5
Oliver and Dawson create a small buffer of space between me and the States men and women hustling past us. They’re all dressed in formal day clothes and carry overstuffed satchels.
My fingers trace the edges of the restraint. Before Annalise allowed me to leave the safe zone behind the gate, she slapped it back on my wrist and cut off the sensation of magic, which left a dull ache in my muscles.
We draw long looks as we march through the halls and people whisper behind hands, too polite to point, but rude enough to openly stare.
I sigh. Despite what Mother believes, I think four bodyguards is overkill. One, perhaps two, but four…
“This way, Lark,” Annalise orders. I reluctantly follow her around a corner and down another seemingly endless hallway. Dawson, Oliver and Kyra, who met us at the entrance of the building, trail behind me.
“We entered through the back entrance today,” Annalise says, turning another corner. “In the future, Malin would like you to come in through the front. It’s important for you to be seen.”
Ahhh…so Mother’s not done parading me around. Wonderful.
As Annalise fires off information, I stash it away. Do not acknowledge the lowly humans who clean the floors; always greet the Enforcers; use this set of stairs and never the other; address Eastern diplomats by their full title; and so on.
It’s all a bit overwhelming.
When I was young—before I had dreams of working in the Agriculture branch—I fantasized about walking into the State’s Great Building and marching up the stairs to my office. In those daydreams, I never allowed myself to admire the artwork or notice any of the details. But now that I’m here, nothing escapes me. The rotunda is a riot of color and people: bright green wraps designating the Western society and red hats favored by Eastern diplomats are everywhere. A few flashes of yellow and blue mingle in, but the group is overwhelmingly East and West. Perhaps the other societies don’t report until later in the day.
I tilt my head back until my shoulders nearly touch my ears. The pale green flourishes and gilded flowers of the ornate dome soar overhead. Along the curving walls, busts of past leaders fill individual niches, and the statues of Caitlin Greene and Charles Channing stand side-by-side. The warrior and the diplomat. Brother and sister. Dark and Light.
What would happen if our entire society, not just the witches, knew our government was founded and run by Sensitives—the very people we’re taught to fear. Would the humans revolt? Would our Society crumble?
Next to the statues, hangs a massive map colored to show the corresponding societies Small points of light dot its surface.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Conflict map,” Oliver answers. “It details where fighting has occurred. It’s updated every ten minutes.”
At least fifty dots cover the map and not one is in our Society. Not even at Summer Hill. How odd. Everyone knows Mother rescued me, so why isn’t it on the map?
“I wasn’t aware of fighting abroad.” I learned at Summer Hill, my school lessons were inadequate and revisionist, but the extent of what I don’t know still astounds me. “Are the conflicts local or between societies? Human? Or just between Light and Dark?”
As I speak, about thirty Eastern society members file through the foyer. It’s strange how representatives from the East outnumber the others four-to-one.
“That information is confidential,” Annalise says from behind me.
Well, that makes no sense. I face her. “There’s a map showing fights around the world, but I can’t know who’s fighting?”
“You’re allowed to know.” She gestures to herself and the rest of my bodyguards. “We’re not.”
“Oh. Then why is it here?”
Annalise huffs “To show the peacefulness of our Society. We want our foreign guests know they are safe within our borders.”
“Are they?”
She scowls. “What do you think?”
I spin slowly, taking it all in. The foreign dignitaries, the humans, the ornate décor. The feeling of power.
It’s all a sham. How many of these people know what’s really going on?
“It’s…” I say, searching for a word that encompasses how I feel about the cover-up and being in the States offices. “Amazing?”
Annalise nods approvingly.
“This way, Miss Lark.” Dawson leads us up a flight of wide, curving stairs to the second floor. An excited shiver climbs my back when we stop before an elaborately carved wooden door. I run my hands over my soft cotton dress and fear I look like a child wearing tights and a sweater.
“Kyra,” I whisper. “Do I look ridiculous?”
She rolls her eyes. “Not any more than normal.”
“Fantastic.”
The heavy door creaks open, revealing a long table. Mother sits at the far end, dwarfed by the tall back of a chair, with her arms folded. Two rows of men and women line the sides, but no one sits at the end closest me.
All eyes are on us. Or rather, me.
My stomach can’t decide if it wants to stay where it belongs or move into my throat. I’ve imagined sitting in on a State meeting, but now that the moment is here, I feel woefully underprepared.
My eyes run over the group, memorizing each face. Annalise nudges me forward and my stomach rolls . As I walk closer to the table, the corners of Mother’s eyes crinkle. If she is still angry with me, she’s hiding it well.
When she stands, all heads pivot away from me, toward her. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the State.” She pauses and nods to me. My heart pounds. “My beloved witches. Let me present my daughter, Lark.”
She stretches out her arms, and without thinking, I cross the room and step into them. My short frame and shyness is amplified by Mother’s elegant posture and the respect she draws.
Whistles ring out across the room and my cheeks flush hot. Mother beams at me for a moment before addressing the gathered dignitaries. “As you know, Lark will turn eighteen in twelve days. Under normal circumstances, I’d mark the day with festivities, but given the current situation…” She stops speaking for a moment to look at me and wraps her hand tightly around mine. “We will celebrate privately, at home, with only family.”
If there was any doubt in my mind before, it vanishes. The only reason Mother would forgo a public celebration is if she’s unsure of my mental state. Which means, despite what she’s told me, I could still go crazy.
“Now, I’d like a moment with my daughter.”
Immediately, the room clears. My guards and all. No one questions Mother. They just leave.
“Lunch?” Mother gestures to a row of delicacies lining the middle of the table.
My stomach hasn’t settled down yet and I shake my head. “No, thank you.”
She clucks at me. “You’re going to need your strength for the assessment.”
I tuck a strand of chestnut hair behind my ear. “The assessment?”
Excitement flickers across Mother’s face. “I’ve arranged for you to sit for it today. In two hours, to be exact.”
My mouth drops open. I had thought…
“You didn’t think you could skip it, did you?”
Actually, yes. “Of course not.”
Mother knits her brows together. “You’re scowling and that isn’t becoming. You should be excited, not to mention thankful. Annalise told me how distraught you were about missing it the first time.”
“I am excited.” I try to sound happy, but my voice falls flat. “But how can I join the State if I don’t have…” Beck. But I can’t say that. Especially after the conversation we had earlier. “An acceptable mate?”
“What would you like me to do about your problem, Lark?” Mother clasps her hands before her like one of my old teachers waiting for me to give the right answer.
“I can’t be bound, you know that.” Once a witch is bound, the only way to undo it is by death. If Mother doesn’t see this as a problem, it means one thing: she knows Beck is dead. My legs wobble and I grasp the edge of the table for support.
“I’ll ask you again. What would you like to do about that?”
I frown. What is she asking me? If I want to be bound to someone else? What does that mean? I can’t be bound to anyone else as long as Beck’s alive. Which means…is she asking if I want him dead?
My heart flutters. This is the first hint she’s given that he may be okay. I clench my jaw and smash my lips together in hope that I don’t give away my emotions.
Tiny pulses of ice pummel my body as Mother targets her magic at me. It creeps along the edge of my arms, over my chest and toward my heart. In response, my pulse accelerates.
“What are you doing?” I ask, stepping back from her.
Mother raises her eyebrows and sighs. “Helping you remember who you are.”
I bite my lower lip. Something isn’t right about this.
“Mother, I know who I am.”Another wave of magic hits me in the chest, knocking me off balance and my unease turns to fear. Once I regain my footing, I scramble to the far end of the table, but I don’t take my eyes off my Mother.
She waits at the other end, one hand on her hip, her headed cocked to the side. “Hold out your arm.”
Tension rolls through me. “Why?”
“Lark, do not disobey me.”
The hard edge of her words sends my heart into overdrive, but I’m more afraid of what she’ll do if I don’t listen. I lift my trembling arm.
“The other one.”
I raise my left arm slowly, holding it before me. The restraint falls to the ground.
Mother smiles. “That’s better.”
I blink. “Thank you.”
“Hands up.” Mother paces between the table and the wall.
This can’t be good. Vomit sits in the back of my throat, but I lift my hands so that they’re chest height and hold my breath.
The air around Mother vibrates with magic, and even though it does me no good, I imagine a wall between us. Magic rips through the room, electric and crackling.
I jump back, but I keep my hands up. The pulses radiating from Mother slam into something invisible and explode before me. But they don’t touch me.
I quickly inspect my body, making sure I have all my parts, and see slivers of ice lying at my feet.
“Well done, Love.” Mother grins, shifting her weight back and forth between the balls of feet and her heels. She flings both her arms toward me with fingers splayed. “Deflect.”
A suffocating gust of hot air envelops me.
I spin, drawing the heat closer to me just as I remember Eloise doing with the moonlight. A soft orange glow surrounds me and my body quivers as I struggle to keep whatever I’ve done from exploding from my fingertips.
“The way you move is breathtaking,” Mother says from her position across the room. “Such innate ability. One can’t learn these things.”
A smirk spreads across my face. Little does she know. “Eloise taught me,” I say as I ball my fists, waiting for whatever is coming next.
“Eloise?” Mother’s voice has a hint of disbelief, as if what I’ve said is impossible.
“Yes. Do you know her?” I haven’t forgotten the way Mother forced the healer to skip Eloise’s information during my session. At the time, I didn’t think much of it, but her reaction now piques my curiosity.
Mother taps her finger against her lips. “Only by reputation.”
The heat inside me pounds against my chest and, no longer able to contain it, I unfurl my fingers. The small gesture sends me flying backwards into the wall and I land in a heap on the floor. Across the room, Mother is sprawled in an undignified manner, her dress bunched over her hips and her arms outstretched.
I jump to my feet. “Mother?” I cry. “Are you all right?” She doesn’t move. I sprint across the room and skid to a stop next to her limp body. What if she’s injured? Or worse—what if I killed her?
“Mother,” I say, shaking her. “Wake up.”
When she doesn’t respond, I press her wristlet only to find myself immobilized. Mother suddenly stands, rearranges her clothes, and pats her hair.
“Oh Lark, you are a quick learner, aren’t you?” Mother says. Her eyes twinkle in delight giving her a slightly manic look. When she grins like this, all teeth and eye crinkles, she reminds me of Kyra when she’s about to do something spectacularly terrible. “But you’re too sentimental. Too trusting.”
An invisible vice squeezes me softly and my eyes grow wide.
“This is what happens when you let your defenses down: you lose.”
My voice is locked in my paralyzed body, like when she had Dawson set me on fire. The pressure increases substantially and the room blinks and fades out around me.
“Make me stop,” Mother says calmly.
My arms stay pinned to my sides despite my efforts.
“Are you even trying? I’ll get it started for you.” Mother rocks back on her heels faster until I sense a weakening in the force around me. When she turns her head, the vibrations of her magic wash over me. Deep inside me, my magic trembles, trying to break free.
Wind and rain whip through the room, but Mother keeps smiling at me like a lunatic. “That’s right. Feel the magic. Let it grow stronger inside you.”
My pulse hammers in my ears as rage engulfs me. My body struggles beneath the power of her magic. Sweat drips down my forehead and off the tip of my nose, but I don’t break concentration.
And then the hold she has on me vanishes. I slump to the ground, exhausted.
With a sigh, Mother pats me on the head. “That’s enough for today.”
Whatever spell she used against me is gone and I bristle at her touch. “Don’t touch me.”
“I’m sorry, Love, but I had to see how your magic worked. How you do it.”
I grind my teeth. She did all this to see what I can do? Fury oozes from my words. “I don’t know how I do it.”
“You may not, but I do.”
“Do you plan on telling me?”
She shakes her head. “Not yet.”
With a long, deep breath I stand and place my shaking hands against the conference table, trying to calm the rapid beat of my heart. “Why can’t I know? Is my magic that terrible?”
Mother glides across the room and pours herself a glass of water. “It’s not terrible, Love. It’s a wonderful, beautiful thing. You’re incredibly strong. Stronger than I was at your age.”
I wrap my hand over my left wrist where the restraint once encircled my arm. “Then why are you making me wear that horrible device? Why can’t I have my magic?”
“Do you want it?”
I gape at her. Is this what she’s wanted all along? For me to ask for my magic?
“It’s not a hard question. Do you want your magic? Are you willing to accept the responsibility?”
Every day Mother’s come to me and asked how I feel about Beck. And every day, she’s been able to force the truth from me, even when I’ve doubted it myself. But she’s never asked if I want my magic. Never been so clear about what holding on to the dream of Beck is costing me.
And the thing is, I do want my magic. Want it so badly my soul aches. I want to feel the power and the sense of accomplishment. And I want to be good at it.
No. I want to be the best.
My fingers twitch in anticipation.
“Yes. I want my magic.”