Witch-born

by A. J. Maguire

  "So you see," Bartholomew took up the explanation, "while he might have all the money in Magnellum, he really has very little power. The more Talented children a House has, the more influence they keep."

  "So he devised a way to force Magic back into his bloodline," Elsie swerved her attention back to Lorant. "Delgora was an easy target, given its distance from the mainland of Magnellum. All he had to do was kill the House Family there and wait for the day of Ascension. Communication between Delgora and Magnellum is limited to Winter Tournament since the journey takes so long. True, announcements were made of the Families death but since Ascension was so far into the future, no one really noticed or bothered and we were easily forgotten."

  "And that is where the Dellidus fits in," Rorant frowned, his fingers ending their incessant hammering on his pistol.

  "How did you get a Dellidus into Magnellum in the first place?" Elsie asked Lorant.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Reonne paced the length and breadth of Delgora hall, moonlight streaming through the high windows and slanting shadows across the floor. Braziers had extinguished themselves just before the sun had set and for a brief moment she had allowed herself to feel victory. Her daughter would start the trek home, grieving the loss of her servant because she was a good girl who felt too much. The timing could not have been better. By the time they reached Delgora there would be a scant seven days before Ascension.

  In the confusion and pain of loss Leona would be easy to manipulate.

  She paused her pacing at the far end of the hall and turned to face the House Seat. It sat cold and marble, vacant, flanked by the dead braziers. There would need to be something else to spur Leona forward, something that would bring her foolish little daughter into fully trusting her. While Elsie was dead there was no way to determine what the other Gelgova sister would say or do to cover the sudden death of her so-called sister.

  Her problem now was Nessa Gelgova. The one Leona had freed. While Reonne could have easily targeted and removed Nessa's influence on Leona if she were still a servant, the fact that the girl was free meant that she would need something a bit more persuasive to silence the seamstress. Something that would force Nessa's hand, make her show Leona that she was not the woman she pretended to be.

  Something drastic.

  Mirias entered the hall from the back door, giving a low and deep curtsy when she saw Reonne. The subservient move shoved a thought into her mind - Naharia Gelgova, the mother. Mirias cowed away from her, reading something in Reonne's face that obviously unsettled the servant.

  "Bring Naharia Gelgova to me."

  ***

  Elsie's question struck the room with a force that caused Leona to squeak with alarm. Dorian kept himself just in front of Elsie, a physical barrier between her and the increasing tension coming off Lorant. Amid the excitement of puzzling the mystery together he had almost forgotten the implications. In order for a Dellidus to exist within the Warding Pillars it needed to be protected by someone. Untalented, Talented, it didn't matter, the Wild thing only needed a bond with someone. In this case it was Reonne. Brochan Delgora-Fie was merely its body host, fueling the creature with the Witch-Born magic.

  But first, Lorant had to find a Dellidus close enough to the Warding Pillars to lure it inside.

  "He didn't."

  Dorian was startled to hear the confession come from his father. The entire room focused on Rorant, whose mouth twisted as though he were swallowing something sour. When he spoke again he looked only at Dorian.

  "Understand, Son, that I love your mother," he said. "But we were not school-mates as I led you to believe. In fact, I had never known Jessamine Feverrette by more than reputation until the day I answered her call for help."

  Rorant had been rash in his youth, a man who wanted desperately to matter, to be a hero. Dorian had known this for years. So when Jessamine, newly married to Aubin, made the call that her younger sister had fallen to a Dellidus, Rorant answered. While the rest of society scoffed, saying Jessamine was just upset that her younger sister had run off with an Untalented, Rorant alone believed her. Together they made a trek through Magnellum, hunting young Diana-Lynn Feverrette.

  "That's how I recognized what was happening to you, Saldorian," Rorant sent him a rueful smile. "I could see your magic growing. The same peculiar thing sprouted between myself and your mother."

  "Yes, we all know about the perfidious nature of Jessamine Feverrette." Lorant jeered.

  All cordial pretenses were dropped between Ivan and Rorant, who took three thunderous steps to the soon-to-be deposed Lord and swung a fast fist. The crack of knuckle-bone to jaw resounded in the small space and made Dorian smirk. Lorant's head whipped back under the force, and he staggered to the ground. Dorian spared one glance at the fallen man and then watched as his father inhaled once, slow and controlled, before he fixed his gloves and turned away from Ivan. One day he would applaud the man for his restraint. If such a comment were ever made against Elsie, Dorian knew his Talent would not permit anything less than throttling the offender within an inch of his life.

  "To make a long story short, we found Diana-Lynn and the Dellidus. Diana died in the struggle and we captured the creature." Rorant ignored the painful groan that emanated from the floor as he finished the tale. "The Council agreed that the Dellidus was to be destroyed and to safeguard the good name of Diana-Lynn, the true events were buried. Lord Lorant was tasked with destroying the creature. But, as we now know, he decided on something different."

  "I don't fully understand," Leona's voice was a soft meep from the fireplace. To her credit the younger woman hadn't screamed during the altercation between the two Consorts. She clutched at Callen's arm, looking a good deal like a bird ready to fly off. Her gaze moved over the room, settling on Elsie before she spoke again. "Are you trying to say that my mother is a Lorant? That she ... "

  Emotion swept over the girls face. Callen moved closer to her, an arm circling her with tender support.

  "No." Leona said, strong in spite of the light waver in her tone. "No, my mother couldn't do that."

  "Lady Leona," Bartholomew turned to face her. "This is a difficult thing to understand. None of us would ever want to believe a member of our family was capable of such a thing."

  "There have to be other suspects," Leona argued.

  "I've a suggestion for you," Elsie stepped to her and waited for the girl to meet her gaze. "If I am right, then your mother will attempt to get you to sit on the House Seat on Ascension Day. If I am wrong, she will make the attempt on her own and try to parlay with Magic for Delgora."

  "Why would she try to put me there?" Leona asked.

  "The woman would not be able to hide the deaths of my parents from Magic. It would be written in her very soul, which is what Magic will search to find whether or not she is worthy of the House Seat."

  Rorant nodded to two of the Warders, who began to collect Lord Lorant, binding him in a rope woven with Remora Stones. The movement caused a small ruckus of starched uniforms, the chinking of scabbards and belts, but was fluid and professional. Lorant's mouth was split, swelling and bleeding, but he seemed to have gathered enough of his senses to stay quiet for the moment.

  "What exactly are you proposing we do?" Winslow asked. His voice was strained but clear, and everyone in the room turned to look at him.

  Dorian felt the surge of compassion Elsie had for the man.

  "I have a large company of men hidden in Delgora. I can direct Dorian ... "

  "I will not be leaving your side," Dorian interrupted her.

  His argument annoyed her, he could tell by the brief frown she sent him but she nodded anyway, "Very well. I still need someone to meet up with them and rally them for the fight."

  "That would be me," Winslow stood up.

  "I cannot ask you to put yourself in danger for Delgora," Elsie said.

  There was a stony look to the man that he had adopted overnight. The icy manner in which he gazed at her nearly made Do
rian flinch, but she met it with a measuring, unperturbed countenance.

  "It was Bryva's duty, was it not?" he asked.

  Elsie nodded.

  "Then it is now my duty."

  "Very well," Elsie murmured and began to unfasten her bracers. "These were my mothers," she explained as she handed them to Winslow. "I'll tell you how to find the men, but they will need proof that you come from me. Every man in that camp knows that I would never part with them unless it was necessary. Show them to the men and they will listen to you."

  Winslow took the bracers and turned them over in his hands. "And what exactly am I supposed to say?"

  Elsie looked at Leona again. "If you do not hear from me before the Ascension Day, tell them to proceed as planned. If, however, we have proof that the Vicaress is not corrupted, we will end the sedition and turn ourselves in."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The dirigible hung languid in the sky, puttering its way toward Delgora as though the destination was more of an afterthought. Balsa wood furnishings caught the sunlight as it poured in through extravagant floor to ceiling windows. Dorian surveyed the private lounge before entering, standing just under the archway leading to the hall of private staterooms. He'd tried several times to get through Elsie's door, but she was not answering, not even for the maid. There was an intensity to her silence that troubled him, made the more so by the restless churn of her Talent.

  The fact that he could sense her while standing four feet from her door was significant.

  Dorian took a deep breath and focused on the more immediate problems. He was a little impressed at how quickly his father had arranged their travel. The entire dirigible was rented to them at an incorrigible price, but Rorant hadn't seemed bothered by it. In fact, judging by the almost satisfied manner that his father presented to Gremor across the room, Dorian suspected that his father was pleased with the outcome.

  "Dorian," Rorant raised his hand and beckoned him over. "Sit, please."

  With a bit of a sigh he obeyed, reluctantly leaving the archway and Elsie's door behind. Gremor gave them both a polite bow and left, no doubt to keep all servants out of earshot for the next conversation. One could never be too careful, even if you were several thousand feet up in the air with no means of correspondence save the pilot's deck. Dorian imagined his father's paranoia was part of the reason he'd been placed as the Liaison with the Warders. As was obvious with the events surrounding his conception, the man was fairly apt at keeping secrets.

  "I thought perhaps you would have some questions for me," Rorant swirled his glass of brandy.

  "No, I think you covered most of them in the explanation of the Dellidus."

  A tentative and self-conscious smile flashed across his fathers features. "I do apologize for deceiving you. You can't imagine how hard it was, watching you battle the rumors of society. I did ask Jessamine if I could keep you as an Orzebet but she couldn't bear to part with you."

  "Father," Dorian reached over and tapped his armrest. "This is not necessary. Perhaps my childhood was strained, still it was happy. I had two parents who loved me and I know it. Society could leap into the Wild for all I care."

  "Good, good," Rorant sipped his drink. After a moment he spoke again, making his customary leap of subjects. "The weapons from the arms deal are in the storage compartment below. When Winslow has gathered the men I'll have them meet with Victor before we storm Delgora Hall."

  "You brought the illegal weapons?"

  Rorant held up a finger. "Ah, but they're not technically illegal. Elsie is the Heir Apparent and only spokesman for the Delgora family. That makes the purchase legitimate. For the most part."

  There was a wicked gleam in his father's eyes and Dorian laughed.

  "I'm sorry you lost your informant then."

  "The arms dealer?" Rorant's grin widened. "Oh, no. I still have him on three other charges. I did quite all right with this deal."

  Dorian laughed again.

  Gremor appeared at his left, supplying him with a crystal glass of amber alcohol and quickly retreating. Dorian watched him go, a sudden swell of gratitude for the man's constant shadow in his life. It occurred to him then that their adventuring was almost over. Whatever Elsie had done to erase his contracts had worked. He'd spent the entirety of Winter Tournament in the public eye and not had any assassination attempts.

  They could, at long last, settle down.

  "I have to thank you for insisting that I take Gremor with me, father. He was a steady constant that saved my sanity on more than one occasion."

  "Yes, well, I promised him half your yearly stipend if he stuck by you."

  Dorian choked on his brandy.

  Rorant threw back his head and bellowed a merry laugh. With eyes twinkling in mirth he chuckled, "You didn't think he followed you for free, surely? As much affection as he has for you; Gremor prefers the comforts of civilization."

  "I knew he was paid well, but half?"

  Another irreverent grin and Rorant snickered. "He'll want that soon, I'm sure." Then his face turned serious. "Which reminds me, when this is over ... "

  "Let's take this one bit at a time, shall we?" Dorian knew the conversation was turning to Elsie, a subject he didn't want to discuss.

  "Saldorian," Rorant completely ignored his comment. "When this is over and Elsie is made House Witch of Delgora, the Council will take an interest in her. They will try to dictate who she marries. It's what they do. Years of tradition and security and everything, it all hinges on what they decide."

  "You're telling me this because you know I won't be one of the prospects they have in mind for her."

  Rorant snorted a laugh. "Indeed," he said. "In fact, from what they saw at Winter Tournament, they'll try to separate you and Elsie as quickly as possible."

  "Well that's very inconsiderate of them." Dorian shifted in his chair, frowning because he'd known the Council would try to marry her off but hadn't expected them to feel threatened.

  "Yes, well," his father sighed and leaned back against his chair. "It's the tradition, you see. Now that they have been given so much power within Magnellum, anything that shows something else might take that power is an enemy. They didn't have a problem with Jessamine and me because she was already married and I was engaged. Our Talents would be forever separate."

  "I can't imagine Fate's announcement at the beginning of Tournament will help either."

  "Goodness, no," Rorant's frown deepened. "Magnellum is like that string on a lute that's been turned too tightly. The stress is going to snap it."

  "So what do you propose I do?"

  "That, my boy depends completely on Elsie Varene Delgora," he rose his brandy glass and toasted the empty archway, "and whether or not she has the mettle to undermine the Council."

  ***

  Among the many differences between travel by boat versus travel by dirigible, beyond the obvious air and sea, and the terrible expense, was the stateroom provided. Though in Elsie's opinion the least the dirigible companies could do was lavish luxury on its customers at the prices they charged. And they did. Everything from the ivory-toned walls to the plush, matching carpet created a sense of wealth that had almost overwhelmed her at first sight.

  Lord Rorant Orzebet was either far too generous or far too blase about his expenses.

  A small bathing nook was sectioned off at the western wall, adjacent to the open, glass balcony doors. Presumably this was so that one could enjoy the view of passing sky as they bathed. In the event that the customer was too shy for such a thing, a wooden and blue-velvet accordion wall could be pulled out to block the glass. In the long hours that she had already spent holed up in the room, Elsie had taken deliberate care to acquaint herself with her surroundings.

  She doubted Reonne would suspect their travel arrangements so there wouldn't be an attack if the braziers suddenly burst back to life. And even if they did, there wasn't a Bedim alive that would risk fighting through four Witch-Born and a half a dozen Warders to get to he
r. Not at the prices Reonne could afford, anyway.

  So it wasn't self-defense that prompted her to touch every surface in the room, grazing her fingers over the downy-soft comforter and lacy curtains. It was something else, elusive, just on the edge of her understanding. She'd even flipped back the dark navy comforter, revealing a lighter colored, more cobalt, set of sheets beneath. The material was cool and smooth, an extravagant satin that at once put her in envy.

  The things she could have done with such fine texture. It seemed almost an insult to sleep in the fabric.

  An oil painting of a rough river landscape took up the wall just over her bureau. Leona had insisted that the sewing trunks be stored below so her room was uncluttered this time. The one trunk containing her personal effects lay unpacked beneath the bed. Elsie remembered where she'd stored every small trifle in the three deep drawers. She'd stopped herself from hiding her weapons since it had been an almost instinctual move. They laid spread out over the bed, waiting for her to do something with them.

  From where she stood, propped against the balcony railing, Elsie could see them easily. The curved, ivory handle of her sword stood out against the darker shade of the comforter. It looked strange to her in the light of day. The last time she'd seen it in the open had been the day before she'd stolen it. Her impetuous, reckless eighteen-year-old self had been determined that her great-grandmothers sword would not remain in the possession of Vicaress Reonne. That adventure had nearly ended the sedition before it started and she'd been forced to kill a man - her fourth, if she had it tallied right.

  She wondered how her mother would have reacted to that. By the accounts of Naharia and Forvant, House Witch Tibelda was a peace-loving woman. The sword had been a family heirloom to her and not the instrument of revenge that Elsie had made it. Would there have been disappointment in her mother to see that her daughter's life had been riddle with blood and deceit? Perhaps she would have understood that, in the end, when peace fails and the fight is set upon you, the only noble choice is the one to meet the enemy head-on.