But it doesn’t make it any easier to accept.
“This is ridiculous,” a familiar voice argues. I search the crowded assembly until I find Astrid Lotus, the Council’s lead Seer. She is standing, hands planted on her desk. Somehow, even though she’s not moving, the dozens of metal bangles she always wears clack together loud enough to rise above the arguing. “We shouldn’t even be thinking about sending out an eighteen-year-old to do such a feat before she has a few years under her belt!”
“The atoll no longer serves its area any purpose,” a sour looking Dwarf named Endolff Strikertree counters. He’s standing on his chair; all he needs is a toga and his Marc Antony act will be complete. “What’s your objection, Lotus?”
The bracelets jingle as Astrid rights herself. I’m struck by her Elvin beauty, like I was when I met her last year after my parents forced me to visit in an effort to get me back on whatever track they thought I needed to be on. “No other Council members are ever asked to do complex tasks within their first few years. And yet, we suddenly break tradition and expect Chloe to do so simply because she’s a Creator?”
Another voice rises above the mix. “She’ll do it if told so.” This one I know all too well. It’s the same voice I’ve heard all my life, reminding me how I better live up to my responsibilities or I’ll embarrass the family for, I don’t know, centuries or something. I find my father, still seated, open books spread across his desk. He pushes his glasses up his nose without even sparing me a glance.
“Noel, whether or not that is the case,” Astrid says, “I’m shocked that, as an Intellectual, you’re ignoring how this goes against our bylaws and traditions.”
He glares at her. I dig that she glares right back.
“I absolutely agree that this atoll needs to be dealt with; there’s no doubt about that. But it must be Rushfire, not Chloe.” Her eyes meet mine. They’re soft and sympathetic, which surprises me despite her gentleness at our last meeting. “At least, not yet.”
At the mention of his name, Kleeshawnall Rushfire releases a deafening rip of a snore. The Goblin in front of me—I think his name is Mac?—erupts in laughter once more, as does the Storyteller. In fact, they’re both laughing so hard they’re practically crying. Several other people nearby are also cracking up, but the rest of the Council seems to be merely exasperated over Rushfire’s apparent lack of interest in the matter.
“Honestly, Lotus,” Endolff Strikertree growls. He motions towards the slumbering Faerie. “You want to entrust my plane to the hands of—”
“Don’t say it,” Astrid warns. “Kleeshawnall Rushfire has served this Council for nearly two hundred years. He deserves your respect.”
The man in question snores again, this time adding a bit of drool to the phlegm in his beard.
Try as he might, Strikertree can’t hide his disgust as he regards Rushfire. “Lilywhite will be fine. The Guard assigned to her can walk her through what she needs to do.” His dark eyes find me; they’re so piercing, I fight the urge to shrink in my seat.
You’re first tier, a little voice in my mind whispers. It’s Caleb, an old friend from California who also happens to be my secret Conscience. Never show your fear; they’ll eat you alive if you do.
Challenge accepted. I stare right back at the Dwarf, hoping he sees a girl ready for anything, even though I’m quaking in my Uggs.
I can do this, I think.
My attempts must be successful, because he looks away first. “She’s been under the Guard’s care for nearly a year anyway.”
Thanks, dude, for reminding everyone I had to be babysat for my entire senior year of high school back on the Human plane. Like it isn’t humiliating enough that I’m the youngest person in the room and they’re debating whether or not I’m seasoned enough to work.
“Graystone will oversee the mission, despite the terrain,” Strikertree continues. “They have a good enough working relationship—his presence ought to make her feel more comfortable.”
I try not to roll my eyes before I search through the crowd. Karl Graystone smirks back at me. I start to wave but then reflect that a Girl in Charge, sophisticated and ready for whatever Fate and/or the Council dishes out to her, might not do that with everyone watching, even if it’s at someone she practically considers her brother.
Working relationship, indeed.
Astrid tries her best to argue against me going out and wreaking destruction on my very first Council mission, but in the end, her voice is amongst the minority.
Great. Just . . . great.
As the meeting ends, the Elf next to me leans over and grins. “Welcome to the glory that is the Council, pumpkin.”