CHAPTER THREE
GODS AMONG MEN
The Honorate are revered as gods. As such, they must be perfect. Their rules of conduct are practically carved into the mountain. Any missteps—a whisper that they’re not the gods the Republic demands—is a breach of decorum tantamount to treason.
I watch our supposed gods from the rafters.
The chamber is only open to the Honorate and their sons, so I observe from the narrow space between the ceiling of the council chamber and the sloping roof of Widow’s Hall.
Luc and I discovered this place. We pulled up the wood in the center of the floor and replaced it with a thin layer of tshira.
Now, with a touch of my finger and a hint of magic, my floor (the Honorates’ ceiling) becomes translucent as frosted one-way glass.
I painted the walls deep green and the ceiling a midnight blue flecked with golden yellow stars. The floor is littered with glass jars fitted with tshira lids. Half of them are empty, ready to be filled, and the rest are already swirling with red smoke. Magic.
The chamber below my feet is a wide, echoey room with gray stone walls and a deep blue carpet.
Pillars of marble line the perimeter, and the dais at the front looms above the twenty wooden benches, one for each of the Honorate.
They’re seated and dressed for council in robes of emerald green wool, heavily embroidered with glittering gold thread.
Luc sits at the dais, decked in the Praeceptor’s formal golden robes, reciting the speech I wrote for him.
I wear Honorate robes of my own, spinning around the floor. It’s my favorite part of chamber: dancing on a sheet of ice, dressed in the trappings of power. Here, I can play pretend. That I’m not stewing in anxiety, that I’m untouchable, that my future doesn’t depend on this vote.
I don’t stop spinning until Luc reaches the final paragraph. The fear I’ve been pretending away creeps up my back, and my fingers pluck nervously at a loose thread dangling from my sleeve.
Two aikkari selectmen raise their arms. Trays of tshira rise and swoop, delivering parchment to the Honorate for them to mark “yes” or “no.”
My fingers pluck the thread faster, keeping pace with my heartbeat.
There are twenty rostered Honorate, but only nineteen who matter. For the past two years, Honorate Arliss Vale has been too sickly and bedridden to come to council, let alone vote. With his absence, all we need are ten votes for a majority.
The air is tense as selectmen retrieve the ballots and present them to Luc. I hold my breath as he sorts them into two piles.
A draft blows through my attic, cool enough to make me shiver, but I burn with trepidation, and my palms are sticky with sweat.
Luc clears his throat. “The votes have been counted. There are nine opposed . . .”
Relief is a splash of cool water. My racing heart slows. Luc will be Praeceptor again.
He keeps going. “. . . and ten in favor. With that—”
Thud.
Luc’s words lurch to a halt.
Everyone whips around to face the source of the disturbance— the chamber’s double doors slamming open.
That brief rush of relief abates into confusion. An unknown figure marches into my field of view. He strides confidently down the center aisle, as if he’s done it a thousand times before.
Except he hasn’t. I watch every single council meeting, and I’ve never seen him before.
I eye the selectmen, waiting for the guards to tackle the intruder and haul him from chamber.
No one moves.
Their inaction stings. More than it should. If I stepped foot in chamber—if I so much as lingered in the open doorway a beat too long—Luc’s guards would waste no time in shoving me aside and slamming the door in my face.
Doesn’t matter they’ve known me for years; they never miss a chance to remind me just how unwanted I am. Yet they let this stranger stroll in without question.
Luc is the first to speak. “Excuse me, but these are private proceedings. Open only to—”
“The Honorate and their sons,” the stranger interrupts smoothly. “I’m aware.”
The chamber rumbles with whispers. Whoever this interloper is, he just spoke over the Honored Praeceptor. A flagrant breach of decorum, and still, the selectmen do nothing.
The stranger reaches the front of the chamber and turns. Dismissively gives his back to the Praeceptor in a move that can’t be anything but intentional. The council is buzzing. Luc should call him out for this slight, but I’m not there to tell him what to do, so he says nothing.
My glare roves over the intruder. He’s young (around my age) and tall (even taller than Luc).
Dressed in a green wool sweater and thick pants made for snow.
Through his heavy layers, I see his build.
The way his clothes mold perfectly to his body.
He’s broad in the shoulders, muscular in the arms, and his skin is dark, rich, and smooth, like mahogany.
His black hair is a bit too long for my tastes, but the rest of his face more than makes up for it.
A jawline that could mine tshira. Cheekbones that appear carved from ice. His mouth is wide and lips are full, as though made for laughter, and his brows are arched with good humor.
My throat dries as I stare.
“My name is Kaidren Vale.” The intruder has a deep, husky voice filled with warmth, like being wrapped in a wool cloak. “I am the only son of Honorate Arliss Vale. And before we continue . . .” His lips curve up, into the tiniest of smirks. “I have a vote to cast.”
He must be lying. Arliss Vale never married and has no children. I tense, bracing for the soothing heat of a lie—
—except I’m ice cold.
Stars in hell, he’s telling the truth.
The debate chamber erupts. Honorate leap to their feet, shouting their disbelief and demanding he leave. Selectmen finally move to escort him out.
As for me, I do nothing. I can’t. My entire world is shifting, like I’m trying to balance on a sphere rolling downhill.
He’s telling the truth, he’s telling the truth, he’s telling the truth . . .
No matter how many times I turn those words over in my mind, I can’t believe them. I’ve made it my job to know everything so I’m prepared for anything. I wasn’t prepared for this.
“I assure you,” Kaidren says, raising his voice to be heard over the din.
“I speak the truth. Arliss Vale is my father. As of six months ago, I am eighteen years old. Therefore, I have the right to vote in my father’s absence.
I can prove it.” He shoves a hand into his pocket and procures a sheet of parchment.
Selectmen—the only people who are actually allowed to approach Luc while he’s on the dais—snatch the parchment and hand it to Luc on Kaidren’s behalf.
The chamber waits, breaths bated, as Luc reads. “This is a signed statement from Arliss Vale,” he says slowly, “attesting he’s your father.” His words shrink in volume as the sentence reaches its end.
Whispers twist through chamber like a mountain stream winding downhill.
For several seconds, Luc stares at the parchment; then his gaze shoots to the rafters. He can’t see me, but he instinctively seeks my presence for guidance. A crutch we can’t afford, but I haven’t been able to shake him of it. “We’ll need to corroborate this further,” he says.
“Of course,” Kaidren agrees smoothly. Too smoothly. I don’t like anyone who has an easy answer for everything. “But while we’re here, I would like to cast my vote.”
I hate the way he speaks. Hate that he’s already acting as if he’s one of the most powerful men in the Republic. Hate that he thinks he has any authority here.
More than anything, I hate that he’s right.
“I know what order is on the agenda,” Kaidren says. “I vote in opposition.”
It’s as if the sheet of tshira beneath me splinters.
Ten in favor, ten opposed. This smooth-talking stranger just deadlocked the votes.