Street Witch: Book One
Page 20
The blade guard scoffed at him. “I’ve been hearing that all day. Constable or not, you have to wait in line. Captain Alastor’s instructions were quite specific. You’re looking at a day at least before the council will see you, and that’s if you don’t leave your place in line.”
Marnie reached the doors, her refreshment supplies dwindling as hands grabbed up the fruits like starved people. The double doors were manned by two guards, their blades drawn in warning. Voices reverberated through. Her palms began to sweat; she was so close. She pictured Bran on the other side, and hope bloomed in her chest.
“Sophia?” the guard said, recognition dawning in his eyes.
Marnie reacted. She dumped her tray on his shirt and threw her weight into the doors. They parted for her easily, lighter than expected, and she almost spilled to the floor. Marnie stumbled, caught herself and ran down a ramp into the expansive auditorium.
A shouting blade guard swiped with his sword. Raif parried it, then followed at her heels.
Centered in the hall and hanging from the ceiling ticked a large bronze clock, the gears exposed. Marnie felt taunted by its turning hands. A gold winged lion crowned the clock, leering at her. The curtained walls absorbed the sounds of her heavy footfalls as she hurried to the heart of the bell-shaped auditorium.
Marnie felt swallowed up by the sheer size of the hall. Hundreds of sets of eyes fell on her, the owners all dressed in rich clothing—blue master’s stoles and silver for priests. The delegates perched in row after stacked row of padded seats that nearly reached the cathedral ceiling. At the back of the chamber, Bran sat atop a throne on a marble stage. Marnie whispered his name and sprinted toward him, passing under the bronze clock.
On the ground in front of the stage stood a table covered in silks with ten high-backed chairs, only one of them empty. She recognized Captain Alastor’s glaring face in his black tunic and gold buttons, seated closest to the stage. He wore his chestnut hair down, brushing his shoulders. Eight men in black stoles accompanied him at the councilors’ table. The rising rumble of voices stopped her dead for a moment.
A narrow stoop of stairs just beside the table led up to the stage. Marnie ignored the steps, rounding on the councilors instead. It wasn’t worth the risk, but she never could abide a bully. She climbed the councilor’s table, kicked Alastor squarely in his handsome, glaring face, then leapt for the stage, and the hall erupted in booming voices. The captain grunted and swiped at her, narrowly missing her legs.
On the stage, the heavy throne jutted out of the marble, draped in fine linens with brass trimmings. Bran observed her, on the edge of his seat. Puzzlement pinched his expression, but his eyes shone with relief and love, and a lump formed in her throat at the sight of him.
Winded, she scrambled to him, Raif not far behind—he’d taken the stairs.
“It’s your turn to save my life,” she said quickly, diving into his arms, as the room filled with angry armed blade guards.
Chapter 14
Shouting voices resounded around the auditorium. Bran only had eyes for her hand, wrapped in bandages and clutched to her heart for comfort. “What happened to you?”
“I finally figured out how to destroy the knife I showed you.” Her breaths came in gasps as her gaze flittered around the hall. Stress sweat dewed her scalp. Her pulse was racing. “All I had to do was stuff a bear demon inside it.”
“Your poor fingers . . .” He touched her hand, her chin, tilting her face to examine the bruises. He tutted over her many injuries, seemingly oblivious to their audience. Marnie glanced at the ruckus growing at the foot of the stage.
The voices in the hall seemed to double. Blade guards cluttered the bottom of the stage, swords drawn. Raif jeered at them from the top of the steps. They yelled curses in return and displayed their middle fingers in taunt, but they did not climb the stage, like an invisible barrier existed there. Alastor was out of his seat, rubbing his forehead, hollering.
“We don’t have a lot of time,” Marnie rasped. Bran gripped her wrist, leashing her to him. He wasn’t done cataloging her. His lips set in a grim line, brown gaze combing her over.
“Treason!” Alastor boomed. He pressed a hand to his head, where a boot print reddened. “This is why we don’t employ witch kind here!”
Marnie expected to be terrified, but when she looked at the captain, all she felt was rage. “Why was I ever scared of any of you? You’re certainly no bear demon.”
“Put the witch down! Let the guards have her!” Alastor jeered, locking eyes with her.
Marnie laughed. “I’d like to see you try, Captain. I really would. You and people like you can’t stop me from being who I am anymore.” She leapt to her feet. Bran still had a hold of her wrist, and that was the only thing that stopped her from trying to kick the captain again.
“A dangerous witch—”
“A street witch! And yes, you better believe I’m dangerous!” When other voices joined with Alastor to scream her down, she spoke louder, and her voice carried. “Dangerous to demons—I recently destroyed three!”
Bran lifted his hand to the crowd, and the tide of voices fell. The auditorium was suddenly so silent, Marnie could feel the weight of it on her ears. He tugged her back down beside him, sharing the throne.
The emperor called his blade guard forward, his voice echoing. “Raif,” he chided. “You were supposed to escort Sophia Becker to my private chambers. Not here.”
Raif blinked but did not miss a beat. He bowed his head. “My fault, my lord. My fault. She was eager to see you.”
“She does not have a golden summons.” Alastor stabbed an accusing finger at her. A small group of delegates murmured their assent.
“No, of course not.” Bran laughed, his tone brash. “The meeting in my chambers was not a political one, Captain,” he said suggestively.
The other council members stared on, their faces tranquil. They maintained their silence, content to watch. One of the council members, a bald man dressed in white finery, pointed at the boot mark on Alastor’s face and tittered to his neighbor.
The captain was undeterred. “She was ordered to stop. We all saw her running from your guards, and she assaulted me!” His voice grew increasingly petulant.
But the grumbles turned into intrigued murmurs. Marnie heard shared chuckles and saw delegates elbow one another and lean close to whisper, their grins cat-like. Their laughter and stares made her face burn. Clever, Bran. By labeling her as his mistress, he extended his protection and made her harmless.
Marnie threw a prayer up to Sidra, begging for Bran’s mind to work fast, for him to be smart enough to figure everything out. Time was not a luxury they had. The bronze clock ticked away, mocking her. She pulled the edict out of her apron pocket and handed it to him. His eyes narrowed to slits as he read it.
“Raif was right,” Bran said quietly, for her ears only. “Alastor plans to buy the crown.”
“You’re the emperor for life,” she said.
“Not for long. The delegates agree. It took several days of arguments, but I’ve convinced them. Positions of power, mine included, will be selected by the vote. All citizens of majority age can cast a vote for the delegate of their choosing to serve as emperor and a priest to stand as bishop for their life. Appointment is once more a thing of the past.”
Alastor spun to face the delegation. “Bishop Jericho, surely you have something to say about these events. Invited by the emperor or not, we’ve just witnessed erratic behavior by a witch, a street witch we all know was recently in the presence of a demon.”
Bishop Jericho was unmistakable, centered in the seats of delegates, an older man with graying hair, olive skin, deep-set eyes, and a heavy silver priest’s stole draping his shoulders. Seated in front of him was Brother Doyle.
Marnie’s heart jumped at the sight of him. In the small sea of priests, it was comforting to see his friendly face. The priests turned and drew closer to their bishop, talking excitedly. When the group broke a
part, returning to their seats, the bishop stood.
“The Cloth would like to pursue the matter further,” he said.
Marnie’s pulse danced in her throat.
“Very well. The delegation is decided and dismissed. Bring me witnesses,” Bran shouted, and Marnie envied his practiced calm.
The assembly of men with blue stoles rose from their seats and slowly, painstakingly, filed out the auditorium doors. Blood roared in Marnie’s ears. Raif whispered something to Bran. The emperor responded with directions too quiet for her to hear.
Raif exited with the delegates, returning moments later with a battered-looking constable at his side. Alec joined them on the stage, limping. Only councilors and priests remained. Somehow, the smaller audience increased Marnie’s stress, instead of lessening it. Her neck broke out in a cold sweat.
Bran gave the floor to the constable. In detail, Alec shared his investigation of the bear demon, starting with Marnie’s recruitment at her home. He ended his tale by describing magic-riding to safety, courtesy of the hero witch. Brother Doyle stood up and confirmed that he and the watchman beheaded the deceased creature and brought it for the bishop to witness. Then Doyle applauded thunderously, and the other priests joined in, caught up in his zeal.
“But you did not see for yourself how the creature was slain? Or where the demon went after the bear’s demise?” the bishop asked, and Marnie hated how Alastor smirked at his words.
“Sophia Becker transported me to safety. No,” Alec added reluctantly, “I did not watch the beast die.”
The priests huddled together again, whispering at their bishop. Marnie’s heart thumped in her throat. Bran offered his arm. She clung to him for comfort, relieved she wouldn’t have to hide her affection now that she’d been outed as a mistress.
“I want to talk to them,” she whispered in Bran’s ear.
“Stand up,” he instructed softly. “Ask to address the church, the council, and the crown—do try not to swear at them, though.”
Marnie rolled her eyes, then stood and moved closer to the edge of the stage. Bran joined her, hovering protectively. “I was there when the beast died. If it pleases the church, the council, and the crown, I’ll offer my account.”
“It pleases the crown,” Bran said.
“It does not—” Alastor started, but the emperor glowered so violently, the captain paused. “It does not please the council . . . but we will allow it.”
The room stared expectantly at the bishop, who took his time responding, stroking his clean-shaven chin. “It’s unusual, Sophia, to allow a witch to bear testimony. I’m hesitant after your recent display of uncontrolled behavior.”
“I assure you, Bishop,” Marnie said, her fingers knotting into her apron, “my behavior has been neither erratic nor out of control. Pushing in here, disrupting the delegation, and kicking Captain Alastor in his face a moment ago was all quite intentional.”
This confession earned her a mixture of chuckles and glares.
A smile tweaked the corners of the bishop’s mouth. It was short lived. He hesitated, glancing at Alastor, whose face reddened in aggravation.
“The church will allow it,” Jericho declared. Mixed applause and grumbles followed.
Marnie swallowed. Words left her head completely. Her tongue tangled. She forgot how to speak because something didn’t feel quite right.
Bran, as gentle as a breeze, brushed her hair off her shoulder.
She felt the reassurance in the gesture and found her voice, but before she spoke, Marnie kicked off her boots and removed her apron, determined to stand barefoot before them as a street witch.
“I smell magic,” she said, words cracking. “Demons smell like rot and burnt meat. The demon possessing the bear was the foulest thing I’ve ever encountered. It gagged me. I could have choked on its filth. And it was murdering our Alec—our constable. It planned to devour him . . .”
She told her story. The room listened, silent, captivated. Even Alastor leaned in.
“You only had to destroy its eye?” The bishop seemed doubtful.
“There’s a bit more to it. I destroyed its magic source. It was the same for the creature in Glint. Its source was in its tongue. I am able to transport what I wish, where I wish it, essence included. With a knife, I was able to trap it in an inanimate object and rupture its essence. It’s hard to explain this to a room full of people who lack my . . . aptitude, but that’s the basics of it.”
Jericho’s silver eyebrows rose to his hairline. “I would love a demonstration. Maybe that would help me understand.”
Marnie bit her lip, studying the weak wisps of pale gold magic which clung to her, tired and overused. Something small and light might still work. She focused on the edict in Bran’s hand. Sleepy magic surrounded it. The edict vanished, reappearing instantaneously in the lap of the bishop.
Jericho gasped. Triggered by Brother Doyle, the priests applauded.
The bishop read the edict, and his face puckered. “The church knows nothing of the crown’s intention to claim Magus District. This seems like a rash action. I worry it will cause unrest.”
“It’s not the crown’s intention at all,” Bran said, gesturing at Alastor. “Do you yield this matter, Jericho? I bare witness that Marnie is present in the palace with my permission and blessing. As for assaulting the captain—I’d like to assault him myself right now, so I pardon her.”
The priests huddled. As their heads came together, they began to argue, their grumbles audible and Doyle the most boisterous among them. Bishop Jericho raised his hand, and they settled.
“She has proven brave and useful,” the bishop said to the hall, “but such powerful natural magic comes with a great deal of responsibility and a greater need for accountability. And now she has disrupted the delegations with behavior that, though intentional, is no doubt questionable . . . She should be tested and monitored.”
His words rang in Marnie’s ears. Her heart dropped to her toes, and her body almost went with it. Bran clutched her shoulder, steadying her. She tried not to think about the nights she would have to spend in a jail. The solitude. The humiliation. How many strangers would see her naked? How often would they challenge and interrogate her?
Some of the tests would hurt.
Of course, they’d have to catch her first. She smirked at that.
“Have you forgotten who she is?” Bran asked calmly, but Marnie could feel his grip tightening painfully on her shoulder. “This is Sophia Marnie Becker. The ‘hero witch.’ Remember, Jericho, more people, more voters, live outside our walls than inside them. How do you suppose they will feel about you after you torment and imprison their champion? They sing songs about Marnie. What sort of songs will they sing about you? Campaigning begins tomorrow. What could this do to you?”
“This matter should be kept quiet,” Jericho said, “for the Sophia’s own privacy—”
“I will not keep it quiet,” Bran vowed.
Marnie agreed. “I will be unreasonably loud about it.”
Jericho digested this with a scowl. The priests left their chairs and surrounded their bishop. Doyle joined them, talking hurriedly and gesticulating with passion.
Jericho waved them back to their seats, looking resigned. He pulled at the stole around his neck. “The church does not recommend imprisonment, monitoring, or testing for Sophia Marnie Becker. Instead, Brother Doyle has agreed to perform a rite in the place of her choosing to ensure no demons currently dwell within her. So long as the constable agrees to also be present to witness it.”
Alec consented wholeheartedly. “It would be my pleasure.”
Alastor opened his mouth to protest.
Jericho cut him off. “I was not finished. The church requests one more thing.”
Across the auditorium, Marnie met his eyes pensively.
“The Cloth would feel more comfortable resolving this matter if the Sophia would agree to voluntarily withdraw from the competition as an apprentice councilor.”
“Seven,” Alec said.
“A respectable number,” Bran said, “until Sophia Becker competed. She is a gifted problem solver—”
“I agree with the Cloth’s request,” Marnie said quickly, glancing at the large clock ticking her precious time away. “I will step down. I will even do so publicly to keep the peace. In exchange, I ask the church and the crown to weigh in on the edict written by Captain Alastor immediately. Many lives are at stake.”
“No lives are at risk,” Alastor scoffed. He sat down heavily in his high-backed chair. “The peaceful group of witches will move on willingly. Many of them already have.”
“The Cloth agrees to close the first matter and open the edict for immediate discussion,” Jericho said.
“The crown agrees to close the first matter,” Bran said reluctantly. “The edict was passed during our delegations, without my input or signature. Without the church’s input.”
“This is permissible by a high councilor in matters of land,” Alastor said, “as long as I have the unanimous agreement of the council. See for yourself: all their signatures are present.”
The council members whispered to each other but said nothing aloud.
“I am not arguing that it is legal and binding,” Bran said.
“You cannot overturn it, Your Majesty, now that it has been made public.” Alastor smirked. “The Cloth cannot undo the ruling. They have no authority over issues of title and deed.”
Bran agreed, and Marnie wanted to break something. She felt the sting of her rage at the back of her eyes and in her nose. It took a conscious effort to hold her tongue.
“Certainly,” the emperor continued, “but I can add to this edict however I see fit, and as the acting emperor, I don’t need any of your signatures. I’ll begin with the heroic campers in the area now known as Magus District. The residents in this quadrant currently seeking squatters’ rights have been ordered to leave the property on the day listed. I add that they only have to vacate the grounds for 12 hours. The crown will invite them to come here, to the palace, as my guests. We will celebrate their efforts in cleansing the trees and purging our jungles of a demon bear.”