And when that memory swept in, when the hysteria took hold, I feared this nightmare would never go away.
2
Clarissa
Lark, my mother, and I met Chaz, another one of my close advisors and former Sentinels, outside my chamber doors as we headed to the council meeting. Chaz greeted us with a dip of his chin and fell into line behind Lark, wheeling her chair down the long corridor.
“About time,” he said in his deep voice. “I thought I was going to have to bang down the doors to get you to come out.”
“We’re not even late, Chaz.” I smoothed down my blue pantsuit. “Stryker can wait five whole minutes for me to walk across the wing.” We continued down the hall and descended a flight of stairs, striding along the deep green rugs that muffled the sound of our footsteps.
“It’s not just him,” Chaz said as we neared the council room. “They’re all a bit antsy. What’d you do to them?”
I furrowed my brow. “Nothing. What are you talking about?”
Mother cleared her throat beside me. “That’s what I wanted to tell you, dear. This meeting…well, I heard rumors from some of the wives. You know how we talk.”
We came upon a pair of large wooden doors. Before I could question her further, two guards gripped the iron handles and pulled them open.
Something soured in my gut. I thought I knew what this meeting was about—the lords on my council had been trying to convince me for a while now to take a trip to Mysthelm, the kingdom to our south, to meet with their new king after the previous one died unexpectedly at the end of last year. Relations between the Veridian Empire and Mysthelm had been…well, nonexistent for the past three hundred years, ever since the great War of Beginnings made us enemies. It was a deadly, gruesome war between our two lands over the magic of the Fates, and when we won, nobody ever heard from our neighboring kingdom again.
Until last year.
I was on board with the idea of visiting Mysthelm. It would be a good way to usher in a new era of peace, not just within our borders, but across the world as well. I didn’t want us to keep harboring such animosity over a war that happened centuries ago.
But the way my mother was talking…I got the feeling there was something I was missing.
I hated when that happened.
Chaz rolled Lark through the double doors, but my mother stopped me at the last moment with her hands on my shoulders. “Remember, if this isn’t what you want, there’s no shame in denying their request.”
“Mother, what are youtalkingabout? I’ve already said I'll go to Mysthelm.”
She licked her lips worriedly. “Clarissa, it’s not only that. The council has?—”
“Ah, there you are, Aris,” a slimy voice said from inside the council room. Everen Stryker. That man always made my hackles rise. “Considerate of you to join us.”
The seven members of the all-male council reclined at a round table, several with glasses of water or pieces of parchment before them. I ignored the pale, sniveling face of Stryker directly to my right and nodded to the three oldest men sitting to the left of the entrance. Lords Leighton, Temvaren, and Cabot served at my father’s side over twenty-eight years ago and still respected hisreign. They were some of my strongest champions when I made a bid for the throne.
The other four were remnants of Theodore Gayl’s time, including Everen Stryker. The four of them had given some pushback, but none more loudly than him. They all seemed to still be of the mindset that Gayl’s idea of dominance over others by strength and magic were the best way to keep our empire protected. I thought a couple of them might be coming around to my way of thinking, but these past eight months had been like pulling teeth. Especially when arrogant bastards like Stryker were in their ears every day, whispering of my fragile state, my “weakened, feminine mind,” my vulnerability masked as compassion.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t allowed to appoint new members or remove old ones until my year was up. I had to be content with dreaming of tossing them off the west tower.
I pasted on my respectful smile, falling easily into the demeanor I’d established as leader of the Sentinels. Calm, poised, collected. Ready to take anything the world had to offer. Holding back the tumultuous sea of emotions that was always at the surface of my Shifter half.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” I said, taking a seat in the tall, wingback chair. “Are there any updates from the provinces to report?”
I always started with the same question. Gayl had evidently not been as concerned with the week-to-week operations of the six provinces, leaving many of them neglected and left to fend for themselves. No funding, no support, no aid when disaster struck.
That was one of the first things I changed. I appointed one council member to each province, plus one to the capital, with the responsibility of staying in communication with the governor of their assigned province. I wanted the provinces to feel important, that their grievances and triumphs alike were being heard and looked out for.
“Feywood has informed me that some of their greenhouses onthe border with Iluze have become spoiled in recent weeks.” Lord Cabot stroked his dark, silver-flecked beard as he spoke, his umber forehead creasing. “They think foul play is involved, so I’ve advised them to set up a guard rotation to ensure nobody is sabotaging their crops.”
Feywood and Iluze, two provinces to the west of Veridia City, had gone through periods of tension over the past decade. I hoped it wasn’t a coordinated attack. We’d been working on improving relationships between all the provinces. The Alchemists of Feywood would be in an uproar if they believed someone was targeting their greenhouses, which grew all kinds of herbs and charms they needed for spellcrafting.
Lord Temvaren went next. “The drought in Celestria doesn’t seem to be ending anytime soon. They’ve requested more aid. They’ve yielded a tenth of the crops since the beginning of summer, and they’re growing desperate.”
That was concerning. Agriculture was the main occupation in the usually temperate province of Celestria. “What can we spare to send?” I asked.
