The Seer

by Kirsten Jones

  Again, Mistral could have said so much, instead she merely gazed at him sadly and said, ‘Yes.’

  Mage Grapple fell silent, his cold eyes narrowed in thought, ‘Tell me Lady De Winter, are my warlocks susceptible to the gift of the Gemini?’

  Mistral’s eyes slid from Mage Grapple’s while she recalled the impromptu warlock ballet, ‘Er, yes,’ she confirmed reluctantly. ‘Your army could potentially be turned against you with the help of their skills.’

  ‘And do their skills work on you?’ He asked softly.

  ‘I hear them, but I can choose to ignore them.’

  ‘Good.’

  They danced in silence again for a few moments. Mistral was aware of the curious glances they were drawing from the other couples on the floor and smiled, hearing their thoughts when they whirled past her.

  ‘Do my guests amuse you?’ Mage Grapple asked quietly.

  ‘Oh, sorry –’

  ‘An apology is unnecessary; however, I would like to know what entertaining thoughts are going through the minds of the people watching us.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mistral murmured and focussed obediently on the couple nearest to them. ‘The Mage in dark green robes –’

  ‘The Head of the Swiss delegation.’

  ‘Oh right, well he wonders if I am your wife and why you haven’t introduced us – ’

  ‘De Winter will be thrilled by that particular misunderstanding.’

  ‘Best not to tell him.’ Mistral said quickly. ‘Er, his partner wants to know where you have your robes made because she thinks they would suit her husband.’

  Mage Grapple sighed and closed his eyes briefly, ‘Such benign drivel! I suppose that I should be relieved; however I am filled with sympathy for you having to listen to it all evening.’

  ‘I think this evening is hardly going to be benign.’ Mistral replied.

  ‘No,’ agreed Mage Grapple quietly, stepping away from her as the orchestra finished playing. ‘Now, to business. Irrespective of the bitter complaint Malachi Nox has made at your presence here tonight, I wish you to attend the meeting on the understanding that you cannot be present for the vote, despite the fact that we both know you will hear every word whether you are in the room or not. But I expect to be informed of what you have Seen before the vote is cast, and I also wish to assure you, Lady De Winter, that I do not support Malachi Nox in his efforts to be the next Divinus. Finally, but only with your consent, I shall cast a protective spell over you and the Gemini for the course of the meeting, to cover all eventualities.’

  Mistral hesitated, then nodded.

  He lifted her hand and kissed it briefly, ‘Thank you, Lady De Winter. I hope that you enjoy the rest of your evening.’

  ‘Tell me everything sister!’

  Mistral turned sharply to meet the vivid green eyes of Phantasm, taking hold of her for the next dance, ‘Oh no! I can’t dance any more brother! My back is killing me!’ She complained.

  Phantasm tilted his head to listen to the orchestra, ‘Oh, back to Dante’s Elementary Steps Stage One again!’ He smiled and whirled her around in a circle.

  ‘Oh, don’t do that,’ she groaned, closing her eyes. ‘I think I’m going to be sick –’

  ‘Show some mettle! One dance is all I ask! That’s not too much considering everything I’ve put up with from you over the last three years is it?’ Phantasm demanded, his beautiful face crumpling into a hurt expression.

  ‘Don’t do that either!’ She exclaimed. ‘I can hear people around me thinking I’m being horrible to you!’

  ‘You are!’

  Mistral heaved a weary sigh, ‘What do you want to know.’

  ‘What were you saying to Mage Grapple and what was he saying to you?’ He breathed in her ear, whirling her across the floor a little too quickly for her liking.

  ‘I told him about Malachi’s sudden generosity with his money, and how both he and the Rochfortes plan to use us and the Ri to gain control of the Council, oh – maybe I should’ve asked you first before I agreed, but I felt a bit under pressure – he’s going to cast a protective spell on us … and he also told me that he won’t back Malachi in his bid to become the next Divinus.’

  Phantasm exhaled softly, ‘Good, but not enough. He can still be outvoted. It all rests on us now.’

  ‘Oh, and he also said that he wanted us in the meeting, but not the vote.’

  ‘Perfect!’ Phantasm smiled so dazzlingly that a woman dancing nearby tripped over.

  Mistral bent her head closer to hide her laughter, letting him guide her through the final steps of the dance without speaking until he suddenly murmured in her ear.

  ‘I don’t want to worry you, but I think from the way he’s been undressing you with his eyes for the last few minutes that Christophe Rochforte is going to ask for the next dance.’

  ‘What?’ Mistral’s head snapped up to stare furiously into his green eyes. ‘Oh no! He is!’ she let out a swear word that drew a few shocked looks from the couples around her. ‘Well he knows where he can stick that!’

  ‘You cannot refuse him Mistral! It would terribly impolite, and only give him an excuse to cause a scene ... which is what I suspect he intends to do.’

  Mistral’s gaze drifted then snapped sharply back into focus, ‘You’re right brother! He’s going to try and antagonise Fabian! Mage Grapple has refused Malachi’s request to have us excluded from the meeting, so Christophe’s going to try by – oh, it’s so revolting I can’t even bring myself to say it! Damn it Phantasm, you have to stop Fabian from reacting!’

  ‘What about you?’

  Mistral’s face hardened, ‘I can deal with a lecherous slug like him. Just promise me you won’t let Fabian react to what’s he going to try and do!’

  ‘Wait a minute! I don’t like the sound of this –’

  ‘Lady De Winter. May I formally request the pleasure of the next dance?’ The heavily accented voice of Christophe Rochforte cut across their whispered conversation.

  Mistral turned to smile politely at him, ‘Ah, Christophe,’ she sighed. ‘Whilst I would rather poke my own eyes out with a wooden spoon, I will reluctantly agree to let you stand on my feet while you attempt to replicate what you assume to be a dance, because I have to you see. It is, unfortunately, my destiny.’ Leaving Christophe frowning while he tried to translate what she’d said, Mistral whispered quickly to Phantasm. ‘Remember to stop Fabian!’

  ‘Then ... that is a yes?’ Christophe finally asked.

  ‘Mais oui.’ Mistral smiled sweetly to hide the flicker of disgust that crossed her face when he placed a hand against the small of her back.

  ‘May I say how very beautiful you look tonight.’ Christophe whispered in her ear.

  ‘You can say it, just don’t think it or I really will be worried.’ Mistral growled back in French.

  Christophe laughed huskily and reverted to his native tongue, ‘You have so much spirit! I wonder, just what would it take to tame you?’

  ‘More than you could ever imagine.’

  ‘Oh, I think not.’ Christophe smiled unpleasantly and slipped his hand from her back to pass briefly over her swollen belly.

  Keeping her face wooden, Mistral fought to control her temper and hoped that Phantasm was managing to do the same with Fabian, ‘I swear that you will never come anywhere near my son!’ She hissed through clenched teeth. ‘And you can make as many corrupt deals as you like with that snake Malachi, but the Ri will never be his to command – and neither will I!’

  ‘I think you will.’ Christophe smiled with infuriating arrogance. ‘We Rochfortes have waited a long time for our chance to arise. We have patience. Yes, Malachi may fail tonight,’ he shrugged, ‘but we will endure and bide our time. You will have more children, more opportunities for us–’

  ‘My children will never be your pawns, and neither will I!’ Mistral flared, finally losing her temper.

  She saw it in his mind a split-second before he moved, but was prevented from having the satisfa
ction of driving her fist into his face by a familiar icy voice.

  ‘I believe this next dance is mine.’

  Mistral found herself plucked out of Christophe’s grasp and whirled away with graceful expertise. At first she was too surprised by the identity of her unexpected saviour to do anything other than allow him to move her across the floor in time to the music.

  ‘I could’ve handled that!’ Mistral whispered furiously once she’d recovered.

  ‘Really?’ Leo asked in a cold murmur. ‘Or would you simply have hit him?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Mistral lied.

  Leo raised an eyebrow but said nothing and continued to move to the waltz in Dante’s Elementary Steps Stage One.

  ‘Where’s Fabian?’ Mistral asked, feeling distinctly uncomfortable at being in such close proximity with Leo. ‘I can hear his thoughts, but they don’t make sense.’

  ‘Being held at bay by the Gemini.’

  Mistral cast a glance over to where the twins and Fabian were sitting while she and Leo revolved slowly around the floor. Fabian was motionless in his seat, his face a frozen mask. Mistral immediately understood why his thoughts weren’t making sense; the twins were using their gift to prevent him from creating the scene Christophe had tried to orchestrate.

  ‘Er, I think I’d better get back to him now –’

  ‘When the dance is over!’ Leo hissed in a glacial whisper.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because Mistral, the whole purpose of my intervention was to avoid a scene between you and Christophe, and I will not create one now by walking from the floor in the middle of a dance!’

  ‘Fine!’ Mistral snapped ungratefully. ‘But if I don’t get to sit down soon your nephew is going to be born on this damned dance floor!’

  Leo looked at her sharply and Mistral instantly realised her mistake.

  ‘Oh come on, I am a Seer,’ she muttered, avoiding the piercing look he was giving her.

  ‘Your inability to lie is your one saving grace Mistral; however I was actually more concerned about your announcement that you had gone into labour!’

  ‘Oh, right! No, I haven’t … I don’t think … but I am being kicked to death, my back hurts and my feet feel like Cirrus has been standing on them for an hour!’

  Leo’s eyes flicked away to stare coldly across the dance floor, ‘It’s only a dance Mistral, hardly an onerous undertaking even for someone in your condition. Just get on with it.’

  Mistral bit back the sarcastic retort that sprang to her lips and concentrated instead on trying to stand on Leo’s toes while they danced. To her irritation he proved adept at avoiding her attempts and they continued to move with perfect accord around the floor. It was with undisguised relief that Mistral stepped out of his hold the moment the music stopped, and was already walking from the floor before the polite applause had finished. She had barely taken one step from the edge of the dance floor when Fabian was there, his expression tightly controlled. His dark gazed flickered briefly over her face then he placed a protective arm around her and guided her wordlessly across the room back to their seats. He pulled out a chair for her before taking one next to her, leaning forward to take both her hands while he stared into her eyes with a burning intensity.

  ‘Tell me what he said to you,’ he demanded in hard voice.

  ‘Oh, just the usual threats.’ Mistral lifted her shoulders in a light-hearted shrug, determined not to allow Christophe the satisfaction of riling Fabian. ‘He wants to rule the Isle with me as his pet Seer … nothing we haven’t heard before.’

  Fabian’s face darkened. ‘Did he –’

  ‘No, Fabian. He didn’t kiss me.’ Mistral cut in firmly. ‘But unfortunately Leo interfered before I could punch him in the face for even thinking it!’

  Mistral heard Phantom stifle a snort of laughter but Fabian continued to stare forcefully at her. He abruptly switched his gaze to stare down the table at Christophe Rochforte. ‘My patience has worn thin with their repeated attempts at debasement! This ends tonight!’

  ‘Then you accept the use of our gift to slew the vote?’ Phantasm murmured softly.

  ‘I will have the satisfaction of his defeat by whatever means necessary!’

  A heavy brass gong sounded, giving the signal for the start of the meeting and ending their conversation. Mistral looked across the candlelit banqueting hall to meet the inscrutable grey stare of Mage Grapple. She abruptly experienced an unpleasant sensation, like cold water being trickled down her back.

  ‘Did you feel that?’ Phantom whispered with a shudder.

  Mistral nodded, ‘Mage Grapple’s cast a protective spell on us.’

  Fabian’s black gaze snapped up to stare at Mage Grapple. He nodded coolly at them then swept from the room flanked by two faceless warlocks.

  Trinity

  Fabian led her from the banqueting hall in rigid silence. She had no need of Sight to share in the tension radiating from him. Leo strode alongside them, his face composed into his usual glacial expression, his thoughts similarly cold. By direct contrast the twins appeared quite relaxed and chatted lightly between themselves. Laughing together, they exited the door ahead of Fabian and Mistral and immediately headed towards another ubiquitous black door set in the back wall of the atrium. Mistral knew their nonchalance was just an act to fool the stream of Council officials behind them; she could hear their thoughts objectively assessing each Councillor they’d seen rise to their feet to attend the meeting, deliberating their susceptibility to Malachi’s bribery. Mistral was suddenly determined to conduct herself with the same cool professionalism. She would not embarrass Fabian, or let her brothers down by losing her temper tonight. She would carry out the role expected of her with calm detachment and not allow anything any distractions.

  The door to the Council chambers was guarded by two cowled warlocks. An officious looking Mage bobbed impatiently between them. He opened the door as the twins approached but stood pointedly in the way, looking at them expectantly.

  ‘Weapons,’ he demanded brusquely when the twins made to walk straight past him.

  Phantom looked at him in surprise, ‘I’m sorry, was I expected to bring some?’

  ‘Oh dear brother.’ Phantasm murmured. ‘It appears we have committed a dreadful faux pas!’

  The expression on the Mage’s face grew stony while the twins sighed and gazed sorrowfully at each other.

  ‘You know, when I was dressing for this evening I had the strangest feeling that something was missing!’

  ‘Hmm, let me see, formal shirt … evening trousers … sword! How could I have forgotten the essential item for every official Council function?’

  ‘How terribly remiss of you brother!’

  ‘Shocking!’

  The queue behind the twins had fallen silent to listen in on their exchange, flustering the Mage on duty.

  ‘Just hand in your weapons!’

  ‘So sorry to disappoint, but I am unarmed.’ Phantom smiled and spread his arms out. ‘Care to search me?’

  A Councillor waiting in the queue chortled, ‘Go on Simmons! Give him a pat down! You never know, you might enjoy it!’

  Simmons flushed an angry red, ‘I do not wish to search you!’

  ‘Really?’ Phantom asked, looking disappointed.

  ‘Just get in there!’ Simmons snapped, his eyes popping with anger.

  Phantom sighed and shook his head as he strolled past the furious Mage, ‘I must apologise for this gross oversight. I shall endeavour to ensure that I attend all future Council functions with my full complement of weaponry.’

  ‘You know brother, I think a knife-belt would be quite a fetching addition.’

  ‘No, you are mistaken there brother. The longbow is this season’s must have accessory.’

  When Fabian approached the door with Mistral on his arm, something in his expression forbade Simmons from even considering asking the same question of him. Leo favoured Simmons with a frosty glare and also passed through without being c
hallenged.

  ‘I assume that you have taken your usual precautions?’ Mistral whispered once they’d passed into the chamber.

  Fabian smiled grimly, ‘Of course.’

  Mistral found herself musing bitterly that Mage Grapple expected them, the Craftless lower class, to give up their only means of defense when every Mage blithely entered the room armed with their own personal weapon: the Craft. Taking her seat between Fabian and the twins, she looked around the white marble chamber she’d been in only once before. The first thing that struck her was how bright it was, not the soft flickering light of torches or candles, but the honest, glaring brightness of a midday sun. She looked up at the glass cupola and saw not the black of a night sky, but a glowing orb of light suspended in the centre, like a miniature sun.

  ‘What’s that?’ she whispered to Fabian, not taking her eyes off the surreal object.

  Fabian didn’t even look up, ‘Eximius,’ he muttered.

  ‘Oh!’ Mistral exclaimed quietly. Now that Fabian drew her attention to the fact that it was a spell, she instantly recognised the tell-tale scent of ozone lingering in the air. Mage Grapple wanted the same unforgiving midday light to fill his chamber even though it was night. She was suddenly glad that she and the twins had agreed not to use the Ri’s code to communicate; it would painfully obvious in the glare of the fake sun.

  Talking and laughing loudly, the Council officials filed in to take their allotted seats. Mistral watched through narrowed eyes when Christophe and Malachi entered and strode arrogantly down to the lower level to assume the seats allocated for guests.

  Act like they own the place already, don’t they?

  Mistral felt her lip curl disdainfully in agreement with Phantom’s unspoken thought. She quickly remembered her earlier promise not to allow her temper to fray and quickly composed her features into what she hoped was an expression of indifference.

  Many of the Councillors were blinking uncomfortably beneath the harsh glare of Mage Grapple’s personal sun, the abrupt brightness an unwelcome assault on their wine-dulled senses. Mistral glanced quickly at Phantom to see if his earlier champagne indulgence was having a similar effect but he was his usual collected self, gazing calmly across the chamber and nodding politely to some of the Councillors.