“You spoke with the Vicar Alchemist?” one of the women seated at the other end of the table interjected with surprise.
“When we returned,” Derek affirmed.
“What did she have to say for herself?” The woman stabbed at the food on her plate with renewed purpose.
“In regards to…” Florence left the question hanging. She wanted to see how the woman would finish it. Her tone was too similar to the one James had spoken with when they asked about the Vicar earlier that day.
“Killing her own guild.”
Everyone at the table suddenly found everything else in the room far more fascinating than the Master speaking, or the three people she addressed.
“Explain yourself.” Derek was visibly uncomfortable with the narrative being constructed before him.
The master exchanged a look with another circled man at the table, as if tacitly asking—and being granted—permission. “When we learned of the Dragons’ plot, we made to evacuate the guild as fast as possible. But our Vicar didn’t want to risk alerting the Dragons to our attempts. She didn’t want to see Keel attacked in place of an empty guild hall, or in addition to.”
The logic was very real, and instantaneously uncomfortable.
“She wanted to give the illusion that nothing was amiss.”
“She left a third of the guild in the hall.” It escaped Florence’s mouth the moment she thought it.
“She told them we were moving in groups to prevent suspicion. The first group left. Then the second, her with it. It wasn’t until we reached Keel proper that any of us realized her intent…”
“… and by then it was too late,” Nora whispered.
Florence rested her elbows on the table, her chin sinking into the heel of her hand in thought. The reasoning, however horrible, made sense. No one would ever really know if Sophie’s calculation had paid off. Keel wasn’t attacked, but who could say if that was for Sophie’s decision or merely because the Dragons never had any intention of destroying the city?
“You went to Ter.1 to seek help for the rebellion, didn’t you?” One of the Masters asked. If their trip had been a secret, it wasn’t any longer. “We must see an end to these Dragons.”
The tiniest sliver of light appeared on the floor of Florence’s mind as a door of opportunity cracked open.
“We did go to Ter.1 for help with the rebellion,” Derek started delicately.
“And? Were you successful?”
“Not quite…”
Florence was going to smash through that door with force if she had to. “We were successful,” she said, injecting herself once more into the conversation. “Not only the Harvesters, but the rest of the four guilds of Loom want to align with the Alchemists. This is Loom’s fight, and they will stand with us, give us the help we need.” It was a bit of an embellishment, but Florence believed it to be nothing but truth. There could be no other way for the future to unfurl. Surely, the other guilds would see this logic.
The two Masters exchanged a look of relief, and a surge of power flowed through Florence. She had always seen tools of destruction as the way to gain control. Hope was a much more dangerous weapon.
“Florence—” Derek urged her for silence, but she ignored him.
“The first Vicar we spoke to was uncertain. But after his untimely death, the current Vicar Harvester was all too happy to agree to a Tribunal at Ter.0.”
“A Vicar Tribunal?” The Master sat back in his seat. “I never thought I’d live to see the day.”
“Well, you may not…” Florene gave a heavy sigh, picking at her food anew. “The Vicar Alchemist refused to attend, demanded the Tribunal be called off.”
“What?” the woman gasped. “Derek, is this true?”
Florence felt mildly guilty for the position Derek was put in as he looked between her and the Master. “Well, yes.”
“Why?” the entire table seemed to demand at once.
“Vicar Sophie said that it is best for the rebellion if we submit to the Dragons, for now. Lure them into a false sense of security, strike when they’re not expecting.”
The Master stood so quickly his chair nearly went tumbling behind him. He slammed his palms on the table in visible rage. “She still has her head in the clouds from the last rebellion. There is no Council of Five to lead us any longer, not unless we make one by banning together. There are no great minds to lead us through this dark night. If we do not ignite the flame of our own lanterns, we will lose the way.”
“What do you think should be done?” Florence asked, as if she had never even mentioned the Tribunal.
“The Vicar must go to Ter.0. Sophie must work with the other guilds. The Dragons have asked for war; we must give it to them.”
Whispers of agreement turned into murmurs that then gave birth to outright spoken affirmation.
“There is no way Sophie will agree.” She tried to muster all the delicacy she had.
“We must make her agree.”
“And if she still doesn’t?”
The Master sat heavily, suddenly deflated. “If she still doesn’t, then we will honor her wishes. For the world will slip into true anarchy if the guilds begin to go against their Vicars.”
“Who would have suspected the Harvesters were lucky for their Vicar dying,” Nora whispered.
“It was certainly convenient for them,” the Master agreed, most of the table echoing the dangerous sentiment.
Florence remained at the table until the lamp glow was dim and the food had long since been finished. She listened to Masters and journeymen alike lament their situation. She listened to how they would want to do things differently.
By the time the last of them finally broke away, her mind was made up.
She knew where gunpowder would be kept. She’d know it by logic and looks alone. All good Revos were trained how to properly store their explosives.
“Florence,” Derek called after her, arm in arm with Nora. The two exchanged a look, and Nora gave a small nod, breaking away and starting in the opposite direction. Derek sprinted the distance between them.
She looked into his dark eyes, searching, waiting. She would not say the first word, not this time. He had sought her out, after all.
“You’re walking a dangerous path.”
“I’m walking the only path.” She shifted her weight, still assessing if they were, indeed, talking about the same thing. “Will the rest of them see it that way?” She gave a nod in the direction of the now-empty hall.
“I can’t say for certain…” The very idea of it made Derek uncomfortable, but he was not objecting. He had yet to speak a true word against it.
“Say for you.” Florence took a long step toward him, their toes almost touching. She ran her hands down Derek’s forearms slowly, encircling his fingers with hers. The touch demanded his attention. It was slow, but not quite sensual; demanding, but not quite heated. There was a certain life-changing weight to it that almost negated the need for a link mark. “Here, now, no one is around, Derek… What do you want, as an Alchemist?”
“I want to fight,” he whispered, as though the words themselves could damn him in some way.