BOOK 12: CHAPTER 22: LOYALTIES

22 – Loyalties

Victor gently placed an arm over Arona’s shoulders, careful to avoid rumpling the high collar of her diamond-studded, white-fur-lined robes. She looked like some kind of fairy princess, and Victor knew it was for effect; she was trying to portray the polar opposite of her old self—the one who’d served the man responsible for her summons. She looked up at him, blue gemstone eyes bright, and tried to smile, though he could see it was forced.

“I appreciate the sentiment, but you can’t coddle me while I stand before them.”

“I won’t need to. You’ve got this. Arona, you’ve stood against several steel-seeker vamps at once. Just stand strong and imagine all those clowns are naked.”

Arona giggled, glancing around nervously, but the gargantuan hall in which they stood had sound-dampening enchantments on the many soaring pillars and arches that supported the domed ceiling. They were necessary; more than a thousand people were gathered in the hall, waiting for the Sojourn City Council to open its public assembly. “Public” was a bit of a misnomer; only wealthy and influential people would be admitted, but still, it was a much grander affair than the other times Victor had been called before council members.

It wasn’t all for Arona’s summons; she was just a single line-item on a lengthy docket, but Victor knew the date of the public assembly had been set because of his note to Dar. Vesavo was eager to get his hands on Arona, and he was aligned closely with the most influential Sojourn Consuls.

“Anyway,” Victor said, giving her shoulders another gently squeeze. “Just remember the plan. All you have to do is set ’em up for me.”

She licked her lips, nodding as she scanned the hall, no doubt looking to see if her old master or one of his lackeys was present. “You’re sure about this?”

“For the hundredth time, I’m sure.” Victor chuckled, then let her go, also scanning the clusters of people who spoke and laughed but whom he could barely hear, thanks to the hall’s enchantments. Dar wasn’t there—nor were any of the Assembly Members. The Assembly was made up of former and prospective consuls, and they’d be seated in a gallery separated from the riff-raff—Victor and Arona included.

“Was Cora angry?”

“Why? Because I left her at the lake house, where she can swim and relax?” Victor chuckled. “Not at all. Anyway, I promised Efanie I wouldn’t bring her into danger and, well, things might not go exactly as planned.”

Arona nodded, her frown returning. They both watched the crowds for a minute, and then she nudged his elbow to get his attention. “When do you think they’ll open the doors?”

“Soon, I think,” Victor replied, his eyes drifting toward the enormous silver-embossed, glossy black doors. “Place is getting crowded, and I don’t think many of these people are used to having to wait for anything.”

Arona nodded. “True, but the consuls enjoy a petty display of power.” She inhaled sharply and said, “Is that Tes?”

Victor jerked his gaze away from the doors, looking toward the grand entrance to the hall, and, sure enough, a golden-haired woman wearing an elegant, pale-blue dress was striding purposefully toward them. She wove between the clusters of other attendees, diminutive beside many of them, but Victor knew that was merely a choice. Like him, she could expand to a size that would dwarf everyone in that hall, though he supposed there were others in the crowd who could boast the same.

“Old Gods! You should see the smile on your face,” Arona said, snapping him back into reality, but only briefly; Victor couldn’t stop staring. Tes was beaming at him as she approached, her eyes bright, her cheeks flushed. “Did you know she was coming?”

Victor chuckled. “Not a clue!”

Tes stopped a few yards away and performed a delicate curtsy. “My Lord Victor, Lady Arona.”

“Come here,” Victor laughed, striding forward, stooping, and swooping her up into a hug. Her arms, warm and soft, encircled his neck, and she pressed her cheek to his as her laugh echoed his. “How’d you know?” he asked as he set her back on the ground. 𝘙ἁ₦οꞖЁṢ

“I have my sources. Just because we don’t share a Farscribe book doesn’t mean I don’t have my little eyes and ears in a city like Sojourn.”

Arona’s eyes flew wide, and she interjected. “You don’t write to each other?”

Victor waved a hand. “It’s a long story.”

“Let’s just say we’re indulging our romantic, if fanciful, notions,” Tes added, winking at the other woman. “I understand you’ve been summoned and are on the schedule for today’s public assembly. I had a feeling something momentous might be afoot, and I didn’t want to miss it this time.”

“Maybe.” Victor shrugged. “You’ll have to watch and see.”

“Hmm. I’ve taken a good look at the current list of consuls. I didn’t see many friendly names.”

Before Victor could play dumb again, Arona said, “Dar has allies—or so we hope.”

Tes arched a perfect pale-blonde eyebrow. “Oh? Are their loyalties not certain? Is there a risk of duplicity?”

Arona nodded. “Always.”

Tes narrowed her eyes, looking up at Victor. “And yet you proceed—blithely, I might add.”

“You here to rescue me from my own stupidity, then?” Victor couldn’t help the spark of rage that trickled into his pathways, coloring his tone.

Tes took a step back, looking him up and down. She rubbed her chin, frowning. “Your aura shielding has improved since we were last together. Something’s different, however. There’s a bit of a ragged edge where before you were all smooth lines.”

Arona folded her arms and moved to stand beside Tes, staring at Victor. “I agree; there’s something different. He’s promised me secret revelations, and yet this last week, I could hardly get him to snap out of his meditative trances to join me for a meal.”

With an effort of will, Victor cooled his rage, pulling the Energy back into his Core, and then he grinned. “Much

is different, you two brats!”

As if he’d caused it, a great gong sounded, and he saw the massive doors begin to swing wide. A herald he couldn’t see, someone standing just beyond the doors, called out, “The Assembly is seated; guests and spectators may now enter!”

“Um, Tes, we had to get tickets—” he started to say, but then she held up a sparkling silver slip of paper, interrupting him.

“I had an agent acquire one.” As they waited for the people ahead of them to file into a long queue, she turned to Arona. “You look simply stunning, Arona. I love those robes.”

Arona blushed, looking demurely to the side. “Something I had made with a bit of the treasure we’ve acquired on Dark Ember. You’re lovely, as always, Tes.”

Victor stretched his neck until it popped, trying to release some of the irritation at the slow-moving line. Meanwhile, Arona and Tes continued to make small talk, though the topic was anything but small: the conquest of Dark Ember. He wanted to tell all those stuffy assholes he was suddenly busy, take Tes’s hand, and pull her from the hall. The thought made him snort a small laugh; he’d been working himself up to this meeting for years, and one glimpse of Tes and he was ready to set it aside.

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He glanced at her, and her eyes drifted away from Arona just long enough to lock onto his, sharing a quick, private moment. Stress evaporated from his spine and shoulders, and he felt his blood literally cool. He wished he knew why she affected him so, but she did, and he couldn’t deny it.

At the doorway to the Assembly Hall, soldiers—steel-seekers all—stood arrayed in squads of six on either side. Their captain, a man in a shining silvery breastplate and matching red-plumed helm, scanned each guest with glowing amber eyes. Victor wasn’t sure what he was looking for—perhaps just their tickets, or for all he knew, the man was hunting shapeshifters.

One thing Dar had told him was that he’d need to reduce his size to standard Fae-sized, which was basically human-sized; it was considered polite in Sojourn society, and none of the seats would accommodate anyone larger. Victor didn’t mind, though it made him wonder how they would accommodate people who couldn’t manage such magic. He figured that in a city like Sojourn, there were plenty of people who could do it for them—temporarily. Being small made hiding his strength a little easier, though anyone who judged strength by a person’s size would have to be more than a little obtuse. The two most powerful beings on the council, Lady Rexa and Lord Roil, were both human-sized.

The guard captain didn’t pause as he looked Victor over, and so he walked through into the Assembly Hall—another cavernous space. There were, as he’d earlier noted, tiered seats for more than a thousand in the first two-thirds of the space. Great marble pillars, just like in the hall outside, were evenly spaced throughout, supporting a high domed ceiling adorned with an intricate, utterly stunning display of art. It looked like a cloudy blue sky, and among those clouds, castles and towers flew on tiny islands populated by lifelike trees, beasts, birds, and people.

Victor could have stared at the ceiling for hours, but Arona nudged him and he continued walking, taking in the rest of the room. A raised platform stood between the “public” section of seats and the Assembly sections, which filled the rear sides of the oval chamber. Victor immediately scanned the roped-off seats until he saw Dar, his blazing white eyes moving slightly up and down as he nodded his way—things were in motion.

Nine thrones sat atop the raised dais, but they were empty. No doubt the consuls were waiting for everyone to be seated so that they could make their grand entry. Victor led the way down to the front section of seats, roped off for “guests,” and displayed his ticket to the liveried attendant standing there.

“Very good, sir, please proceed to the next empty seat in this row.” The man gestured, but Victor didn’t move, holding up one hand.

“A moment.” He turned to Tes. “Will you show the man your ticket, Lady Tes?”

Tes smiled and stepped forward, displaying her ticket, but the attendant, a long-faced fellow with faintly yellow scales covering most of his flesh, shook his head. “This is for general seating, milady. I’m afraid—”

“She’ll be sitting with us.” Victor thumped his chest, his fingertips drumming hollowly against his breastbone. He glared at the man, allowing just a narrow wedge of his aura to project the slightest amount, and the poor fellow blanched, his yellow scales fading to a pale cream color.

“Very well. I’m sure there will be plenty of room.” He stepped back, unlatching the rope, and Victor motioned for Arona and Tes to precede him.

Once they’d all taken their seats, Tes smiled at Victor, clasping his hand as she leaned into his shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that. I can be plenty persuasive.”

Victor squeezed her hand. “I know, but I wanted to.” He looked at her, but his eyes were drawn to Arona in the next seat; she sat with her hands clasped before her, her gaze unfocused as she clearly concentrated on maintaining her composure. The sight helped him to focus his thoughts, and he whispered to Tes, “We have a lot to talk about, but now isn’t the time.”

“Agreed,” Tes replied, gently extracting her hand from his.

It took another fifteen minutes for the crowd to finish filing in, and it turned out the attendant hadn’t been wrong; there were only a few other “guests” of the council in the three rows set aside for them, with many empty seats in between. Victor wondered if they’d let more audience members fill in the gaps, but they never did. It wasn’t long before he heard the thud of the massive doors closing.

A moment later, a door on the other side of the dais opened, and another herald stepped through. In a clarion voice, she cried out, “All rise for the Lords and Ladies of the Sojourn City Council!”

Everyone, including Victor, complied, and when the room was silent save for a few throats being cleared here and there, the herald called out, “Lord Consul Duvius Black!” A man Victor had only met once or twice stepped through. He was humanlike, though his silvery robes made it hard to say for sure. He moved to the far left-hand throne. All the while, the people in the audience applauded very demurely—just little patters of their fingertips in their palms.

“Lord Consul Yon!” A tall, imposing, black-feathered avian stepped through, and Victor recalled well having the man question him after the debacle in the Challenge Dungeon. He chuckled at the memory, glancing at Arona, and she nodded, clearly sharing the same thought. Yon moved to sit on the far right-hand throne.

“Lady Consul Kreshta Griss!” The stooped, hunchbacked figure in her dark brown robes carefully made her way up the steps using a twisted black cane. Watching her, Victor was reminded of the bomb she’d given him to carry into the Iron Prison. He sucked his teeth as a trickle of rage found its way into his pathways. She moved to sit beside Duvius Black.

“Lord Consul Venryn!” Victor had never spoken to Venryn, a fae-blooded man who looked like some kind of demigod in his perfect golden beauty. He strutted his way across the dais to sit beside Yon.

“Lord Consul Lo’ro the Grim!” Victor grinned as he saw Dar’s old friend, wearing his customary black robes, pale as death, with slicked-back black hair. His recent addition to the council was key to their plan. He moved to the left, sitting beside Kreshta.

The herald cried out, “Lord Consul Warin-dak!” Victor frowned and had to work hard to keep the rage from seeping out of his Core when he saw the Ridonne walk across the dais to sit next to Venryn. He was another recent addition to the council and one of the main reasons Victor and Dar had schemed together to make their plans.

“Lord Consul Vesavo Bonewhisper!” Victor heard Arona catch her breath, and he looked at her, watching how she stiffened as her old master mounted the dais. Chillingly, the ancient Death Caster, dressed in a fine black and silver suit, turned his dark eyes toward them as he walked, though his pale face betrayed no emotion. He sat next to Lo’ro, and the two masters of death magic clasped hands warmly. Victor hoped Lo’ro, who’d known Vesavo for centuries, was truly more loyal to Dar—their plan hinged on it.

When only two thrones stood empty, the herald paused for a moment before crying out, “Lady Consul Rexa!” This time, the applause was slightly more animated as the beautiful fae woman—a true fae, not a descendent—lithely mounted the steps. She walked with a shimmer of golden light, her silken green-and-yellow dress flowing about her as though she moved with a perpetual spring breeze. Her eyes were radiant, like emeralds limned by sunlight, as she looked around the great hall, curtseying elegantly before taking her seat.

“Lord Consul Roil!” The clapping died away at the herald’s cry, but from the chill in the air, Victor knew it wasn’t a sign of disrespect, but rather the opposite. Lord Roil, according to Dar, did not enjoy attention. He was a smallish man, robed in black silk, and where his face and hands might be, only smoke churned within his cowl and sleeves. He glided over the dais to his throne and sat without any aplomb.

Several heartbeats later, the herald cried, “You may all be seated!”

Victor, like everyone else, settled into his seat, and he watched as another woman entered, moving to stand on the dais before the row of consuls. She was tall, skeletally thin, and had skin the color of a lime. A single large horn rose from the center of her forehead, making her seem even taller. Her hands were hidden by the capacious sleeves of her flowing green robes as she addressed the members of the Assembly. “We have a full docket to get through, so I ask that the audience remain respectful and attentive as the Lords and Ladies of the Council debate the matters of the day.”

Victor yawned, leaning back in his seat. Dar had prepared him well for the nature of the proceedings; the council would publicly debate all manner of trivial matters, from building permits in the city to new policies, before they got around to the petitioners and summoned attendees. He did not doubt that they’d save Arona for last in a petty attempt to punish them for waiting so long to answer the summons.

While debate of the first topic of the day commenced—whether non-citizens should face harsher limitations on dungeon entries—Victor scanned each member of the council, silently reviewing their likely loyalties.

Duvius Black would be in their corner. He had no love for the Ridonne—something to do with Cam Lightly, the Fate Caster, and his disappearance. Victor didn’t have the whole story, but it seemed Duvius had hired investigators who had traced Cam’s last movements to one of the Ridonne ladies and, surprising Victor not at all, Warlord Thoargh.

He shifted his gaze to the tall fae-blooded man. Venryn was obedient to Lady Rexa, and, unless she’d been deceiving them for some multi-layered fae objective, she was on board with Dar and Victor’s plan. Kreshta Griss was a mystery, but Dar said she was ancient and cautious, and would side with Lord Roil. The avian, Yon, was also Roil’s puppet, and so were Vesavo and the pinche Ridonne, Warin-dak.

That left Lo’ro, who was Dar’s best friend. If he didn’t have some centuries-long scheme in the works, he would aid their plan. “Four to five,” Victor muttered. Four allies for Dar and Victor—some of whom were less than certain.

“Hmm?” Tes asked, tilting her head to regard him.

Victor smiled and shrugged. “Just thinking about how I need to turn the tables.”