Chapter 24 #2
Bowenn kissed each of them on the temple—all except David, who he ignored entirely. As the chieftain passed by him, Anna opened her mouth in clear protest. David caught her wrist, and her words died before they were born.
They held eye contact.
“I don’t need a champion,” he murmured.
Anna yanked her arm from his grasp. “No, you need a personality transplant.”
“To what do I owe the honor?” Sean asked Bowenn, though he was somewhat loath to, as he grew ever more intrigued at the others’ tiff.
Bowenn gave a hearty laugh. “Curiosity, Savior. The rumors of your skill abound. I have been watching.”
Sean lifted a shoulder and Signed, Like what you see?
“You hide in this field for babes when you should be facing action in the rings like a true pixie.”
He laughed to cover up the flare of self-consciousness.
It wasn’t the first time he’d heard that.
Pixies weren’t considered true fighters until they’d fought in the rings and lost, but Sean wanted at least the chance to hold his own before he humiliated himself.
“You’re probably right,” he said, shooting Bowenn his charming grin. His mask.
“You’re ready, Ashanta.” The man bowed his head. “I shall tell the Council.”
Sean’s stomach disappeared. “Tell them what?”
“We need you. The Exorcism suffers. I’ve said it for decades, but they don’t listen.”
Sean moved a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Said what?”
“’Tis a lost cause without you. We do little more than waste our lives by crossing the mist. There are simply too many of them. It’s like fighting spiders—every time you squash one, an egg sac bursts open and there are a hundred more. Pointless!”
“But the spiders are killing us,” he said, confused.
Bowenn hummed like he didn’t quite agree but wasn’t willing to explain any further. “It is rumored you will shift the tides. I should like to see an end to this fighting, and you need no more pampering. ’Tis time we utilized your skills. We need a strategist.”
Sean glanced at Cathaire, who remained silent, his gaze troubled. “Am I— Are you sure?”
“The heir of Lhynion Sidera should not be coddled. Imagine the good you could do once you are allowed to shine. You are a pixie”—he pounded his chest—“not a child to be pampered. Blademaster Cathaire should know better.”
“Caution is wise in these times, Chieftain, yes?” Cathaire said, bowing.
“How can he serve as Sovereign when he has never seen battle? We waste time with waiting. Now is the time to act.”
Finally noticing the commotion, Bel appeared at Sean’s side, brow furrowed, notebook pressed to her chest.
Bowenn bowed deeply. “Ill?nia.”
“What are we acting on?” she asked.
“Caden Sidera has inherited the Exorcism. Why do we pretend he is the same as any other Apprentice?”
Isobel slipped Sean’s hand into her own. “He needs training the same as everyone else.”
Bowenn laughed as if that was ridiculous. “We have all seen him fight this past month. Lhynion shines in him. If we put him in the ring, he would last longer than even I did.”
“He isn’t ready,” Bel said.
Bowenn stood taller. “I disagree, Lady Isobel.”
They turned to Cathaire, who raised his hands and declined to engage.
Isobel’s grip tightened, cutting off blood flow to Sean’s fingers. “His father—”
“His father does not speak for him,” Bowenn said.
Bel’s tone went testy. “Kywyn is still the crowned Sovereign.”
Bowenn’s blue eyes narrowed. Instead of responding, he found Sean. “I will speak with Nish. Even a scouting mission would be better than this.”
A fever woke in Sean, imagining himself back in Viterra, battling those purple-eyed creatures. “When—when could I go?”
Bel spun on him, outraged. “Sean!”
“We shall speak soon.” Bowenn darted a glance at her. “And as your lady shoots daggers my way, I shall take my leave.”
“Bowenn—” Bel started, but the pixie was already striding away. She turned wide emerald eyes on Sean. “You cannot be serious.”
But he definitely was. If they would let him out of this place, even for a little bit, he would take any opportunity offered.
David pushed off the table to leave, sparing one moment to bow mockingly toward Sean. “Ashanta.”
“Dick,” Sean said, though he was tempted to laugh.
“I think you meant Djiante,” David said as he walked away. “Show some respect.”
The laughter spilled past Sean’s barriers, but David didn’t glance back to see it.
Later that night, Sean sat with Isobel on the balcony of their suite, watching the sunset and rubbing the ache from his shoulder. Since childhood, excess energy had plagued him. He’d always been restless, constantly moving. Training was a balm to his fidgety soul, but it also kept him sore.
Isobel could kiss it away, but he hadn’t asked her to. Didn’t want her to.
Sometimes, Sean thought, pain served a purpose.
They’d already fought and disagreed about Bowenn’s intentions earlier. While Isobel wanted him spoon-fed, Sean needed freedom from this cage, even if that freedom proved dangerous.
In the end, they’d agreed to discuss it later, but Sean knew the outcome would be the same.
“I forget sometimes,” Bel said, staring into the sky, “how pretty it all is.”
Sean gazed over the forest, his attention caught by flickers and flashes of Luster. “Way prettier than where I grew up.”
“I’ve only been to Viterra a few times,” she said. “Autumn and I were given a few missions when we were in the Honor Guard, but I don’t think the Council liked their Sovereigns out in the wilds of Viterra where they could be snatched by Indies.”
He shrugged. “Surprised they let you come for me, then.”
She laughed. “They didn’t let me. When we heard you were found but in danger, I had to go. Meléan’s oath demanded it.”
Huh. Strange that she’d seemed displeased to find him that night, then. “You know, I never even saw an Indy until that day I met you.”
“Your mother was smart. She kept you in a small, calm place where they’d never go.”
Sean thought of all the times his mother made him promise to never leave. It made sense in hindsight, all the secrets. With a deep breath, Sean forced away the image of his mom’s face. “What about your mother? Kywyn said she passed?”
“I was five. I barely remember her.”
“What do you remember?” he asked, taking her hand.
“I remember her laugh. And I remember that she always called me baby girl. But mostly I remember a day not long before she died. I was sitting in her lap while she brushed my hair, and she said, You will be a beautiful woman.” Bel’s voice grew soft.
Thoughtful. “She didn’t say it like it was a compliment, and I asked her why it made her sad that I was beautiful. ”
Sean turned to take in her profile, glowing gold in the setting sun. The light struck her eyes like true emeralds, hypnotizing. “What did she say?”
“Beauty is a curse. It causes more damage than it’s worth.” She sighed and dropped her gaze to her lap. “It took me years to understand what she meant.”
“She said that to you when you were five?” he asked, shock making the question harsher than he intended.
“She wasn’t the warmest of mothers,” Isobel said with a humorless laugh.
“What do you think she meant by it?”
Bel met his eyes. “Meléan’s face—my face—has ruined lives.
This face tore apart a pair of powerful brothers.
It sparked a war. If Meléan hadn’t been so bewitching, none of that would have happened.
But it’s the failure of men that they covet that which is beautiful, that they judge their power by the beauty of the woman standing beside them. ”
“That’s not true,” Sean said, feeling the need to defend his sex.
“This is nature, Sean. Females want partners who will protect them. Males want trophies.”
“That is a pretty dramatic extrapolation, Isobel. That war was fought for ideals, not for the love of a woman.”
Her mouth twisted into a bitter sort of smile. “It only takes a spark to ignite a wildfire.”
Sean didn’t argue, though he strongly disagreed. They sat in silence until she kissed his temple and stepped inside. Sean was glad for it. He wanted to be alone.
Most evenings he spent with Cole. Sometimes Anna or Autumn would join them. Isobel was a near constant staple at his side. But as the sun sank below the horizon, Sean craved isolation.
The last couple weeks had been mentally exhausting.
The Council meetings proved less daunting than he’d imagined, but they knew surprisingly little about how the Exorcism actually worked.
The bureaucracy of the lavanié appeared to operate similarly to everywhere else—a few people in power made all the decisions without understanding the inner workings of anything.
They controlled every aspect, from the taxes paid to the Crown all the way to the fare provided by the brownies in the Great Terrace.
They ran this place like a collective, with shared decision-making for the good of the whole, but they left the maintenance of the Exorcism—the lavanié’s greatest enterprise—in the hands of the pixies.
They said it was what Lhynion would have wanted.
To coordinate the Exorcism in his stead, Bowenn had assigned numerous Shamans—the rank above Cathaire’s.
Currently, randomly rotating pairs were sent into Viterra for a single day, exorcising as many Indies as they could before returning through the mist. Their next rotation could be days or months later and rarely with the same partner—totally arbitrary and without strategy.
When they weren’t in Viterra, the lavanié were on the training grounds and never trained outside the mist.
Even Sean recognized the inefficiency, but bringing it up only elicited wide-eyed stares at Council meetings. None of the members seemed willing to topple the status quo without guaranteed results.
Eventually Sean would make strides, but for now, he just wanted seclusion.
Because something was off. Beyond the weight of expectation and crippling anxiety, Sean sensed something else brewing, something that didn’t feel as if it belonged to him. Something like…fear.