by Jen Crane
Rowan Gresham, always so in control, so put together, was at a loss for words. “Yes,” he finally said.
“Great,” I said with gusto. “I’ll meet you at the Sabre lobby tomorrow at four.”
He wasn’t happy, but he accepted the deal. Gresham was nothing if not calculating, and he concluded it was the best offer he’d get. “I’ll see you at four.” He backed away from me, nodded at Nick, and then he was gone.
“Stella,” Nick said as he fidgeted with the corner of his apron. “I try to mind my own business. But I’ve been around a long time. You’d best not get on that one’s bad side.”
I nodded distractedly. “I’ve learned that the hard way, Nick. I sure have.”
* * *
I ate my pizza, but couldn’t savor it. I was too preoccupied with the meeting I’d set.
I used Pia to look up information on Gaspare Shaw, and was pleased with what I learned. He was considered a fair leader. He’d held the post for years, and it looked as if he wouldn’t face opposition any time soon. Thayer’s prime minister was elected, and the qualifications were based not just on popularity, but also by the power one yielded.
While Thayer had no shortage of powerful magical beings, I could find no references to someone to compete with Shaw. As an omni, Gaspare Shaw had an inherent magical advantage. The ability to change into any animal trumped those with only one form. Besides being an omni he was known as gifted and knowledgeable in the art of magic.
I searched, but could find no references to a family. Perhaps a leader’s personal life was off-limits in Thayer. That’d be a big change from what I’d always known.
* * *
I’d been gone for over an hour. I should probably check in on Timbra, I thought.
She was alone in her room and sat on the edge of her bed in a daze. When she heard me she looked up, and I couldn’t contain my flinch at the haunted depth her eyes held. Her thin body sagged with desolation, loss.
“Oh, Timbra.” I ran to her and clutched her to my chest. She devolved into sobs again, and I held her as she cried.
After a while she gave a loud sniffle and sat up. “Well, it’s over. With Boone, I mean. I told him tonight.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said. And I was. “I guess your father wouldn’t see your side of things?”
“No.” She laughed, but it was devoid of joy. “No. He did not see my side of things. Said he’d pull me out of The Root if I didn’t end it with Boone at once. And I don’t want to leave, Stella. I’m meant to be here with you. With…our friends,” she choked on a sob that found its way out despite her valiant attempt to suppress it.
“With Boone,” I finished. “I know, sweetie.”
“But my father’s right,” she sniffled. “We have no future. I know that. We could never have a family of our own. And my family would never accept him as my mate. I knew all of this from the start. That’s why I fought getting involved with him. But,” she hiccuped a sob. “I love him. Simple as that.”
I blew out a breath at the unfairness of Timbra and Boone’s situation. I wished I had a solution, but I couldn’t see one.
“And Boone? Did he take it pretty hard?”
She could only nod, but then cleared her throat. “Angry,” she whispered. “He’s angry. Thinks I should’ve fought for us.”
“But you did fight. It took a lot of guts to tell your father that you had feelings for Boone. I know your family is close, and it must’ve broken your dad’s heart to see you making what he thinks is a huge mistake. And what more could you do, really? If he made you go back home you’d never see Boone anyway.”
She shrugged and shook her head, as much at a loss for answers as I was.
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
Chapter 18
Timbra accompanied me to our three classes on Thursday, but her presence was limited to the physical. Her mind was somewhere else entirely. Boone didn’t show at all. I, for one, was not looking forward to the first time the two encountered one another again. As close as our group of friends had become it was going to be tough. For a while.
“Hey,” I said to Ewan as our Elements instructor passed an ancient stone amulet around the room.
“Hey.” He didn’t meet my eyes, but stared at his shoes.
“You heard then?” I asked.
“Yeah. We always meet for breakfast. When he didn’t show I went to his room. Said he thought he’d just hole up for the day. Poor guy.”
The reflexive twitching of Timbra’s ears caught my attention. She’d heard us. Her face twisted with regret. Someone like Timbra couldn’t turn off her feelings. Her broken face revealed she didn’t want him to be sad and hurting any more than she wanted to feel that way herself.
* * *
Four o’clock rolled around much too soon.
I’d loosely formed a plan and the entire thing was dependent on Gaspare Shaw himself—someone I hadn’t met and whose reactions and motivations I couldn’t possibly predict. But it was the best shot I had at being released from Gresham’s grasp.
As planned, I met Gresham in Sabre Hall’s open common room. He was sleek and refined in black pants and a slim white button-down. My mind snagged on the memory of wearing nothing but a shirt just like it around his grand manor. I huffed a frustrated breath at myself, shook all thoughts of my romantic history with Gresham from my head, and approached him in a fantastic impression of nonchalance.
“Gresham,” I said. “Shall we?”
His face was guarded, but confident, as he reached for my hand. I pulled it to my chest in reflex. I tried to recover and smile in a way that didn’t come across frightened or disgusted or threatening, but I failed miserably.
Gresham closed his eyes and worked his jaw in irritation. “Have you been to Minister Shaw’s office?” he grated.
I held my breath and shook my head. “Nope.”
“How do you propose to get there, if you’ll not let me touch you?”
“Good question,” I said and sucked air through my teeth. “How about I touch you?”
His big hands fisted, but he nodded once in agreement.
I clasped onto his wrist, and before I could even secure my grip we were tracing through the frigid great nothing en route to my newfound uncle’s government office.
* * *
“Brinda, please tell him we’re here,” Gresham grunted to the attractive middle-aged woman who was surrounded on three sides by large oak desks. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, but picked up the phone and did as she was bid.
I was nervous, and looked around the stately room in an effort to take my mind off of what—and who—awaited me. Prime Minister Shaw’s office antechamber wasn’t opulent, but stark. The two small sofas on either side of his over-sized office door were adequate, functional. They weren’t ornate or showy in any way. One or two plants broke up the hard lines of the waiting room; official pronouncements and recognitions lined the walls. But that was the extent of any decor.
From the corner of my eye I caught Gresham inspecting my every move. He’d gotten too close, was too intense. He was prepared to strike. I picked up a magazine from a nearby table and thumbed through it so as not to interact with him further.
Before I got through the cologne ads the tall wooden door between the sofas flew open and Gaspare Shaw emerged like a whirlwind. His searching gaze skipped right over Gresham and Brinda and honed in on me like a falcon to prey. He scrutinized my face with such intensity that I became uncomfortable and cast my eyes to the floor.
“Stella,” he breathed and rushed to embrace me. It was so unexpected that I yelped and jumped out of his reach. I looked to Gresham, whose features were inscrutable. “I’m sorry,” the man rumored to be my uncle said with conviction. “I forgot myself. Come into my office. Brin,” he called over his shoulder, “coffee, please.”
Once inside, my hands, my whole body, began to shake with nerves. I huffed and steeled myself, resolved to determine my own destiny. I walked toward a tall b
arrister where rows of well-loved books and an impressive collection of military commendations were displayed. A very early copy of Don Quixote held a featured spot atop a book stand. I dared not look at the publication date. Dared not touch it. Hell, as old as everyone in Thayer tended to be it was probably an original.
“Do you know de Cervantes?” he asked, his voice strained with hesitation...and hope. He was closer than I’d anticipated and I started again. I didn’t yelp, though, and was proud of myself for that at least.
“No, I haven’t met him,” I said. “But I did read Don Quixote.” I made a sideways smile in an attempt to lend my joke more humor. It didn’t help. “I’m surprised to find it here. Why do you have it?”
“Why?” Gaspare’s forehead creased with confusion. “It was the first modern novel, for one thing. But more than that, I’ve always thought Don Quixote an exemplary role model for leaders.”
“The bumbling fool who put a pot on his head and challenged a herd of sheep,” scoffed Gresham. “Be serious, Gaspare.”
“I am serious, Rowan. But you’re too frequently so.” He turned to Gresham. “In fact, I find this disagreement a microcosm of the differences between you and I. Don Quixote may have been crazy, but he had conviction. Passion. He knew who he was. He had the courage not only to imagine the unconventional, but to pursue it. In seeking his passion he found joy, and even a sort of success. You, Rowan Gresham, are so blinded by the end game you fail to see joy along the way.”
“Joy, madness—it’s all the same,” Gresham snarled.
“Stella. I’m sorry,” said Gaspare, his eyes alight with kindness. “We’re neglecting you. Rowan and I have been having this same argument in various forms for centuries. I fear we’ll never agree. Let’s talk about you instead. Rowan tells me you’re adjusting exceptionally well at Radix, excelling in your coursework, and that you’ve developed an admirable control of your animal forms.”
A scoff escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Did he? Did he actually say ‘exceptional?’ Because I don’t think I’ve ever heard a compliment leave his mouth. I was led to believe that I was a bumbling fool.”
Gaspare whipped his head in Gresham’s direction before facing me again. “Mr. Gresham is not known for his tact, I’m afraid. He’s a brilliant military mind, a fearsome fighter, a sharp investigator. But compassionate? Benevolent? Not so much.”
“Yeah, I figured that out.”
Gresham’s heated stare could’ve melted an icecap.
“You have to understand I had no idea you were out there.” Gaspare changed subjects, and intensity, with such speed that it took me a moment to catch up. “I was aware that Rowan was seeking out someone seen in a vision. As director of defense it’s his job to know everything about anything suspicious…which skin morphing into shimmering scales definitely was, vision or no. But I never dreamed…” His deep blue eyes were lost beneath a fine sheen of clear liquid. Tears. He had teared up at the thought of finding me.
“Can you tell me about my father,” I asked, my own throat thick with emotion. “I know very little. Only what I’ve heard from the legends, really.”
Gaspare was silent for a moment, and I could tell memories of his brother filled his mind. He smiled wistfully and shook his head. “Gabrio was a bit of a dreamer. More so even than me. And an adventurer. Oh, the trouble he got into as a child,” he laughed.
“The Shaw family has always been involved in the political scene because, as omnis, we are by nature some the most powerful creatures alive. But Gabrio wanted no part in the family’s political interests. In fact he abhorred them, and after an argument with our late father, Gabrio left. We never heard from him again. We all thought he was living off the grid somewhere, but when centuries passed with no word, we feared the worst. I always held out hope he’d turn up one day with a bedraggled beard and a wild story.”
He looked at me then with love in his eyes. Love, and loss.
“While I’m beyond thrilled to learn I have a niece, Stella, it’s also a very sad time. If you’re in fact descended of dragons, and the legend of Edina and the wolf is true…it means my beloved brother is dead.”
After several tense moments he shook away his sadness and looked at an old watch. “Look at the time already. Stella, there’s an appointment I cannot miss, but our conversation is far from over. Will you join me for dinner tonight?”
“I’d love that,” I gushed.
“What time would you like us, Gaspare?” I glanced angrily up at Gresham’s interference, and my irritation was noticeable even to Gaspare.
He looked from me to Gresham and back again. “I think it would be best if Stella and I spent some time alone, Rowan,” Gaspare said. “We can get to know each other and catch up.”
“Yes, but—” Gresham tried to say, but I cut him off.
“Sounds great. What time?”
I could hear Gresham teeth grinding to nubs.
“I’ll send someone for you at eight,” Gaspare replied with a smile.
“Perfect,” I chirped and traced toward The Root—and away from a very irritated Rowan Gresham.
Chapter 19
I had nothing to wear to Prime Minister Shaw’s house, a fact I discovered approximately two and a half hours before I was expected. Timbra led me on a shopping expedition, a welcome distraction for both of us. With her help I purchased a flattering little black dress with clean, classic lines and a grown-up pair of heels. She fixed my hair and appointed me with jewelry from both of our collections.
When she let me see the result in the mirror the person looking back at me was…well, a woman.
“Oh, Timbra,” I said turning from side to side. “Look what you’ve done. I’m all growed up.”
Her laughter was like a wind chime—soft, melodic, and laced with fond memories.“It’s true,” she said. “Look at your boobs—they finally came in.”
I chuckled and turned to her. “You’re sure you’ll be all right without me? I hate to leave you. I can —”
“Hush. I’ll be fine. A little heartache never killed anyone. Besides,” her smile turned sad, “I’ll still have it when you get back.”
I hugged her from the side so as not to smudge or wrinkle, and whispered a sincere thanks.
At eight on the dot Pia alerted me to a visitor in the grand hall. I waved to Timbra and shot to the foot of the grand hall staircase.
Though Thayerians were used to the abrupt ins and outs necessitated by tracing, my presence nonetheless caught the attention of several in the hall.
One of those was Ewan, whose mouth fell open at the sight of me. He’d been talking to Pippa Tha Spinna, that gap-thighed spin instructor. She noticed the change in him and followed his gaze. When she saw me she jerked, surprise apparent in her pert, perfect features.
I turned more slowly than was necessary so they could all get an adequate look before setting my sights on my escort. He was young and gangly, though not unattractive, which I was thankful for since I’d apparently decided to put on a show.
“Ms. Stonewall,” he said and bent at the waist. As he rose he extended a slender hand, and together we traced to my uncle’s house, leaving my rapt audience behind.
* * *
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I said to my escort when we arrived at our destination. “Paul, tell me you’re not serious with this house.”
“Ma’am?”
“Is this really Mr. Shaw’s house?”
“Yes. This is the traditional residence of the Prime Minister of Thayer. He also has a family home, of course. And a beach house. A cabin, too, though I’ve not been there.”
I shook my head in awe. The place was gargantuan. And lovely. The grounds must have covered one-hundred acres. The gray stone residence featured a prominent entry, complete with towering statues flanking both sides of the limestone staircase.
As I slowly made my way up the stairs, I noticed the statues were carved into fearsome bears on the bottom and morphed into a big cat remin
iscent of a leopard before forming a hawk who held in his beak a shiny metal ring. I turned my head to continue studying the statue after we’d passed. I hadn’t seen anything like it. It wasn’t totem-like in appearance, but rather a morphing of one animal to another.
And then realization dawned. It was an homage to omnis.
Paul lifted the hefty door knocker and let it fall one time. An austere man in a tuxedo opened the door and welcomed me in. Paul said goodbye, and indicated I was to follow the butler, whose posture was rigid, proper—except for his portly belly, which bounced jello-like with each footfall. He aimed for disinterested, but his eyes betrayed him. He raked my appearance from head to toe, monitored my every movement. I felt like I’d been administered a test—and failed.
The butler parked me in the “private study,” and ordered I wait for Minister Shaw. Which I did. More books lined the walls of the room, as did gadgets and trinkets of varying origins. A globe sat in the middle of the room suspended by a polished wood rail. I went for a better look.
The landmass of Thayer was gigantic, the size of Eurasia. The rest of the globe was covered by the blue expanse of the ocean.
One of the primary features of the room, though, was a sixty-inch television opposite a brown leather sofa that called to my aching feet like a siren to sailors. I groaned inwardly at the inability to utilize it.
“Stella,” Gaspare said warmly and entered from a door I hadn’t noticed. “I’m so glad you came.” He reached to hug me again, but thought better of it and instead clasped my upper arms. His smile was so genuine that my own face lit with pleasure.
“Thank you for having me,” I said with formality.
Gaspare let go of my arms and backed away, noticing my dress as he moved. He took in my cocktail attire and then glanced at his own casual—though still bespoke—pants and woven shirt.
