by Jasmine Walt
The guard did as he was commanded without hesitation, stepping aside and holding the back door open for us. We stepped into the kitchen, and I grabbed hold of the knob and closed the door myself, making sure that it made no sound so that the guards out front wouldn’t hear anything.
“You have to teach me how to do that sometime,” I said under my breath.
“It’s not as easy as simply speaking a Word,” Iannis said dryly. “Suggestion magic requires many hours of practice to become even passably good.”
“Well I guess that’s why I keep you around,” I muttered as I passed him. There was little point in searching the entire house when I could follow my nose, which had quickly caught the stench of sickness and the underlying scent of a male. I traced the scent upstairs, and Iannis followed close behind me as I led him to a bedroom at the end of the second-story landing.
“By Magorah,” I muttered, clapping a hand over my mouth as the stench grew stronger. “Maybe you should wear a mask or something, Iannis.” I couldn’t catch human illnesses, but the sheer intensity of the smell made me wish I had something to cover my nose and mouth.
“I’m afraid these handkerchiefs will have to do,” Iannis said, producing two large ones from his sleeve. I took one from him and pressed the piece of silk to my nose, then sighed in relief. My sense of smell was too keen for it to block the stench, but it made the smell slightly more bearable.
With our handkerchiefs over our noses, Iannis pushed open the door, and we entered the sickroom quietly. The air was stuffy and hot, which wasn’t surprising because the two windows were tightly shut, the drapes closed so securely that not even a sliver of moonlight filtered into the space. My eyes could barely pick out the shapes of the furniture, so I focused on the large bed that dominated the rear half of the room and the occupant within it.
Raising my hand, I conjured a ball of flame to provide some illumination. The blue-green flames flickered in my hand, just bright enough to permeate the darkness, and I could clearly see the man who was bundled up in the bed. His long, yellow hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and angry red scabs marred his already sallow complexion. Dark circles rimmed his closed eyes, and he let out a reedy moan as we moved closer.
“Damnu air,” Iannis swore as he gently pulled back the blanket. The Minister’s pajama pants and shirt shielded me from the worst of it, but the open collar and exposed hands and feet showed that scabs had spread all over his body. “He has chicken pox.”
“Chicken pox?” I scowled, searching my memory for what little I knew about human disease. “Isn’t that something only children get?”
“Generally, yes. But if one hasn’t had it as a child, they can be infected later on in life, and the disease is often fatal to adults.” Iannis pressed his left hand against the Minister’s forehead, and the man groaned again. “It is also highly contagious in the early stages, and extremely resistant to magic healing.”
Iannis spoke several Words aloud, and I pressed my lips together in thought. “If it’s so contagious, I suppose it makes sense that he was placed under quarantine. Shouldn’t the Minister’s office have demanded the other mages be tested for the disease, since they were all likely to have been in close proximity with the Minister for at least a week?”
“Yes.” The hand Iannis placed on the Minister’s forehead began to glow. “The fact that they didn’t do so is highly suspect.”
I pressed my lips together, but said nothing more, only fetching a chair for Iannis so that he could sit and focus on healing the Minister. I opened the door to the corridor wide to let in some cleaner air before we all choked, then stood by and watched as Iannis worked his magic. A good hour passed as Iannis fought to drive the infection out, sweat beading on his brow as his jaw clenched with the strain. Watching Iannis heal the Minister gave me a new appreciation for him – he’d done this for me several times now, but because I’d been unconscious I had no idea it was such a strain on him. Or perhaps this disease was especially tough to beat, as he’d said.
Finally, Iannis removed his palm from the Minister’s forehead and sat back in his chair. “It’s done,” he exhaled, sounding both pleased and tired. There was an undercurrent of relief in his tone that suggested this healing had not been a sure thing at all. I wondered if other mages without his Tua heritage could have managed.
The Minister blinked open chocolate-brown eyes, and in the light of my flame I could see his complexion was much healthier. All the scabs had fallen off or disappeared, and there was no trace of pockmarks on his now-smooth skin. Confusion filled his expression as he pushed himself to an upright position.
“W-where am I?” he asked a little more loudly than I would have liked. His eyes fixed on me. “And who are you?”
“Shhhh.” Iannis’s voice was hushed, but soothing, as he drew the Minister’s attention to him. “It’s Iannis, the Chief Mage of Solantha. This is my apprentice, Sunaya Baine. You’ve been very ill, sir, and we came here to heal you.”
“Ill. Yes.” The Minister pushed a hank of sweat-laden hair from his handsome face. “I do recall not feeling very well and taking to my bed, but I don’t remember how I ended up here.” He cast a dubious look at the humble room and wrinkled his nose.
“The story that was given out to the Convention was that you were too sick to receive visitors, in quarantine for your own good,” Iannis said tightly. “But after some discreet questioning, we have determined there is a more sinister plot behind your quarantine.”
“What do you mean?” the Minister demanded in a querulous voice. “Who would dare?”
“I think we should table this discussion until after we’ve gotten out of here,” I interrupted, casting a nervous glance toward the window. The Minister had lowered his voice a bit, but he was still too loud, and I really didn’t want to tip the guards off to our presence after we’d worked so hard to go unnoticed.
“Yes, I agree.” Iannis stood up, then helped the Minister to his feet. “Miss Baine, help me escort the Minister downstairs. Once we have him safely back in the hotel suite, we can go over everything and decide what to do from there.”
27
I can’t believe I’m letting Iannis disguise me as Secretary Asward, I grumbled to myself, arms folded across my chest as Iannis worked. We were standing in the living room area, and the delegate I was impersonating was sitting on one of the couches next to Bosal, drinking coffee and looking down his ugly nose at me. Said ugly nose now disfigured my own face too, and I could not wait for the time when I would be rid of it. But for now, there wasn’t anything I could do about it.
“I don’t understand why you’re taking Miss Baine along instead of me,” Asward complained yet again, and I rolled my eyes. Iannis had already explained to them what had happened with the Minister and why they were staying here so that the Minister and I could go to the Convention without being seen. “I understand why the Minister has to attend, of course –” here Asward stopped to incline his head respectfully at the Minister, who was standing next to me, “but Miss Baine has no legitimate reason to attend the Convention. It sets a terrible precedent.”
Iannis turned slowly to face Asward. “Are you questioning my authority, Secretary?”
Asward’s round face blanched. “Of course not, my lord. It’s just that –”
“Then the matter is settled. You and Secretary Bosal will stay here until I call for you. It will not do to have either of you anywhere near the Capitol Building while the Minister and Miss Baine are in disguise. Have I made myself clear?”
“Yes.” Asward lowered his gaze, but the way he pressed his lips together told me that he wasn’t at all pleased with the decision.
As Iannis turned to apply the Minister’s illusion, I retreated to the island counter where the Finance Secretary was sipping his coffee so I could pour myself another cup. Iannis and I had stayed up late into the night briefing the Minister and discussing strategy. After the two of them had gone to bed to recover from their mutual ordeal,
I’d catnapped on the couch, keeping my senses trained on the door in case any guards or Resistance soldiers came barging through the door looking for the Minister.
“This is going to be an interesting day,” Cirin murmured over his cup of coffee.
“No kidding.” I took a long sip, savoring the rich aroma and flavor. “The delegates are going to be in an uproar.”
“I believe we’re ready now,” the Minister said in Secretary Bosal’s voice. Aside from the more formal robes he wore, he looked exactly like the delegate. I touched my own head of hair, which was distressingly short and mousy and completely unlike the mane of curly black locks I was used to. But I was just going to have to get used to that – I only had to wear this disguise for a few hours, and honestly I was lucky Iannis had convinced the Minister to let me attend in the first place.
The traffic-heavy carriage ride to the Capitol Building was long and filled with tension. I looked out the window and tried to focus on the passing scenery and ignore the fact that my elbow and thigh were literally rubbing up against the most powerful man in the nation. Iannis had disclosed my true identity to the Minister, and though the man was courteous enough not to say it in front of me under the circumstances, he was not pleased that Iannis had chosen a hybrid apprentice. But the Minister had thanked me, albeit reluctantly, for rescuing Iannis from “those dangerous savages” and ensuring he made it to Dara for the Convention. I guessed that his ingrained disapproval of shifters warred against the fact that without my reconnaissance skills, he might well have been dead by now.
Despite my nerves, I couldn’t help my fascination as I entered the Great Rotunda for the first time. It was a huge, round room with a domed ceiling that soared impossibly high, pushing through the second story to crown the top of the building. A golden fresco made up entirely of runes swirled out from the center, and rimming the dome were small, arched windows that allowed sunbeams to filter in and bathe the room in light.
The seats were organized theater-style, with four rows that spanned the length of the room, except that in front of the red-covered chairs there were gleaming wooden tables where the delegates could set pen and paper and glasses of water. Each seat was designated by a golden place card on the table, announcing which delegate was to park his behind there, and small sheets of paper and pens had been set out at each station. Iannis led us to a group of seats in the top row, closest to the end. To my dismay, I was seated between the Minister and the Finance Secretary rather than next to Iannis, but there was little I could do about it. I cast my gaze to the center of the room, where a long desk had been set up, flanked by two smaller ones. Four mages sat at the largest desk, members of the Minister’s office who were running the Convention in his stead. Typewriters were set up at the smaller desks, and I assumed the mages clacking away at them were assistants or secretaries of some kind.
“Delegates,” a silver-haired mage called, and the way his voice reverberated throughout the room told me his voice was magically magnified. “The Convention is now in session. Please take your seats.”
There was a loud, collective rustle of clothing as the mages who were still standing obeyed, and then silence fell across the room. The silver-haired mage tapped his throat, then leaned in and conferred with the other mages at his table in hushed tones.
“That is Federation Secretary Yaris Brung,” Iannis told me. “He mostly deals with foreign affairs, but he is also known to be the current Minister’s right-hand man.”
“Gotcha,” I replied, keeping my eyes trained on the conferring mages.
“There is other business to attend, but we will start with the vote for the next Federation Minister,” Secretary Brung announced. He picked up a black, rectangular box with a small slit in the top and spoke a Word, and the box began to levitate. “Before you, you will find pen and paper. Please write down your candidate of choice, and place your vote in the box when it comes your way.”
Before the procedure could start, a tall, elderly mage I had not noticed before asked for the floor.
“You may speak, Lord Ortho.”
“The Chief Mage of Suluris,” Cirin whispered for my benefit.
“Secretary Brung, has the ailing Minister not made some recommendation about his successor, as is the custom?”
Brung looked uncomfortable for a moment, but replied quickly enough, “No, Lord Ortho, most regrettably. Perhaps Lord Zavian felt too weak to do so. In any case, he deemed it best to leave the decision up to the Convention itself.”
Iannis and the disguised Minister exchanged a quick glance. I could sense the Minister’s shock at what had to be a brazen lie from a trusted subordinate, and imagined that he would be planning swift retribution against the traitor very shortly.
The box floated toward the delegate sitting at the end of the first row, and I watched as it hovered there, waiting while she carefully wrote out her choice on the piece of paper, then folded it neatly before placing it in the box. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Minister sit up straight, and I could only imagine how he must feel at having to sit here and watch the other delegates vote on his replacement as though he were already dead. His eyes narrowed as he watched the progress of the box across the room, and I half-wondered if he was somehow using magic to see how the delegates were voting. But there was no trace of the strong, burnt-sugar scent of a recently cast spell, so I figured he was just speculating.
I waited with bated breath as the box circulated around the room, going up row by row to allow each delegate to cast their vote. When it arrived at Lord Cedris’s section, he took his time slipping the piece of paper into the box, and there was a distinct smirk on his handsome face. Pompous ass. He was probably voting for himself anyway.
Eventually the box sailed up from the fourth row and straight to Iannis, hovering in front of him while it awaited his vote. I glanced over just as Iannis was folding his piece of paper in half, and nearly laughed out loud when I saw what he’d written on it.
“Do you really think I’d be a good choice as the next Federation Minister?” I asked, allowing laughter to creep into my mental voice.
“Considering that this vote hardly matters, I thought I’d have a little fun.” The humor in Iannis’s words made my lips twitch. “I’m sure you would revolutionize the Northia Federation if you were in office.”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
The box went to the Finance Secretary next, and then to me. I poised my pen over my piece of paper, and I could feel the Minister’s eyes on me, practically burning a hole through my cheek. With a straight face, I quickly wrote Minister Zavian Graning on the slip of paper, then tucked it into the box.
The Minister smiled faintly, and I’ll be damned if he didn’t incline his head ever so slightly at me in approval.
When the box came to the Minister next, he picked up his folded piece of paper, then held it over the box for a moment as if he were about to drop it in. But after a few seconds, he put the piece of paper back down, then plucked the box out of thin air.
“Secretary Bosal, what is the meaning of this?” Secretary Brung demanded as the Minister stood up.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot vote for a new Federation Minister,” he said in Secretary Bosal’s voice, and just like that the illusion dropped away, revealing his true form. “Because you see, Secretary Brung, I am the Minister.”
There was a beat of silence as everyone stared slack-jawed at the Minister, and then the entire room erupted. As the delegates shouted and argued amongst themselves, I watched the blood drain from Lord Cedris’s face. His dark eyes glittered with rage, and I could practically taste his bloodlust from across the room.
“Minister!” I warned as I noticed Coman discreetly coax Lord Cedris from his seat and lead him through the sea of delegates. “Lord Cedris is getting away!”
The Minister’s eyes flashed as he followed my gaze, and I pressed my hands against my ears as I watched him tap his fingers against his throat in preparation. “SILENCE!” he roared, his
voice reverberating through the walls and floor, and all chatter ceased. “In light of recent events, I am ordering the arrest of Lord Cedris ar’Tarea, Chief Mage of Rhodea, as well as the other members of his delegation.”
“On what charges!” Lord Cedris demanded, his face turning beet-red as all eyes swiveled in his direction.
“Attempted murder, conspiring against the Federation, and aiding the Resistance, which is an act of treason,” the Minister snapped, and a collective gasp rose from the rest of the delegates.
“This is preposterous!” Lord Cedris shouted, sounding on the edge of hysteria now. He tried to make a break for it, but several other mages hit him with spells, and he froze into place. I sat back in my chair and watched with supreme satisfaction as the Minister had Cedris and his delegates clapped in rune-covered irons. But as they were dragged out of the room, I knew in my heart that this was only the beginning, and our work was far from done.
28
Outrageously enough, the Minister and his Secretaries refused to allow me to attend the interrogation. I wasn’t even allowed to listen outside. Iannis attempted to argue on my behalf, but the Minister was adamant – I wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, and he’d already extended enough “liberties” by allowing me into the Convention to attend the vote. Now that he had his position back, Lord Zavian was rapidly reverting to type – the very kind of self-satisfied, rigid high mage that the Resistance wanted to overthrow.
Liberties, my ass, I seethed as the carriage took me back to the hotel. I wanted to take the liberty to punch the Minister right in his supercilious face. But that would probably get Iannis in trouble, so I’d tamped down on my rage and left the building as instructed.
When I got back to the hotel room, there was nobody there – the other delegates must have gone back to their own suite. Tears sprang to my eyes now that nobody was around to see them, and I blinked rapidly before they started trickling down my cheeks. It wasn’t fair. I’d rescued Iannis, we’d saved the Minister, and we’d captured Lord Cedris. I should have been on top of the world, dancing and celebrating and feeling triumphant. How was I supposed to exist in a world like this? A world where all sides consistently shunned and belittled me? How could I stand up for my ideals and fight for what was right, if the powers that be continued to stomp me into the ground every chance they got?