no need to be so formal about it all, Francis.” She surveyed the room again as if she could possibly have missed Cassius hiding in some corner. “But I see His Majesty is absent.”
“He means the heir,” the young duke breathed, a look bordering on excitement lighting his face. “The other member with the right to speak is the heir. The law is clear on the matter.”
An older lady in healers’ purple frowned. “But an heir may speak only if he—or she—wishes to challenge the monarch.”
Her words cut off abruptly, and absolute silence fell.
“So it has come at last,” said a portly gentleman in a silver robe that matched that of Duke Francis. The University Head, then. “Young Prince Darius means to force his father’s hand.”
“I knew there was a reason we were all banished at Midwinter,” a younger woman in a green growers’ robe said in a sour voice. “Most inconvenient it was too to be sent packing in such a manner.”
Her tone made me want to crow. The growers were aligned with the crown. For her to talk of Cassius in such a way must be a good sign for Darius.
Slowly silence fell as the attention of the group turned to its oldest member. General Haddon had so far been notably silent. The others all weighed him with their eyes. Had he known of this move of his grandson? Did he support it?
“Well, bring him in, then,” the general said after an extended moment. “Let us hear what he has to say.”
His manner didn’t make his feelings on the matter obvious, but his words still signaled a release of tension in the room. Some of the tension drained out of my own shoulders as well. It appeared Darius had succeeded in taking his grandfather, at least, by surprise. Whatever his private feelings, the old general wasn’t ready to take a public stand against his grandson. Whatever happened now, Darius would have his say.
Francis opened a door, saying something I couldn’t hear into the next room, and Darius appeared. He stood tall, and the ice had finally lifted from his eyes, letting everyone see the fire that burned beneath. I wanted to cheer.
But before the prince could speak, the other door into the council room burst open as well. The various cries of outrage died as everyone got a look at the person interrupting them so boldly.
King Cassius looked furious, his eyes raking the gathered Council and then finishing on his son.
“What is the meaning of this?” he cried. “Why wasn’t I informed the Council was meeting?”
“It appears,” Duke Francis said, “that you were informed.”
The king and the duke faced off, the fury in the king’s face doing nothing against the calm implacability of the Academy Head.
“But not by any of you,” the king at last snapped, his gaze once again sweeping the room.
“The laws on such emergency meetings are clear,” the Head of Law Enforcement said. “It is up to the member who called the meeting to inform the monarch—or not. And in this case, the meeting has been called to allow a hearing for the heir. Which means the monarch cannot be present.”
“Cannot?” The king’s voice dripped anger. “You are trying to exclude me from the Mage Council?”
“Not me,” the young duke said, showing more bravery than I expected. “It is the law that does so.”
“And which of you intends to uphold the law?” Cassius asked, threat in every syllable he uttered.
“Thank you, Father,” Darius said, his voice strong and calm. He made a striking contrast to his father—young and handsome but with steel in his face and fire in his eyes. “You are amply demonstrating why I was forced into seeking this meeting.”
He turned to the Head of Law Enforcement. “And
thank you, Duke Gilbert, for your passion for our kingdom’s laws. But I waive my right to a hearing without my father present. I have nothing to say to you all that I will not say to him.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” Gilbert nodded at the prince before turning to Duke Francis. “Perhaps two more chairs would be in order?”
There was a momentary pause as the Academy Head called for more seating, while the king’s glower deepened. He had achieved what he wanted, but it had been granted him due to the graciousness of his son, and the victory no doubt tasted of sour defeat.
My attention kept circling back to the young Duke Gilbert. With his passion for the law and his interest in improving his discipline, I felt sure he would support Darius. And with his relative youth, he had a vitality some of the older Council members lacked.
Power hung around him in layers, most of which I assumed were his personal shields. The temptation to take control of just one of them, merely to test the layers of his expertise, pulled at me. If he was as strong as he was diligent, he would make a powerful ally for Darius.
The meeting had stalled, everyone waiting in terse silence for the extra chairs to arrive, and I felt ready to explode from the tension. It darted through my mind that it wouldn’t do any harm for me to quickly sample one of Duke Gilbert’s personal shields. Not if I was careful to leave the instructions exactly as he had written them.
I didn’t stop to think further, knowing I had only the briefest window before the meeting started again. Getting a taste of his composition might give me some insight into his mind.
“Take control,” I whispered, my energy reaching for one of the layers around the duke.
I connected with it instantly, the shape of a standard shield unfurling in my mind. It held incredible power, though. Unless he came under attack, he wouldn’t need to refresh it for days. And the precision was beyond anything I had experienced before, even from the Academy instructors. There was a reason he had ascended to such a senior position so young.
Fascinated, I pressed deeper, wanting to get more of a sense of him. If only the duke had written his shield as an open composition like my recent attacker. Not that the duke would be likely to do something so foolhardy. But I remembered the tantalizing feel of the way it had connected the power to my attacker’s own energy.
Even as I thought it, the energy of the duke seemed to burn more brightly than the other balls of energy in the room. The composition had a taste of the duke himself—there was no other way to adequately describe it—and I realized now that his energy felt the same way. They were connected after all, if not quite in the same way that an open composition would have connected them. All I needed to do was connect with it.
I barely noticed myself murmuring the word, “Connect,” aloud.
But I did notice when my whole awareness dove into the duke’s pool of energy. For a moment I couldn’t think or move or feel. Everything was chaos and whirling knowledge beyond my understanding. And then it coalesced into a single, clear composition. It glimmered before me, clear as anything I had ever seen worked by one of my year mates, although it was infinitely more complex. None of it made sense to me, and yet it all made perfect sense.
Duke Gilbert was thinking of a composition that would seal the room against eavesdroppers and interference of any kind. I could discern no actual thoughts, just the knowledge needed to create the working. From the discomfort in his face and bearing as he watched Cassius, I suspected the duke was wishing he had composed and worked one in advance. I could imagine the king’s unexpected arrival would have brought such protections forcibly to mind.
I was suddenly reminded of one of the rules that bound the Ardannian Council—no members were permitted to work a composition during an active meeting. Normally they met in their council room at the palace where permanent protections rendered the sort of composition filling Duke Gilbert’s mind unnecessary. And the same was likely true of the Kallorwegian Council.
Given the focus of the duke’s energy and the expression on his face, my earlier thinking hardened into certainty. He had been reminded that this room lacked the normal protections of a proper council room. But there was nothing he could do about it now.
But I could act for him.
The thought came unbidden, clear as anything, although some part of my brain tried to assert that it made no sense whatsoever. My hands were already moving, however.
I could write the composition on the duke’s behalf, using his expertise and his energy and his ability. It would be easy.
I pulled a folded sheet of parchment and a pen from inside my robe where I always kept them, ready to take notes in class. Placing the parchment on my knee, I carefully wrote out the binding words, feeling the building power already struggling to break free. It calmed as soon as I finished them, the pressure no longer growing. Now I could relax and write more slowly. I traced out the words, layering them with the necessary meaning, the power flowing through Duke Gilbert’s energy.
When I finally wrote, End binding, I wasted no time ripping the parchment in two. Enormous power rushed out from my working, enveloping both the room and my hiding hole. I had made only a single adjustment to the composition the duke had been picturing—expanding it to include me. I nodded with satisfaction. Now no one would be able to interfere with the meeting in physical form or with any sort of composition.
“End,” I whispered, slamming back into my chair as my connection to the duke cut off abruptly.
I breathed deep, ragged breaths, trying to clear my mind. Already the knowledge that had allowed me to write the composition was fading, disappearing far faster than I could grasp hold of it. I drew out another piece of parchment and rapidly scrawled the beginning of a composition. Nothing happened.
What had I just done? I trembled all over, but it wasn’t from exhaustion. My energy felt no more depleted than when I sat down, despite the power of the strange working I had just achieved. Tentatively I let my senses stretch to the room beyond the wall. The duke’s energy levels were noticeably lower than they had been earlier. In the dreamlike state of the moment I had been convinced I was using his energy to compose, and it must have been true. Yet another impossibility.
I didn’t have the luxury to ponder it, however. The chairs had arrived, and the servants departed. Darius began to speak.
“You have all heard my father promise that he will give me the throne,” he said.
“When you’re ready,” Cassius snarled.
Darius ignored him. “And you have all seen him bend over backward to prevent me reaching full and recognized mastery of my powers. But I am now nearly halfway through my training, despite his best efforts to hold me back. And I was content to let things rest until I had graduated. But my father’s actions lately have compelled me to act.”
“You mean the lure of a crown has done so,” his father sneered.
Darius regarded him coldly. “I have no interest in the crown beyond how I might use it to serve my kingdom. Naturally such a concept is foreign to you.”
He turned back to the Council.
“My father has allowed his emotions to so color his decision making that he places our entire kingdom in peril. He has let his hatred of Prince Lucas and Princess Elena of Ardann grow beyond reason, and he has sought, multiple times now, to assassinate their daughter, Princess Verene of Ardann.”
A murmur passed around the seated Council members.
“Yes, you take a keen interest in the young princess,” Cassius said with disgust.
“I take an interest in anything that affects the well-being of Kallorway,” snapped Darius. “And Kallorway cannot afford for a princess of Ardann to be murdered in our Academy while under our care and protection.”
He met the eyes of the various heads, one by one. “Ever since the war, Ardann has grown strong while Kallorway has grown weak. And it is entirely through our own fault. We cannot now risk the wrath of Queen Lucienne. Instead we must seek an alliance—one we are fortunate she
wishes to extend. And yet my father blocks that alliance for no reason beyond his personal hatred.”
Duchess Ashten stirred, exchanging glances with the Head of the Growers.
“I could give you example after example of the ways in which my father is slowly destroying this kingdom, but I don’t believe I need to do so. You have all seen it with your own eyes. And you have all heard his own mouth promising that he will step aside for me, his son and heir.”
“One day,” Cassius growled. “But it is not this day.”
“I seek to unite Kallorway,” Darius said. “I seek to make us strong, as we once were—equal, and greater even, than Ardann. And I seek to do so not so we can wage war on our neighbors and spill our own blood in the process. I would see us grow strong for the good of our people. I do not believe such a future is possible under the rule of my father, and I do not believe he will ever willingly give up his crown. It is you, the Mage Council, who must hold him to his promised word. I am his rightful heir. I call on you to give me the crown.”
As Darius spoke, Cassius grew increasingly restless, casting frequent glances at the door. And yet I couldn’t imagine he wished to flee the meeting. Was he expecting some sort of external aid? Someone to work a composition strong enough to disrupt and delay any vote? It made sense. After all, someone at the Academy had alerted him to the gathering of the Council.
I wished I were still connected to the composition I had worked. But as soon as I had written, End binding, I had closed it off, and it had become as separate from me as it now was from Duke Gilbert. If someone was testing its limits in an effort to break through, I would feel nothing.
But the more restless the king became, the more convinced I was that someone was attempting something, blocked by my shield. The king had come into the meeting expecting back up, and his back up had not arrived.
The University Head was requesting proof of the prince’s claims about the assassins, and Darius was describing the attack on me the year before and his interrogation of the prisoner. Several of the heads exchanged impressed looks when the prince referred to composing investigation compositions and truth compositions as if they were nothing.
Crown of Danger (The Hidden Mage Book 2) Page 20