Syphon's Song

by Anise Rae

  “What you tried almost got you killed!” The fury in his voice was tempered by the fear shining in his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re up against with that medallion.” His hand stroked down her cheek and his voice softened. “You have to know the rules to survive here. This isn’t Chattanooga. Let me show you how it works before you go waltzing off by yourself. I know you think I’m controlling you. I swear I’m trying to get better at that. But you have to talk to me. And if I’m not around and you don’t want to talk to Edmund, or my parents, or the senator, then you’ll just have to wait. Between Double-Wide looking for you, the prejudice against syphons that we haven’t had a chance to address, and the fact that you’re a senator…you have too many enemies. I can’t protect you if you’re running away all the damn time. And you don’t know enough to protect yourself.”

  “Fine then.” Tears streaked down her face. Her guilt scraped at her again, leaving a prickly, defensive anger in its wake. “I know this: if I have to be the Casteel Senator and go to their territory, then you’re not coming with me! Are you?” She pushed the words out of her throat, clogged by tears. “I may not know much, but I know that. You won’t leave here.”

  The shuttered look in his eyes was answer enough. She didn’t want to hear him say she was right, so she switched subjects. Now was as good a time as any to tell him. “I think there’s a chance that Double-Wide didn’t hide the body in the gyre. So your estate might be safer than you thought.”

  Vincent sat back, studying her. He wasn’t reacting with the surprise she’d thought he would. “Yes, I know. Quit changing the subject. We’re not done talking about this. I will find a solution, Bronte.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “There is no solution.” She had to leave—exactly what she’d been fighting for since the moment she arrived on this estate. But now she’d give anything to stay.

  * * * *

  “She’s right.” His brother walked in the front door, a cool breeze accompanied him.

  “Not now, Edmund.” He should have locked the door, Vincent thought. He needed Bronte to himself for a while, long enough to recover from the fear, time to reassure himself that she was safe, and to figure out how to keep her that way.

  “This isn’t going away, Vin. There is no way to get the damn thing off. You’re stuck being senator,” he said to Bronte as he walked over to them.

  Vincent glared. “Do you think I’m going to let her walk out and move to Casteel?”

  “Yes, I do. What alternative do you have?” Edmund pushed his hair off his forehead. “Casteel’s mages are going to demand she go there. They’ll come get her themselves if they have to.”

  “No one gets through those gates.” Vincent stood with such force that the low table rocked backward. His bound dissertation fell to the floor. “I’ll merge the territories before I let someone take her.”

  Edmund flung his hands in the air. “Rallis territory does not border Casteel! You cannot merge something that doesn’t touch.”

  “Then we’ll take over Warren Territory. It’s just a slip of land. All that family does is blow in the breeze anyway.”

  “Love has driven you out of your mind, Vincent.” Edmund shook his head, stripped off his jacket, and threw it to the other side of the couch. He loosened his tie with a yank. “You’re proposing war against two territories so you can be with her?”

  “It’s only attacking one. We already have Casteel. Warren is weak. We could walk all the way to their mark without encountering resistance.”

  “Vincent.” Bronte’s tired voice reached out to him. Her sad smile hurt his heart. “You’re being ridiculous. You’re not going to declare war for me.” The sun shone on her hair. Dark gold glistened.

  He studied her face, lovely even through her pain, as she reclined against the cushions. He sat back down on the old table, resting his hand on her legs. “Then I’ll go live in Casteel.”

  She stilled, a faint glimmer of hope kindled in her face, but it was gone in a blink. “No. You won’t.”

  “What the hell, Vin!” Edmund shouted. “No man leaves his land. We’ve earned this heritage from the blood of our ancestors.”

  “Spare me the lesson.”

  “Apparently you need to hear it! Wilen is retiring as soon as DW is stopped. You’re next in line. After two generations, Rallis is going to be back in control of the army that occupies our land. You cannot turn your back on that.”

  Bronte’s shaky breath sounded through the room, reaching into his heart. She leaned over the edge of the couch and laid her head in his lap. “Visit me,” she ordered softly. He could hear the tears in her throat.

  She was giving up.

  His sweet little syphon had been pushed around by powers greater than herself all her life. And now she’d been shoved to the top where she had no way of defending herself.

  He stroked her hair. A little touch of his energy tangled inside it. He stilled, recognizing it immediately. He fingered through her hair until he found it. His energy weave glimmered at him, camouflaged in her hair’s natural shine. How had that happened? He closed his eyes, remembering. His nose had been in her hair as he’d breathed in her scent. He smiled, unabashed. Something had gone right. Finally.

  Edmund threw his voice to Vincent’s ear. “Yeah, what the hell were you thinking, brother? She doesn’t even know it’s there.”

  Vincent shrugged, the smile still on his face.

  “Don’t you think you should have asked first?” Edmund’s thrown voice was a whisper. “I had a hell of a time hiding it from Mom. She would have expected grandchildren or something. Promptly delivered in nine months. Not anymore though.”

  Vincent stroked his fingers through her hair again. It wasn’t where he’d intended the weave to go, but he gladly accepted it. “I’ll think of something, Bronte. I will never give up.” He felt a tear soak through his pants to his skin.

  “Fine,” Edmund agreed softly. “But while you plot world domination, let’s talk about how Bronte is going to get Casteel back up on its feet. Because it does fall to her in the meantime.”

  “How do I do that?” Her soft voice wrenched at his heart.

  “First off, don’t ever try to cut the medallion off again, Bronte. Hellhounds, we’d thought we’d lost you. Mother is in tears. She thinks she came on too strong. Plus she was the one who hired Dell.” Edmund came around the couch and sat down on the leather chair. “You cannot—I’d like to stress the ‘not’ part—tell anyone what you did. William Ansel knows. Dane and Gregor know. As does Dell. The rest of our family knows.” He gave a weary sigh. “If anyone asks, the only reason you went there was to get your old car back. The metallist attacked you and tried to get the medallion off you. He’s dead. He cannot say otherwise.”

  Bronte sat up and started to object, but Edmund spoke over her. “Bronte, if anyone finds out, they’re going to draw the obvious conclusion that you don’t want to be the Casteel senator.” He held his hands wide, exasperated. “And from here on out, that’s the deepest, darkest secret you’ve ever kept. And we all know you’ve kept a doozy. The territory of Casteel cannot afford to have a senator who wants to cut her ties to them so much she’d risk death. Clear?”

  Vincent had to bite his tongue. He wanted to focus on how to get her out of this, not teach her how to rule. He watched his little syphon nod. Though he was still furious with her for taking such a foolish risk, his heart ached for what she faced, what they faced.

  “They aren’t going to want a syphon for a senator.” Bronte shook her head, her frown so deep it pulled at her eyes.

  Edmund scooted to the edge of the chair, shifting closer to where Bronte sat on the couch. “They don’t have to like you. A senator takes care of the land and the people. You’re a vast improvement on what they used to have.”

  “Selene, uh, the Council’s envoy, blames me for the state of the energy in Casteel. She thinks my syphon ability helped them control it. When I left, things went sour.”

  Vincent sho
ok his head. “You’re powerful but not that powerful. One mage wouldn’t have that big of an impact.”

  Bronte looked down at his lap, opening and closing her mouth as if she fought against saying something. Vincent waited as she circled a finger around the wet tear spot on the knee of his uniform. “About Selene,” she began, “I think she might have been involved in putting the body in the gyre.”

  He waited for the rest of her story, but nothing came. He gave her a prompt. “It wasn’t DW. But why do you think the High Council’s envoy is involved?”

  “I was going to tell you about this, I just haven’t had the chance. I found out yesterday. Selene is my sister.”

  Vincent straightened in surprise.

  “Our mother gave her away when hints of her necromancer powers showed up.” Bronte tilted her head, her hair falling across her cheek. “When we were in the gyre, Selene said it was a brave and bold action to move the body there, to hand over Casteel’s power to the Rallises. She feels sorry for the Casteel people even though she wasn’t raised there. A lot more than I do. She said I was too wimpy to help them.” Her mouth tugged back down into a frown.

  He took a breath. Bronte’s explanation brought clarity to Ansel’s plot to overthrow Casteel’s rulers. He’d bet Bronte was correct—Selene was involved, though it didn’t matter now. The damage couldn’t be fixed. Bronte wore the medallion, but Selene’s words to Bronte had been needlessly hurtful. He shifted to sit next to her on the couch and carefully wrapped her into his arms. “You are brave and courageous, Bronte.” He stroked one finger down her sad face. “Too much so. You should just stay home, meaning here, and behave.”

  She snorted and looked at him sideways. A tiny spark came back into her eyes that he was grateful to see.

  “Your sister…” The words held a note of disbelief. “Wasn’t the one who moved the body to the gyre. Dell did. He’s a Casteel mage.”

  “That makes sense. He helped me get out of here. I probably should have mentioned that earlier. How did you find out?”

  “He told us.” Vincent didn’t want to tell her the next part, but she needed to know. “He collapsed in the kitchen when the metallist tried to cut into the medallion.” He took a breath. “If the metallist had succeeded, the mage energy in Casteel Territory would have gone out of control.”

  “Ooh.” The sound pushed out of her like someone was squeezing her insides. “Do you think the entire Casteel land felt it?”

  He put his arms around her, pushing her head back onto his chest. “Yes.”

  “Oh goddess. I’m sorry.” The words came out as sobs. “I didn’t know.”

  “You do now. I don’t think my heart can take much more of your escape artist tricks. Next time, tell me your plan before you execute it.” He stroked her hair while tears of regret spilled from her eyes. Visions of kidnapping the Casteel Senator and taking her to the other side of the border to live in mage-free Canada flitted through his head. Having a plan B seemed wise.

  Edmund stood and walked over to the window that looked over the back of Vincent’s meadow. He rubbed his finger over the bridge of his nose. Vincent recognized his plotting pose from a hundred childhood schemes. “Remember the story. It’s not your fault. All that pain Casteel Territory experienced was the metallist’s doing. Plus, the healer said only a syphon could have survived the attack. We’ll use that too.”

  Vincent gritted his teeth. “How did you know that?”

  Edmund shrugged. “I ordered her to tell me everything that occurred between her and the senator of Casteel. The healer is a mage of Rallis Territory. She knows her duty.”

  “Bronte is not the enemy. You may not use her as a pawn in your games.”

  “Come on, Vincent. They’re your games too. Your woman needs to learn how to play. You’re right, though. She’s not the enemy. She’s our newest ally. Becoming senator is exactly what you need, Bronte. You can only make things better for the Casteel mages. I think the public-relations issues surrounding your mage power just got a whole lot easier.”

  “But what about the Rushes? I can’t defend myself against the spells that fly around there on a regular basis.”

  Anger bubbled over in Vincent. “If anyone dares to touch you, they will have the wrath of Rallis to deal with. I have the army at my back. You may be the Casteel senator. For now. But you are mine. No one wants the warrior mages on their land.”

  Edmund nodded in agreement. “It’s a decent threat. It’s what allies are for.”

  “Everyone is going to think I’m being controlled by the Rallises.”

  “What does that matter, if it keeps you alive?” Vincent turned his attention to the door as a knock sounded. How the hell had he not noticed that another mage’s vibes were so close?

  Edmund turned, guilt highlighting his face. “I’ve got this.” He strode to the door and pulled it open. William Ansel strode in like this was his house. Vincent hadn’t sensed him at all. Hell, he was off his game.

  Bronte stiffened at the sentry’s arrival.

  “Rallis will not control the Casteel senator, lady.” Ansel stood at attention in front of Bronte.

  “This isn’t about control, Ansel. This is about keeping Bronte safe.” Vincent glared at Edmund. His brother had let the man inside the estate and then left him on the porch. The man had been listening at the door.

  “The first hurdle is the Gathering anyway,” Edmund interjected. “It’s in two days. The Senate won’t meet again before it.”

  “No, the first hurdle is her security,” Vincent objected. “Bronte doesn’t know you, Ansel.” The other man started to protest, but Vincent cut him off. “If she doesn’t trust you, she’s not going to take your advice on staying safe. You need to assign someone to her that she can trust.”

  Ansel narrowed his eyes. “Who do you suggest?” The sentry’s gray hair and uniform matched his steely expression.

  “Gregor and Dane?” Vincent suggested with a look at Bronte.

  “No. They’re loyal to you.” Ansel replied.

  “Gregor.” Bronte’s gentle voice was a counterpoint to the angry men. She leaned back against the couch and closed her eyes, her mouth tight with pain. With the single word, she’d stepped into the game whether she knew it or not. The sentry wouldn’t refute an instruction from his senator.

  Vincent nodded and looked at the sentry. “You need to kick out her parents and brother.”

  “That is up to the senator, Colonel.” Ansel eyed him. “But, as it happens, I agree. They should meet with an accident.”

  “No more killing,” Bronte ordered.

  “Use whatever force it takes to keep her safe,” he directed Ansel.

  “You can trust that I will do my job, but I will do as I see fit.”

  “She may be your senator, but she is mine first.” His voice snapped at the sentry.

  “Not anymore, colonel.”

  “Vincent, there is one more thing I need to do before I leave.”

  He looked over at her in time to see her brush a tear away with her left hand.

  “I want to see him.”

  He’d hoped she’d forgotten. “Nothing good will come of this, Bronte.”

  “I’m running out of time. I want to see Claude.”

  19

  She exited the long, black car and studied the two uniformed soldiers guarding the side door of the farmhouse. It had taken multiple long arguments with Vincent and over twenty-four hours to plan for a senator’s visit to the general’s dungeon, but she was here. She suspected the long planning time was Vincent’s doing, allowing her a day of healing before facing down Claude.

  The guards’ salute to Vincent was swift as he escorted her to the house. Their black coats puffed around their bodies, though there was nothing soft about them. Bronte knew they were padded with weapons because Vincent’s coat matched. The three soldiers were a trio of blank faces.

  “Sir, the suspect’s in the chair. He’s ready for you, Senator Casteel,” the guard closest to her
stated with a sharp voice.

  “And the general?” Vincent questioned.

  “General Wilen’s baking muffins, sir.”

  Vincent nodded as if he’d expected this. He looked at her, eyes veiled with caution, his face tense. She wanted to reach out and touch his cheek.

  “You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to change your mind. Gregor will take you back home.”

  “I want to talk to him.” She felt small surrounded by all these soldiers despite the high heels on her pumps. It was the men’s width, more than their height. She smoothed the N on the outside of her long, creamy, wool coat. The symbol already felt foreign, but it was part of her disguise. Claude might open up more if he thought he still knew her.

  Vincent jerked his head toward the door. Gregor and Ansel filed past and stepped inside. Their complete lack of noise was like watching a movie with the sound off. Bronte was well versed on the plan. Vincent, her sentries, and the reader mages would sneak down first, muffling their noise with their mage power. They’d hide in the basement’s plentiful shadows. Bronte would walk down by herself, leaving Claude to assume they were alone.

  Vincent caressed her cheek with a gloved hand and walked inside. The connection she felt with him lingered despite the growing distance, but it had nothing to do with his energy or her syphon. It was her heart, desperate to cling to him while it could.

  The guard nodded for her to go in. The others were already safely concealed in shadows. Her shoes tapped against the wooden stairs and announced her presence. She paused at the bottom, searching. Vincent had merged with the darkness, deepened with a mage’s power, but his energy reached for her always.

  Claude sat in her old chair, exactly as she had, facing away from the stairs. From the light of the stairwell, she could see his restrained arms and shackled ankles. His smell drifted over, sweat and fear. She waited for the pang of sadness at his suffering, but nothing came. She was numb. It was uncomfortable, this lack of sympathy. But Claude had killed and tricked her into playing a role in those deaths. If she’d only questioned him more, dug around to discover why playing his terrible songs note for note was so important…but she couldn’t go back and fix it. She could only move forward.