by Katie Cross
Deciding that I’d already pressed my luck by telling her what her husband wouldn’t, I decided I might as well push the boundary a bit further.
“May I ask you something now?”
“Of course. Anything.”
I licked my lips, then launched into the question before I lost my nerve. “Would Diego join sides with us in a war, or would he want to protect only the Eastern Network?”
Niko’s insistence on the Eastern Network’s stability, the display of Guardians around the castle ever since my arrival, the lavish breakfast that testified of wealth all led to two conclusions: Diego was making himself appear stronger than he was, or the East was truly ready to care for themselves and only themselves.
“I can’t predict what my husband will do,” she said carefully, “but I don’t feel that he would care for any interests outside of our own.”
“You think he’ll focus on just protecting your borders.”
She nodded. “Yes. Diego is a wonderful ruler, but he’s very, very stubborn.”
The news sank in my chest like a weighted stone, but I smiled, not wanting her to see how disheartened I felt. The Central Network would have to fight on her own.
“Thank you, High Priestess. I appreciate your candor.”
“And I appreciate yours,” she said with an affectionate squeeze of my hand. “I think the two of us shall be good friends, don’t you?”
I grinned and held my cooled chocolate drink in a toast to her. “Yes. Very good friends.”
Battle of Wills
“Let’s begin,” Diego declared thirty minutes later. “Although I love seeing you again, my old friend Marten, it’s good to get business over with, eh?”
We congregated at the broad table in the Sword Room, sunlight slanting through the open windows. Niko sat across from me and Merrick stood not far behind, arms folded in front of him.
“Isobel is wonderful,” Marten had said once Ariana escorted me back to his chambers. “I’ve always been impressed with her social manners and etiquette. Yes, I’m glad you were able to meet her. She has more patience than any witch I’ve ever met, having dealt with such a stubborn husband for so many years.”
I had wanted to point out that Marten had secretly loved Mildred all his life, so if anyone had experience with stubborn partners, it was he. A butler walked up to my side, offering a plate of refreshments, but I waved him away with a smile, still feeling full from the hot chocolate and cookies.
“I’ll get right to the point,” Marten said, sitting on the edge of his seat but still appearing casual and at ease. “The Southern and Western Networks are concerning us, and Derek wants to know what you’ll do if they break the Mansfeld Pact.”
There was no active correspondence between the leaders of the Networks, although the Mansfeld Pact permitted the High Priest, High Priestess, or Ambassador to converse as needed. Most news from other Networks came from their spies or our Protectors infiltrating the castles or listening at the borders. On the rare occasion that a Protector or a spy was caught, his own Network denounced him as a rogue and forced him to fend for himself at the hands of the offended Network. Or, in some cases, the Networks worked out a deal to swap the captured. The Mansfeld Pact had been created to stop war and corruption, but I wasn’t sure it had really done much.
Diego ran his tongue over his teeth, making his lip puff out as if a mole lay under his skin.
“I shall be honest with you. I think the Central Network is scared. I think there is no war.” Diego leaned forward. “You have a new High Priest, a new High Priestess. You were threatened by one of your own last year.”
Marten smiled. “Do you remember Derek? He escorted me here years ago.”
Diego’s furry caterpillar eyebrows narrowed. “Yes.”
“So you no doubt remember that he’s not afraid of anything.”
Take that! I thought, but schooled my expression into neutral indifference, grateful for Marten’s deeper understanding of the political game. While I wanted to roll my eyes, Marten kept his cool. Both Diego and Niko straightened their backs.
“You’re imagining problems that aren’t real,” Diego said. “The South protects themselves. The West does nothing. Derek may not be afraid, but he is overreacting.”
“May I be frank about one thing?” Marten asked. Diego nodded once, sharp and punctuated. “As you know, one of our own witches recently murdered our High Priestess. Mabel lost and Derek won, of course, but our greatest concern was the army of Clavas she brought.”
“Clavas?” Diego echoed. “Surely you imagined it.”
“One doesn’t imagine Clavas,” I said before I could stop myself. Their screeches, their wraithlike bodies, the hot black blood that spilled from their barely living corpses still haunted my mind.
“No Clava has been seen since the Mortal Wars,” Marten continued. “We wouldn’t be so worried about the Western and Southern Networks if we hadn’t seen what Mabel was capable of.”
“She’s in your dungeons,” Diego said. “What can she do?”
“She doesn’t work alone.”
Diego rolled his eyes. “You’ve had her locked up for the last eight months and nothing has happened! You are jumping to conclusions, my friend. The Eastern Network would not join your fight, even if it came to that, which it won’t.”
Marten stared at Diego for several long moments, seeming at a complete loss. I didn’t blame him. What could be said? Diego was choosing to remain blind, just as we had expected.
“I see,” Marten finally said. “Well, I also came to warn you. Mabel and her mother, a witch named Angelina, are not forces we are ignoring, and neither should you. If there are any signs of dark magic in your Network or along your borders, or rebellions among your witches, please do not dismiss the possibility that someone from your Network could be involved.”
Diego’s eyes flickered. “When I have plausible reasons to believe that Antebellum is in true danger, we may talk again,” he said, drawing in a deep breath. “Until that time, I shall react in the way that will best serve my own Network.”
Marten nodded and reached his arm across the table to grip Diego’s forearm with a forced grin of congeniality. “I would expect nothing less. Thank you for your hospitality, Diego.”
All of us rose. Diego nodded, his eyes slipping to mine. A definite note of suspicion lingered in the glance. I couldn’t wait to leave. Everything had begun to feel entirely too close and stuffy.
“Ariana will show you out so you may transport home. Be safe,” Niko said at the door. I met his drawn eyes, wondering about the odd look in their depths, and nodded as I passed. Merrick fell into line behind us without a word.
The smell of the ocean brushed against my cheek with cool draughts of air as Ariana led us down the hall, the breeze ruffling my hair when we stepped onto the balcony. “Your belongings have been transported back to the Central Network already, Miss Bianca,” she said.
“Thank you, Ariana.”
“Merrick, you transport last,” Marten ordered. “I’ll go first. Bianca, meet me in my office after lunch. We have an appointment with your father this afternoon.”
Marten disappeared. Feeling a pair of eyes on me, I spun around and glanced down. Isobel waved from her sprawling balcony. I smiled but didn’t dare wave back. With a sigh, I closed my eyes and whispered the transportation spell, grateful to leave the salty sea air behind.
I’d Give My Life
I transported back to my bedroom from the Eastern Network, changed my clothes and stared out at Letum Wood for a few minutes. After the daunting expanse of the ocean, I longed to run beneath the icy trails of the forest, held by branch and root in a safe little cocoon.
“Later,” I promised myself, glancing at the clock. 12:15. The meeting with Diego hadn’t taken very long. Camille and Leda would be meeting up in the dining room for lunch soon. My bedroom door stood ajar, admitting two deep voices from the main part of the apartment. I froze.
“If Dane and Mik
hail attack the Central Network and we can’t hold them off, I’m worried the only way to stop them will be for me to get rid of Dane myself,” Papa said. “The West Guards are strong, but they’re also leader-centric. The chaos of losing Dane would buy us time to gain the upper hand.”
“Does Zane agree?” The deep, rolling voice of Tiberius, Head of the Guardians, swept through my room. He was a massive, stocky man, with arms the size of tree trunks and a beard that could have used a trim ten years earlier. He was the perfect antithesis to quiet Zane, the Head of Protectors, who had taken over the Brotherhood of Protectors when Papa became High Priest.
“Zane agrees that getting rid of Dane is a good option,” Papa replied, “but he doesn’t like it. He knows he couldn’t defeat Dane on his own.”
“Can you?” Tiberius asked.
“I hope so.”
“Dane is a Watcher, Derek. He may not have sight as powerful as Isadora’s, but he sees many things. You can’t sneak up on a Watcher.”
The blood in my veins turned to ice. Papa try to kill Dane, the High Priest of the Western Network? A suicide mission, certainly. Even more stunning was the revelation that Dane was a Watcher, a witch with exceptional skills in deducing future events and sensing personality traits. Our most powerful Watcher was Isadora, an old woman that lived in Letum Wood and loved tea. Knowing Dane also carried that gift sickened me.
“I’ve been discussing the war with Isadora for weeks,” Papa said. “We’re working out a plan for if things go the way she thinks they could. It’s all preliminary now, as no glimpse into the future is certain. I may not have to do anything as drastic as going after Dane on my own, but I wanted you to know that I’ve thought of it. It may come down to desperate measures, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you in person. I value our friendship, Tiberius. More than you know.”
The ringing crack of Tiberius slapping my father’s shoulder came next.
“If anything ever happened to you, or if you weren’t here to protect Bianca, you know I’d give my life for her, don’t you?” Tiberius asked in a gruff tone. “So would any of the Protectors or Captains of the Guard.”
A long pause stretched in the room. “I thank you for that,” Papa said. “I shall not fear for my daughter should the worst happen.”
Tiberius snorted. “Yes you will.”
Papa laughed. “Well, if you’re in charge of her then yes, I would. I’d fear for everyone at that point. But thank you, my friend. While I worry about many things, it’s Bianca I fear for the most. She means everything to me.”
“We’re all family, Derek. You lost Marie, and we lost part of you. All of us mourn. Bianca’s a rotten child, but at least she can handle a sword better than most of my Guardians.”
My heart squeezed into a tight fist, making it difficult to breathe. The idea of Papa being fallible, like the rest of us, haunted me daily. While he was powerful, perhaps one of the most powerful witches in the world, he wasn’t impenetrable. It scared me more than anything.
I thought of telling Papa about Angelina’s voice in my nightmare but decided against it. It had only been one dream, and he clearly had too much on his mind already.
And now so did I.
“Merry meet, girls!” Camille chirped from behind my left shoulder the next day. The crowded dining hall moved around us in the organized chaos of crashing plates, talking witches, and crackling fire. “Look who came to lunch with me! Miss Scarlett set me up with a new tutor because I’m failing transformation.”
Leda, who sat across from me, stared past my shoulders with narrowed eyes. Her suddenly pale face—which now resembled driven snow instead of a pasty sheet of paper—gave her surprise away. Michelle stopped eating, fork halfway to her mouth, eyes wide.
“Merry meet,” drawled a languid voice. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see all of you here at Chatham Castle since Bianca is the High Priest’s daughter after all.”
My heart did a double whomp and landed right in my throat.
Priscilla.
I set down my fork, stood up, and whirled around with a beaming smile and my metaphorical hackles raised.
“Merry meet, Priscilla. It’s … a real surprise to see you again.”
Standing like a blemish-free goddess was our old school mate, the infamous and impossibly talented Priscilla. Like Michelle, she’d been a third-year student when I was a first-year. The Competition to be Miss Mabel’s pupil had come down to me and the fiery, graceful redhead in front of me. In a test of weaknesses, Priscilla had given into vanity, and I had won the Competition. If the guarded intensity of her eyes meant anything, Priscilla hadn’t forgiven me for living yet.
Priscilla smiled with a particular shade of condescension known only to those who know they’re beautiful. She wore an elegant, simple gown of deep green, which highlighted the flecks in her wide eyes. Her lashes, so long and full they nearly touched her eyebrows, batted innocently.
“It’s always good to see you, Bianca,” she said with casual sweetness.
Michelle’s face had gone bright red. She ducked down, pretending to eat. Leda looked away, acting indifferent and aloof, although the back of her neck had flared crimson.
“Why are you at Chatham Castle, Priscilla?” I asked, keeping my smile pasted on with determined will. Priscilla had run most of the social circles at Miss Mabel’s School for Girls, instilling fear and respect into those frightened by her. Which, in retrospect, was everyone except me. But she would have no power to do so here.
“I’m surprised you haven’t heard,” she cooed, a pink tinge coloring her cheeks. “The news has been spreading everywhere. Miss Scarlett hired me as her Assistant.”
Traitorous Miss Scarlett!
“Congratulations.”
“I’m teaching a few classes on transformation and potions every morning to the children of castle workers as a personal favor to Miss Scarlett,” she said with a smile. “It’s a program Mildred instituted during her reign.”
It happened before her reign, actually, I wanted to say, but smiled instead. “Lovely.”
“Yes, and during the rest of the day I’ll be Miss Scarlett’s Assistant,” she continued quickly, no doubt worried I’d think less of her for working as a lowly teacher. “She has such a high position and such a busy job, I’m sure I’ll be swamped with loads of things to do all the time.”
“One could only hope,” I said between the clenched teeth of my smile.
“Merry meet, Leda,” Priscilla murmured, inclining her head. Her hair moved like warm firelight. “How are the kitchens, Michelle?”
“Fine,” she whispered, eyes averted.
“I hear you’re working on your third-year marks early, Leda,” Priscilla said with a cordial tone that I didn’t trust. “How are they going?”
Leda had cracked open a book and purposefully covered her face with it. She didn’t respond. A hint of uncertainty whipped through Priscilla’s eyes before disappearing into her cool hauteur.
“Leda’s quite busy studying,” Camille said with an awkward smile while she elbowed Leda sharply in the ribs. “All the time. Not that that’s surprising; she always did love to study. She’s finished two marks already and is working on her third.”
“Congratulations. That means you’ll graduate early. Which marks did you choose?”
An awkward pause filled the air while we waited for Leda to respond, but she continued to ignore us. Michelle looked between Camille, Priscilla, and I in confusion.
“Her first was Advanced Political History,” I said, clearing my throat. Leda turned a page. “She just passed Public Speaking and is now working on the Esbat mark.”
“Er, have a seat, Priscilla,” Camille mumbled, setting her tray next to Leda. “Might as well eat before our food gets cold. Will that fill you up? You hardly have anything on there.”
“It will be fine. I … I think I’d rather sit down there,” Priscilla said, motioning to the empty end of the table. “Merry part, girls.”
; She sashayed away, settling her half-filled plate of food in front of her with the stiff, regal movements of a High Priestess. Camille glared at me and then at Leda, who had set her book aside once Priscilla departed.
“Way to go,” Camille snapped. “You scared her off.”
“She deserves to sit alone for once in her life,” Leda said with a low growl. “She was horrible to me at school, and you know it. She started a rumor that I like girls and not boys.” The back of Leda’s neck brightened further. “And she transformed the sugar into salt when I poured it on my porridge one morning.”
“She won’t be alone for very long,” Michelle whispered, motioning to a table across from us with a nod. “Those Guardians have had their eye on her ever since she walked up.”
Camille wouldn’t be cowed, though she did hesitate. “I know Priscilla isn’t perfect, but this is her first day here. It’s awful to be new and friendless.”
“It’s also awful to be awful,” Leda retorted. “She’s horrid and you know it!”
Camille chewed her bottom lip in indecision. “Maybe she’s changed,” she said weakly.
“Are you crazy?” Leda hissed. “She called you mushroom head when your hair was frizzy.”
Michelle nodded. “I went to school with her for three years, Camille. She wasn’t kind, not even as a first-year.”
“She wasn’t kind tonight,” Leda said. “You heard her tone.”
“Yes, but she was no doubt hesitant to talk to all four of us without any friends on her side. Anyway, just because she’s a bit stuffy doesn’t mean that I have to be like her,” she concluded. “I’m at least going to sit with her. If she’s kind to me then great, I’ll be her friend. If not … well, at least I tried.”
She picked up her plate and moved away, looking less certain with every step. Priscilla wore a guarded look of question when Camille sat down across from her but, seeing Camille’s kind smile, shrugged with an expression that looked like relief. Camille fell into a happy jabber, and I turned back to my food.