NINETEEN #2
“Zarek has never felt like this before,” Bellus cut in.
“That is the point of the Claiming. None of us have.” He hesitated, as if choosing his words with care.
“Think of how attraction works… that faint chemical pull we all call desire. Now imagine it magnified a thousandfold. Fueled not by flesh, but by your personal power base. Your magick, that has always been controlled, suddenly starts controlling you becomes uncontrollable.”
“And Zarek must be in control of his power,” Gellar said quietly.
“Our captain knows this, as Zarek is the most disciplined man among us. His honor to the Accords is absolute.” He turned to Martar.
“You will speak to him, because we need this female here to know what she is. Tell Zarek it’s for her protection, because it won’t be long before Katarra learns who she is.
We can’t have her injured at the risk of what Zarek will do. ”
“But the Accords,” sputtered Condorr. “We all know it’s against the Accords to have a mortal brought into this realm.”
“Bellus.” Gellar waved his hand in circles. “What’s that clause? The wartime one.”
Bellus pushed up his glasses but closed his eyes as he recited text carved into his photographic memory. “The Contingency Clause. Noted for Wartime Variations. It permits the Sworn Exarchs to invoke leniency toward certain Accords, that must be justifiable and will require unanimous approval.”
“I’m pretty sure we’re all united in this one,” said Martar.
“Not by us,” Bellus said quietly, his gaze lifting to the high walls. “But by them. The Ancestors of the Sworn Exarchs. By those of a higher realm.”
Every eye moved to the walls that whispered, to the ghosts who’d pull books from the shelves of the Hidden Hall of Histories and flicked through the pages for answers.
This time, the fallen held a silence of a different kind. It was thicker and heavier, as if weighing what they were asking and why.
Condorr, for once, said nothing as they patiently waited for a decision.
Then it happened.
Above Gellar’s head, the stone ignited and flared from a small, flourished spark to become a single thread of gold that lit like a fuse, running in loops and swirls across the face of the wall.
Bellus took his glasses off.
Around the table, chairs scraped across the floor as they all rose to their feet. One by one, each man pressed a fist to his chest in salute to the fallen. For those who had answered first and were still waiting to rest.
And there they stood in salute, as they watched the gold thread burn as it moved, sizzling softly in the silence. The crisp scent was like lightning after a storm, leaving behind a scorched decision sealed in the stone, written by invisible hands to reveal:
The Ancestors of the Sworn Exarchs invoke the Wartime Variation to amend the Accords to allow the mortal, Angela Duboise, entry and protection within the realm of Paradox. Granted by unanimous approval of those who came before.
It glowed in luminous gold thread, then faded as Gellar exhaled heavily. “No one outside this room is to know she’s from the mortal realm. We don’t flaunt the amendment to the Accords. But if she is the new power…”
They all felt it pressing against the walls of the chamber. The whispers of the ancestors flared with hope that was alive and hungry for an ending to the war. It was the reason the dead had not yet released their hold on these stone walls or those whispered vigils kept across the centuries.
Martar nodded once. “I’ll go now. But I’m not sure how Zarek will take this Claiming.” Pushing up from the chair, he then paused, grimacing slightly. “You know he’s going to hate it.”
If it had been him, Martar would have leaned into it, charmed his way through the problem, then dealt with the consequences later.
But Zarek was different. He’d spent his entire life mastering control over his magick that wasn’t a preference; it was a necessity for survival.
He couldn’t look a person in the eye without sending them mad, or touch them without burning.
It’s why Zarek had never allowed himself the closeness of a woman, because fire did not forgive mistakes.
Martar’s body bore the many burn scars from accidents long forgiven, yet never forgotten. Even now, Zarek still instinctively stepped back from Martar, as though distance itself were penance for his power.
Only for Zarek’s own magick to push him toward someone else and demand a close connection with a woman from the mortal realm.
And that alone was against the Accords, making it impossible for both of them. They may have been granted a reprieve for bringing her to Paradox, but not for being with her—and that was just catastrophically cruel.
“Tell our captain that Bellus will research it,” Gellar said, with urgency as he nodded at their historian.
“Find out if there’s a way to temper it.
Or end it.” He then glanced at Martar heading for the door.
“And Martar, it might be best if Zarek doesn’t tell the female about the Claiming, in case she rejects him. But tell her we can protect her.”
Everyone understood. Even Condorr released an indistinct sound of unease as he raked his fingers through his blond hair to leave it a mess.
Which is what this was.
One big, potentially bloody, mess.
A rejected Claiming wouldn’t just wound Zarek, it would destabilize him, and that risk was too great to gamble with. The protection wasn’t just about this Angela Duboise, it was about protecting the realm from Zarek.
Martar would do anything and everything to protect his brother who had always protected him from day one.
“I’ll just have to give the man a few lessons on how to sweet-talk a woman.” Although Martar suspected stone walls might prove more responsive than their captain.
“Bellus. Assemble a team.” As Gellar stood, his palms slapped hard on the table. “Use every resource at your disposal. Find us a cure.”
With books piled in his arms, Bellus nodded as he headed for the Hidden Hall of Histories. “I’ll search everywhere, Commander.”
“Good,” Martar said. “Zarek will want an exit strategy.”
Gellar placed a steady hand on Martar’s shoulder.
“But watch him. You are his ice to that fire.” His gaze lifted, sweeping the chamber to the shifting air humming uneasily.
“And if this female is what the Seer—and Katarra—believe is the new power… then the war has found a fault line. So, let’s do this right.
Tread carefully, brothers, as this might become a volcano none of us will be able to control. ”