The Complete Chosen Trilogy (The Chosen #0)

by N. M. Santoski

  “Anything else, Miss Connor?” Mr. Boone asked, snapping her out of her reverie.

  “Just the tea and cookies,” she said, her mind still churning. She couldn’t run the risk of tipping off Mr. Boone that “Mr. Johns” was more than he seemed.

  Meanwhile, Nolan fled the store so abruptly that he almost smashed the door into the man coming in.

  “Hey, watch it!”

  Nolan merely waved his hand in what he hoped seemed like an apology and kept moving. He attempted to keep his pace steady as he headed out of the Village and onto the path that would take him home, but it was difficult. The moment he hit the underbrush, he broke into a stumbling jog, and didn't stop until he was through his back door.

  He pushed the hood back and threw his hat across the room, wiping the sweat from his face with a shaking hand. How easily that could have been Warrington, or Selocrim! Thank the gods it was Claire.

  Would she turn him in? Somehow, he doubted it. She knew, more than almost anyone, what was at stake. Claire was a student of history. What was she doing in the Village? Were Pyrrhus and Gia close by? Could he get a message to them?

  Better to wait it out. Hopefully, Claire would find a way to let them know where he was. Until then, he would have to lay low.

  Frustrated, he quickly put away his groceries and headed for the basement, pushing back his discomfort as he headed underground. He flicked on the lights and made his way to the practice range. Time to work off some of his nervous energy.

  He started by attempting a technique his grandfather had called "threading sparks." He would create a small ball of active plasma and hold it in his palm, trying to hold the Power in check so that he could string several of them together, almost like a chain, without the balls all converging back into a single charge.

  He made it to five before the whole thing exploded in his palm, leaving him unhurt but frustrated. His grandfather could make chains for days without stopping.

  He shook himself off. Finesse clearly wasn't his strong suit today—he would have to just exhaust himself instead. He began a series of dips and dodges, firing balls of energy at invisible targets and watching them splash harmlessly against the dirt walls. By the time he finished, he was sweating and out of breath, and almost an hour had passed. He trudged back upstairs, made himself a few bacon sandwiches, took a shower, and called it a day.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Hemmington, the Gravis Court, was a building that was not only beautiful when it was built, but one that aged gracefully. Built by Luther Leith at the height of his power and influence as a coal magnate, it was a perfect example of mid-19th century extravagance. The Gravis were proud that it was older than the most recent renovation on Caer Anglia, and the Leiths had been Lords of this particular Court for as long as it had resided at Hemmington.

  Though few were aware of it yet, the last of the Leith line was in residence at Hemmington—and he was dying.

  Magnus winced and shifted in the bed, prompting a flurry of activity from the Medica attending him. "Lord Gravis, please!" The youngest, a slip of a girl with snapping brown eyes, rushed to push his shoulders back on the pillow. The fact that she could do so with ease just showed how close the end really was. "Are you in pain? Would you like us to increase the numbing?"

  "Hell no," he said, irritated. "The pain's the only way I know I'm still alive." She flushed at his brusque tone, and he deliberately softened it with a smile. "I'm sorry, my girl. Old habits, you know. Used to barking at everyone. Don't take it personally."

  "I'd like to speak to Lord Gravis alone," a voice said from the doorway, startling all of the nurses. "If you could give us a moment, Mina?"

  Lady Medica nodded at Michael Warrington. "Of course. Ladies, to the outer rooms, please."

  The young girl at his side gave his hand a squeeze and left him at Michael's mercy.

  When they were alone, he spoke, wishing he sounded stronger. "Gonna kill me, Mick?"

  "Hardly necessary, Magnus—your body is failing as we speak." Michael picked up a small stone paperweight and examined it, using his numina to prod it into a different shape. "I'd like to talk about what will happen after that."

  Michael would never know the effort it took for Magnus to shrug in that moment. "I'll be dead," he said with a nonchalance he would never feel. "What do I care?"

  "If you truly don't care, then you'll name a successor that I choose."

  "And why would I do that?"

  "As you said, you leave no legacy. Your impact on the world will end with your last breath. When the rest of us must continue to live, why shouldn't our choice be yours?"

  "Ah..." Magnus began to cough, a deep rattling cough that was shattering in its intensity. Michael waited patiently. When the coughing subsided, Magnus continued in a rasp. "Your argument is circumventive. If what you say is true, then this choice is my only chance to leave my mark."

  Michael's face contorted for a moment before he regained control of his emotions.

  "That is your final word?"

  "At this point, I think everything I say is final—don't have much room to change my mind, do I?"

  "No." He put the paperweight, now morphed beyond recognition, back on the desk. “No, you don’t. Who will you choose?”

  “I’d choose Anna Stone just to spite you, but you’d probably kill her—or at least try to.”

  “She’d kill you first for putting her in that position.”

  They shared a wry laugh.

  “Then who, Magnus?”

  “I don’t know yet—someone to hold Hemmington together until the true heir can be sworn in by Nolan Aeron.”

  “Nolan Aeron will never sit on the Council, I can assure you of that.”

  “I think you’re wrong.”

  “Too bad you won’t live to see me prove it.”

  “I think the gods will let me watch—I’ve put up with enough of you in this life to have earned that much in the next.”

  Michael’s lips thinned as he pressed them together. “I think you’re making a mistake, but far be it for me to fight with a dying man.”

  “Good, then get out. I may be dying, but I still have enough pull to kick you out of my room. Mina!”

  A sound of movement from outside the door, and Lady Medica peeked around the doorframe. “Yes, Magnus?”

  “Michael is ready to leave.”

  Puzzled, she looked from Magnus’s thunderous face to Michael’s expressionless one. Finally, Michael took pity on her. “No need to escort me, Mina. I can see myself out. Magnus, think over what we talked about. I hope you make the right decision.”

  “You won’t know until it’s too late.”

  Michael hesitated. “Farewell, old friend,” he said finally, bowing his head in the direction of the bed and leaving the room.

  “Do you need anything, Magnus?”

  “Just a beer,” he said frankly, making her laugh. “And some time to be alone. I have some thinking to do.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jonas frowned from the back seat as Manas merged off of the main highway. “It looks like we’re going to Caer Anglia.”

  “We are.”

  “Why?” Angus asked.

  “To meet with Castillo—see if she’d heard anything. Can’t hurt.”

  “I was hoping not to have to go back there.”

  “Angus, I know it’s hard for you to be there when that’s where your father died, but really—you’re the Alpha of the New England Pride.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Yes, you are. You may be letting Sheppard run things for now, but you can’t escape your blood. When your father died, you became Beta. When Jantzen died, you became Alpha. Since you’ve been hiding out, no one can challenge you.”

  “I haven’t been old enough to be challenged! Don’t imply I’m a coward, Warrington.”

  “He’s not implying it, Angus, he’s flat out saying it,” Jonas laughed.

  Angus began to growl.

  Manas gl
ared at him. “I swear, if you shift in my car, I will kill you myself.”

  The rest of the ride was filled with petulant pouting from two thirds of the car’s occupants. Jonas kept himself busy by trying to name every tree they drove past.

  “I’ll name that one Peach, and that one Manas cause he’s prickly looking like you, and that one Estevan…”

  “Estevan?” Angus said, unable to keep his vow of silence. “Why Estevan?”

  “Because he looks like one, shut up. Ooh! That one’s definitely a Teddy!”

  “You’re an idiot,” Manas said, but at least he was smiling again.

  When they reached Caer Anglia, they were greeted by none other than the Proctor herself.

  “Gentlemen, welcome back. May I invite you in for something to eat in my rooms while we catch up?”

  When they were finally alone, she motioned for the trio to sit. “I know why you’re here, but I have some other business to conduct first. Angus, you’ll have to return to Hemmington.”

  “Why?” he blurted out. “I haven’t been back to Hemmington in…”

  “All Gravis are being recalled.” She paused, taking a moment to compose herself. “Lord Gravis is dying.”

  Manas sat back against the chair, visibly shocked. “What? He’s only a few years older than my father!”

  “Magnus is not a well man, and it has finally caught up to him. As you know, he has no heirs, no descendants. That means that the succession is by no means clear-cut. By Council decree, all Gravis will return to Hemmington until the new Lord or Lady is revealed.”

  “How?”

  Castillo raised an eyebrow. “How what, Mr. Keller?”

  Jonas rested his elbows on her desk, ignoring her glare. “How will the new Lord or Lady be revealed? If I remember correctly from your classes, we need the Swordsmith for that.”

  “It figures that would be the only thing you retain, Keller. Yes, to officially install a new Council member, he or she must be chosen or approved by the Sword. Until such a time as that is possible, Magnus himself will choose his temporary successor.”

  “How has this not been an issue until now?” Angus demanded.

  “What about Disanza?” Manas asked at the same time. “He was brought in after John Aeron disappeared.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “Is he… Is he not really a Lord?” Jonas whispered.

  “You’d do well not to repeat that,” Castillo snapped. “He is what he says he is, and I don’t want to hear another thing about it!”

  She took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. The three teens were watching her with surprised and, at least in Angus’ case, fearful expressions.

  “Things are tense right now. Lord Artifex is doing what’s right for all of us. That’s all that needs to be said. Now, I assume you’re here about Aeron.”

  Manas ignored the two stunned men next to him and leaned forward. “Yes. Have you seen him?”

  “Not a hair. Although there’s been some unrest here—some pro-Aeron graffiti and the like.”

  “Have you caught the culprit?”

  “Not yet. I have our teachers on patrol every night, though. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Perhaps we should talk to the students. As representatives from my father.”

  Castillo considered it for a few moments before shaking her head. “Many of the students are unaware of the problem at this time—we’ve caught it and either erased or covered it up before they wake up, except for the first time. Those few students who do know I’ve spoken to personally. Let’s wait—if the situation calls for it, I will ask you back.”

  “Very well.” Manas stood, and his friends rose with him. “Do you mind if we take a stroll—relive old times?”

  “Not at all.” She knew damn well they weren’t nostalgic already—they’d only left a few months prior. “Please feel free to speak to any of the teachers, as well.”

  “Speaking of the teachers, how is Claire doing with her classes?” Jonas asked.

  “She is… adequate.”

  They exchanged glances, somewhat amused at Castillo’s hostile tone, and left to loop the building.

  ***

  “So, how's class going?” Noel asked, her hands clutched around her coffee cup as though her life depended on it. The liquid inside was steaming enough for Claire to suspect that Noel was helping it along—the early October wind was blowing right through the thin glass of her office windows.

  Claire smiled. “Going well. The students are eager to learn... and a little too curious about Nolan, to tell you the truth. They're very—“

  “What about Nolan?” Noel interrupted. “I hear there’s some kid running around vandalizing school property in his name.”

  She flushed, uncomfortably aware of Noel’s narrowed gaze, and looked away. “Well, kids will be kids, you know…I’m sure it’s just harmless—“

  “Claire.”

  Startled by Noel's serious tone, she carefully replaced her teacup in its saucer and looked her in the eye. As soon as they made eye contact, Noel glanced away. “What is it, Noel?”

  “I want to talk to you about Nolan.”

  “This isn't another witch hunt, is it? Noel, I told you before—”

  “Let me talk!” Noel snapped, losing her patience.

  Instead of snapping back, Claire simply stared her down until she started talking.

  “I've never liked the Aerons. You know that, but I've never told you why,” Noel started, staring down into her coffee as if it held the secrets of the universe in its dark depths. “I’m not sure you’ll understand.”

  “Try me, Noel,” Claire said in a fierce undertone.

  “I never told you about my father, did I?”

  “You’ve never mentioned him, no.”

  She traced a fingertip across Claire’s desk idly. “He was an Ignis, high placed in Lord Azar’s court. My father was Azar’s closest friend, his advisor, his ally. They were roommates at Caer Anglia, my father stood as best man at his wedding… they were like brothers. My father fell in love—I’ve never been told her name, and I really don’t want to know it. He took this girl as his bride in word and deed—all that was left was Azar’s permission. My father never doubted for a second that it would be granted.”

  “He was denied?”

  “Azar was furious. The girl was related to him in some way, and he thought my father was reaching too high.”

  Claire was morbidly fascinated. “Was she ruined?”

  “No—it was like it had never been. Never mind that she had been his lover, had taken his ring and sworn before the gods that she was his. Azar ruled that she was an untouched girl, and she was magically restored.”

  The dirty twist of Noel’s lips silenced the protest Claire had been about to voice. Instead, she merely said, “How does this all come back to you hating Nolan?”

  “I’m getting there!” she protested. “So. My father was a bachelor again, and heartbroken. Azar arranged a match for him with my mother, little though they wanted it. I was conceived on their wedding night, because I know they never touched each other after that. When the girl found out my father was married to another, she committed suicide.”

  “Gods!” Claire breathed. “And your father?”

  “Went mad with grief. He attempted to burn down Conleth. Didn’t get very far, of course, but he completely lost his mind. They kept him confined in Caer Anglia’s basement cells for months while they tried to decide what to do with him.”

  “What did they do?”

  “They waited until I was born, out of respect for my mother. They hoped that I would snap my father out of his grief—that he would welcome a young heir and realize that his life could go on. They were wrong. He tried to kill us both as we stood outside his cell, my mother shielding me from the worst of the fire with some of her own. That was the last straw for Azar. He called John Aeron—the Swordsmith.”

  “They didn’t…” Claire drew a fingertip across her throat, eyes wide.


  “No. Killing him would have been a mercy. Worse.”

  “Worse? What’s worse than losing your head?”

  “Losing your numina.”

  She laughed nervously. “Noel, that’s a myth! He couldn’t really…” She trailed off as she watched Noel’s eyes grow steely. “How? How is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know—I still don’t know. Trust me, I’ve been doing my research. The goal of my life is to give my father’s Ignis back to him—to restore him to the man he was. He’s a shell of his former self—he doesn’t even care about his life enough to end it.”

  “Don’t you think Nolan could help you with that? If the Swordsmith took his numina away…”

  “I don’t trust him, Claire. I don’t trust him, Angus doesn’t trust him, and neither should you.”

  Claire frowned. “So I should trust Warrington instead?”

  “He has our best interests at heart.”

  She snorted—unladylike, but effective. “Noel, I don’t agree with you on this, but I don’t want to fight.” She offered her hand, and Noel took it, squeezing tightly.

  “You’re right—I’m worried enough about Gia.”

  “So am I,” Claire admitted. “She’s not telling us something.”

  “Do you think she’s really with Pyrrhus?”

  “Honestly? Not a chance. She’s so in love with Nolan I’m surprised she can see straight.”

  Noel made a face. “Okay, that, I guess—“

  They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Claire called.

  Manas entered the room first, but it was the person behind him that made Noel’s eyes light up. “Angus!” She jumped out of the chair and into his arms. “I didn’t know you were coming to visit! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know myself. It was a… spur of the moment decision.”