by Anise Rae
Lady Rallis studied her. It was a moment before she nodded. “I’m relieved. The families, as well as other mages the citizens revere, must uphold society’s rules while beneath the public’s eye. Edmund is so pleased you’ve reunited.”
Aurora didn’t blink at the change of subject, recognizing the disguised attempt to uncover information, but she was so far out of her depth that it was inevitable she’d miss a trick eventually.
Whatever the man on stage said, the crowd applauded.
“An enchantress deemed champion of the Drainpipe,” Lady Rallis continued, “a tough crowd to support. We try to do good for them, you know.”
She found that hard to believe. “How so?”
“The vibe sewers. It’s a revolutionary system. It pulls the trash vibes underground through tunnels to the junkyard’s towers where they’re collected and stored.” Lady Rallis sounded like a sales mage. “The tunnel system removes pollutant energy from the air more quickly, allowing the overall atmosphere of the city, especially the Drainpipe, to be cleaner, easier to breathe in. All without the need for a metallist mage. We’re the only territory in the Republic with this system.”
As if Aurora didn’t know. It was her late father’s idea and his design. Though maybe she shouldn’t judge Lady Rallis’s assumption of her ignorance so harshly. Few light mages understood anything about the pollutant vibes created from every spell they cast. “How nice. The Pipers can breathe easier while they wither under the scorn of the light.”
Lady Rallis’s polite mask hardened. She stared at her son on stage. “Some dark powers are detrimental to the wellbeing of society.”
Aurora gaped in disbelief that Lady Rallis would use the common argument against the dark in reference to her own son. She rallied to his defense. “All powers can harm, just as all powers can do good. Light or dark. Evil doesn’t dwell solely on one end of the power spectrum. Nor does good. Besides, flowers blossom in response to dark mages. They can’t possibly be bad.”
Lady Rallis shook her head. “You won’t change society if vibe violets are your only evidence.” Disappointment rang through the words. “Edmund is right. You do need to be kept out of trouble.”
Aurora lifted her chin. She didn’t need their help. But she’d certainly not kept herself out of trouble. How could she when the Republic’s laws were so wrong?
The governor of the seven counties appeared on stage and took over, announcing new government officials one after the other. Each new appointee climbed the stage stairs to the applause of the crowd and then posed for image spells with the senator, his son, and Edmund.
Lady Rallis gave her an inspecting gaze. “From which territory do you hail?”
Aurora looked her in the eye. Since she’d been forced out of hiding, she might as well enjoy this brief moment. “Born and raised in the Drainpipe, ma’am.”
Lady Rallis stiffened, the muscles of her bare arms twitching. Yes, Rallis Territory had borne an enchantress and the founding family hadn’t noticed. “In which case, I think you’ll approve of the next appointment to be handed out.” She nodded toward the stage.
The governor’s politically correct smile faltered. “In addition to our three new judges and the two neighborhood trustees, we now turn to the Drainpipe.”
The mage in front of Aurora shivered. He probably wasn’t the only one in the crowd who got the chills at the thought of living or working in the Pipe. As far as most Rallis Territory mages were concerned, the neighborhood was trashy, dark, and best forgotten.
“Our fine territory strives to offer the best possible lives to all citizens. In that spirit, we have assigned an overseer to the neighborhood that houses our trash towers, which are vital to the health of the land. I now present the first overseer of the Drainpipe.” The governor lifted his hand to indicate the mage walking up the stage’s stairs. “Mr. Justin Wasten, fourth family, tenth generation Rallis bound mage.”
Aurora froze as the crowd politely applauded. Her breath fled, leaving her lungs to chase after it, dark disaster nipping at its heels. Justin Wasten had just been officially charged with enforcing the law in the Drainpipe. He was quite familiar with her habit of violating the Law of Natural Physique to save a life. The slender man shook the governor’s hand, then the senator’s, and on down the line. Goddess, Gwyn was right. What had she been thinking to offer to help his wife?
Wasten didn’t smile as he bowed his solemn form toward the crowd, acknowledging their meager appreciation. Aurora’s hands trembled too much to risk joining in.
From the stage, he caught her gaze and gave her a single, slow nod. His mouth was a flat line, his eyes hard. Her heart thudded as Edmund caught the gesture, glancing between the two of them.
“Ladies and gentlemages, that concludes our appointments for the evening.” P.U.R.E.’s director finished his good-byes, thank you’s, and well wishes for a happy ball. Aurora tuned it out even as she echoed the sentiment to Lady Rallis and spun away. She shoved her way through the crowd, but the space by the doors was too packed to navigate. Spinning back around, she caught Lady Rallis’s concentrated brow. It wasn’t hard to figure out that the thick crowd blocking the doors had been coerced by a gentle spell. Aurora fled to her left, searching for another exit. She almost stepped out of her shoes, but she couldn’t slow down.
Spotting a door at the side, she pushed through to find a long, golden hallway. Another door gleamed at the end. She hustled toward it and discovered a small bathroom on the other side. Two women chatted next to a sink embedded in a pink marble counter. Their voices halted at her sudden entrance. A soft music spell hovering in the far corner filled their silence.
She should have fled, pivoted, dashed for cover. But surprise and guilt wrapped her tight. Staring her in the face was yet another reason why she couldn’t be with Edmund.
Bronte Casteel stepped forward with a soft, proper smile. “Hello.”
Aurora couldn’t bring herself to reply.
Miss Casteel’s companion jumped forward and grabbed Aurora’s hands. “Ooo, it’s the enchantress.” The woman’s big, sleepy eyes might have given her a sexy look if not for the gaunt pull to her cheeks. “Do you go naked and commune with the sun? I always wanted to be an enchantress! I thought you would look more princessy, though.” She held out their connected hands between them. Her high pitch sang with excitement. “Where’s your crown, your glass slippers? For that matter, where’s your prince?” She released her grip and clasped her hands under her chin.
Aurora shook her head tightly, backing away. “He’s not my prince and there aren’t any crowns in the Drainpipe, nor glass slippers.” She fumbled for the door behind her, but her hands only met the wall.
The flighty woman stepped closer. “Well, you can have tiaras and glass slippers to match every outfit now. Once you’re officially vowed to Rallis, you’ll have whatever you want. I’m Allison Rallis, Edmund’s cousin. I saw you on the dance floor. You two were a picture of romance.”
Miss Casteel looked on with gentle affection for the woman. She was the perfect image of a fairy tale princess—pale skin, dark hair, and red lips. Her blue eyes sparkled with a gentle, otherworldly shine, as if she held the goddess’s power deep within her. Aurora would have smiled in recognition if it hadn’t been for the guilt.
The syphon stepped forward and held out her hand, palm down. “I’m Bronte Casteel.”
Oh, she knew. “Aurora Firenze.” She shook hands with the syphon, but her grip was shaky, torn between fleeing and a desperate need to apologize.
“Firenze, as in the metallist?” Allison cried out.
Aurora nodded, her voice lost for a moment. Her heart squeezed in her chest, trepidation, but also surprise. “How did you know his name?” To everyone else, he had just been metallist.
“I know everything about the Pipe, though I didn’t know the metallist had any relatives.” Her high, girly voice had an odd, dreamy tone. “So, he was your....”
�
�My father.” Aurora whispered and waited for the blow.
“Your father….” She glanced between Aurora and Bronte. “Awkward,” she sang.
“Your father?” Bronte gasped, her pretty face going pale. She backed up, retreating. “Oh. Oh, no.” She dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, Edmund.”
Aurora’s heart shattered. She should never have come to this ball. She should have known she’d encounter her…the woman her father had tried to kill.
Five months ago, the syphon mage’s car had been towed to the junkyard by mistake. Bronte, who’d been the Casteel senator at the time, went to the junkyard to retrieve it. Aurora’s father had tried to kill her. He’d paid the price for his crime with his life. The story had been all over the newspapers.
“I’m sorry,” Aurora began. Though it wasn’t her fault, guilt laced the shards of her heart. “My father wasn’t always.... He wasn’t well. If he’d known his mind, he would never have hurt you. He would have been horrified to know what he’d done.” She pressed her hand to her chest. Her grief hit her anew.
Metallists didn’t keep their sanity for long. Her father had held out longer than most. Much longer. He’d done it for her. He was the only person she’d had.
“I never thought he’d….” Aurora couldn’t even say it. “I know this is hard to believe, but he was once a good man. But toward the end, he wanted to die. I just didn’t think he’d try to take someone else with him.”
“No. Please.” The syphon held up her hand as if to cast Aurora’s words away with a spell. Aurora shuffled back, instinct taking over. Bronte did the same. “I’m sorry.” She touched her hand to her forehead in embarrassment. “I wasn’t going to cast a spell. Syphons can’t cast.”
Right. She’d known that. Syphons were completely defenseless as mages. A flush rose up Aurora’s face. “My fault. I’m too much of a junkyard rat for this place.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry.” Bronte looked as shaken as Aurora. “Your father,” she whispered almost as if she was talking to herself. Tears pooled in her eyes. She clenched at her wrist and held it tight to her chest as if the medallion still encircled her there. Every senator wore the medallion around his neck, but for some reason, Bronte had worn hers around her wrist, a detail odd enough to be included in the newspaper articles.
Tears pooled in the woman’s eyes.
Aurora’s power stirred at her sadness. Her vibes readied for action, needing to repair the sorrow. Enchantresses were compelled to assist life to thrive in any way possible, a nearly unstoppable urge. She stepped forward to offer a touch despite her own grief.
“I wasn’t there for my car,” Bronte whispered.
Aurora stopped, surprised.
Beside her, Allison gasped, her eyes wide with horror. “Bronte…no.” The whispered words were thick with warning.
“I asked him to cut off the medallion,” she confessed.
Aurora startled, as if her bones had rattled. Only the death of the senator could make the medallions release. No senator would ever try to cut one off. To do so would echo through every mage in the territory and seriously injure the senator. Plus, the rebound would kill anyone who tried to do the cutting.
Allison put her hand over Bronte’s lips, a delayed attempt to seal in her secret. “Oh, Bronte, confession is good for the soul, but it’s bad for blossoming romance!”
Aurora ignored her and stared at Bronte. “You can’t cut off a medallion. They’re the most powerfully enchanted metal possible.” Thanks to a childhood with her father, she knew more about enchanted metals than anyone she’d ever met.
Bronte brushed away Allison’s hand. “I know. Now.” Her grieved whisper barely carried. The energy of Bronte’s sadness wrapped around her, a cold embrace.
“The reverberation would have been terrible if you’d tried to cut it off,” Aurora explained. “It would have killed you both.” The syphon might have been ignorant, but her father hadn’t been. “He would have been crazy….”
A punch to her belly couldn’t have stolen her breath any quicker. Though she hadn’t had much contact with her father in his last years, the entire junkyard had known he’d been on the prowl for a way to entice the reaper’s scythe to his neck. His metallist’s power had sickened his mind. He’d craved death like an addict.
When this syphon had walked into his shop and asked for the impossible, he would have recognized the specter behind her request. Death. At last.
Aurora’s knees weakened as a tidal wave of truth nearly crushed her to the floor. He hadn’t attacked Bronte like the newspapers had reported. Slowly, she spun away, picturing the scene. She knew exactly how he would have removed a stuck bracelet. He would have gripped his founder’s axe…his most prized tool…poised it over the medallion’s chain. Aimed. Struck. The power would have rebounded into him like lightning.
It would have been fast way to die.
She closed her eyes at the pain.
The story about the car and her father trying to kill the syphon…lies. All lies.
“Oh, this is terrible!” Allison cried. “I just wanted us all to be friends.”
Friends? Liars. All of them. Liars with unlimited power, that’s what these people were. She twisted back around to face them. “How could you not have known?” The bite in her voice filled the room, muffling the effect of the soft music, but it played on, determined.
Tears streaked Bronte’s face. Why had the woman even confessed? If the Republic knew what she’d done, she’d be scorned forever. She’d just handed Aurora enough information to blackmail her for the rest of her life.
Bronte dropped her head and looked up through her dark bangs. “I was raised as a Non-mage. Believe me, Nons don’t know about medallions. I needed it off. I couldn’t be a senator. The Senate is a violent place. I can’t do any spells to protect myself.” Her sad eyes filled again with tears. She hunched over, more fragile than ever. She’d been haunted by this for a long time.
Aurora remembered what her father had looked like in his last years. His insanity bled through his face—craggily lines, wide eyes, bared teeth. His metal eye. His energy vibrated with a sharpness she’d never sensed in anyone else.
“You must have been desperate,” Aurora whispered. As desperate as he’d been.
“My sentry…” Bronte whispered. “It wasn’t his fault.”
Aurora shook her head. The room spun. No, it wouldn’t have been his fault, despite the fact that the sentry had stabbed her father in the heart. Aurora hadn’t skimped on reading the details in the newspapers. She couldn’t afford to. Not when he’d died with her metal eye.
A tear dripped down Bronte’s pale cheek.
“You didn’t know, Bronte.” Allison entwined her fingers with Bronte’s in consolation. “We need Edmund. He’ll fix this.” She shook the charm bracelet on her wrist. Calling charms jingled among diamonds and rubies—a rich girl’s version of Aurora’s battered calling charms that were usually clumped together in her pocket. “Edmund,” Allison called, still shaking the charm bracelet. “We’re in the bathroom. Come.”
Bronte grabbed Allison’s wrist, silencing the jingles. “No. I don’t need Edmund to bail me out again.” She shook her head. “A man died because of my ignorance.”
“My father knew what he was doing.” Aurora cut her off as an unwanted compassion trickled in. “He knew exactly what would happen.” He’d known every metal in the universe as if he’d been born with the knowledge. But he probably hadn’t thought…or cared…that this woman would feel guilty for her part in his death for months afterwards. “The rebound from the medallion would have been deadly.”
Bronte shook her head. Another tear spilled. “I passed out. If I’d been awake, I would’ve stopped my sentry when he came in. He was doing his job, protecting me. When I woke up, the knife was….”
He’d already been dead from the rebound…that was Aurora’s guess. The knife had been a message. A practice she was familiar
with. How many knives had the Nobles left in their enemies during her time there? The hilts were always marked with the letter N. They’d wanted everyone to know who’d done the murderous deeds. Casteel’s sentries would have wanted the same. No one messed with their senator and got away with it. Even when she brought it on herself in innocence.
Aurora shuddered at Bronte’s sorrow. Her vibes clamored at the edge of her skin, at the edge of her control, wanting to wrap around the syphon’s pain and mend it.
If only she could do the same for her own grief. But she couldn’t. Her consolation was in repairing others, a poor substitute sometimes, but it was the best she could do. She surrendered.
Her vibes fluttered away, soaking the air and coalescing around the syphon. Unlike her nervous glitter, no visible signs appeared, but the energy of joy wove among them, strong and focused.
“What are you doing?” Allison asked, squinting. “I know what this is! It’s an enchantress’s goody-goody vibes.”
Aurora arched an eyebrow, almost embarrassed for her. No one in the Republic called them that. Edmund’s cousin certainly didn’t have the stiff upper lip of the founders.
“She forgives you, Bronte! I see it in her aura.” Allison threw her arms out with glee. “We’re friends!”
Bronte’s expression remained drawn and sorrowful.
“Oh. You can’t feel her, can you?” Allison said and then tilted her head at Aurora. “She can only feel Vinny’s vibes. That’s a syphon for you. Poor girl is really missing out. You’ll have to give Bronte a hug instead.”
Repairing Bronte’s grief with her power would have allowed Aurora to maintain her distance. An embrace would not. She’d have to bestow true forgiveness. Her heart felt hollow, as if it might shatter to dust if she moved, but she didn’t have a choice. She hesitated for one more moment, then pulled in her energy, and wrapped her arms around Bronte’s delicate frame. “He wanted death and peace more than anything. He used you in an awful way to get it. So, let go of this. And let yourself find peace, too,” she whispered. Her vibes calmed.