by CM Raymond
Gregory’s face burned as she walked in his direction.
Hannah reached up, took the back of his head in her hand, and craned her neck up to place a soft, gentle kiss on his lips. Whispers filled the room as everyone watched. Gregory’s stomach turned into knots.
Go with it, she said, her sweet lips still attached to his.
After what seemed like a day and a half, she stepped back and smiled. “Gregory, finally we are together again!”
Too much? she asked in his head.
“Ah… yeah, I’m glad you, um…”
Hannah turned to Monica. “This must be your mother who you’ve told me so much about.”
She reached out her hand toward the befuddled woman.
“Mother, this is Deborah, my…”
“Date,” Hannah said, finishing his sentence. “Your sweet son has been the absolute kindest person welcoming me to Arcadia. I was so lost, I hardly knew anyone. He befriended me, and once I found him to be funny and charming as well—I was sold.” She smiled again, her face dripping with every ounce of sugar she could manage.
Monica took Hannah’s hand in her own. She froze for a moment, and then a wide smile spread across her face. “Charmed, dear.” She turned back to her son. “Gregory, you didn’t tell us you had a girlfriend.”
“Well, it’s because I don’t—”
Hannah cut him off. “He didn’t want to cause my father any worries. He can be a little... protective. And with the new move and all, I want Father to get settled and not think he needs to worry about a handsome devil like your son stealing me away from him.” She gave a refined laugh.
Gregory could only stand there and grin like an idiot. His head was swimming from the kiss and from Hannah’s performance. She executed both flawlessly.
The dinging of a metal fork on crystal broke the awkward pause. They all turned toward Elon, a man with kinky, dark hair and a nervous smile. He had married Monica because no one else would, but also because of what she afforded him. Elon’s family, during the rise of Arcadia, remained in the middle class. They were proud folks who wanted to make their way in the world through honest, hard work.
In Monica, he found his shortcut into the Noble Quarter—a shortcut that would lead him into the prestigious career of Chief Engineer.
“Ah! Here we are again,” Elon said, his hand shaking at his side, “another solstice and another Winter Ball. I must first thank my lovely wife, Monica, for putting together this amazing event year after year.”
He motioned to her, and she dipped her head to the crowd. They all applauded, even though they knew the woman didn’t lift a damned finger to make the ball happen.
Raising his glass in a toast, he said, “To Arcadia. Might she continue to flourish by the work of our hands, the love in our hearts, and the dreams we dare to hold.”
As he thought about his father’s dreams, a chill ran across Gregory’s spine. He knew what cost the work of his father’s hands. The rest of the crowd raised their glasses. “Here, here,” they chanted in unison.
Monica slipped her hand onto Hannah’s bicep. “Come, dear. You and Gregory will be sitting near the head of the table.” She squeezed Hannah’s arm and winked. “Better not let you two out of my sight tonight.”
Oh, shit, Gregory heard Hannah say in his head as she followed the older woman.
****
When people consider the classes of Arcadia, they generally spoke of two. There were the peasants, who lived in squalor along the Queen’s Boulevard. It was easy to tell who they were and differentiate them from the rest of society. This was the world that Hannah had known all her life until Ezekiel took her away from it all.
The other side of that coin was the noble class. Naturally, they lived in the Noble Quarter. Most of them worked during the day, either at the Academy or in the Capitol. There were some, very few, whose family had amassed enough money even after the Age of Madness to be self-sufficient.
Lord Girard was one of those.
But there was a growing third class that was seldom talked about amongst the people of Arcadia. The middle class fits neither of those categories. Mostly made up of traders and sellers in the marketplace, they were, to Hannah, nearly an invisible people. They were there, fixtures in the streets of Arcadia, but didn’t draw attention. Hannah always assumed that they were content with their lot in life until she saw the truth that night in Gregory’s house.
Young women of the middle class darted around the room with plates piled high with sumptuous noble’s food. They were meant to be invisible even there until someone needed something—or things went wrong. Hannah’s eyes scanned the table as the nobles ignored the women her own age, letting them flit by in the background. Until someone would snap at a girl and point to their half-filled wine glass, at which time the server would run to fill it.
For weeks, Gregory’s friendship was starting to teach Hannah that not all nobles were bad, but that night, she saw them as monsters all over again. The monsters’ ball was quite the affair. They were all crammed into a room large enough to house a dozen Boulevard families. Three tables, long enough to seat fifteen on each side, ran parallel to one another. Every chair was filled with a distinguished noble person—some of who Hannah recognized from the Academy—few others from her days as a con artist, but the citizens of the Boulevard seldom mixed with this echelon.
At the head of each table sat the most distinguished of all. Elon took the head of the first, only four seats from where she ate. The Governor sat at the head of the middle table. A symbolic presence for a symbolic leader. He was happy to have the spot; it was why he held the position after all—to show up for events and make shallow decrees handed down from the academy.
Hannah’s eyes cut to the third table. Her stomach turned over, and her face burned crimson when she saw him—Adrien—seated in the position of power. She stared at the man who was responsible for the ruin of everything she once held dear. An image of her launching fireballs with the power of the Queen Mother at him from her seat, caring nothing for the nobles killed in the attack.
His head jerked in her direction, and eye contact ended her daydream. Adrien narrowed his eyes at her, and Hannah couldn’t help but wonder if he knew—if he could tell that he was looking at the girl who was going to kill him.
A charming smile formed on his mouth as he gave her a nod and returned to the conversation around the table.
“I’ll tell you,” a hardy woman with a button nose next to Hannah said to her company, “if we just give the Prophet and his disciples freedom to root out the wretched Unlawfuls, the problem would be gone in no time. Trouble is, they still don’t feel like they’re able to do what they need to.”
“Honey,” her husband sitting by said, patting her hand, “leave religion and politics out of the ball. People came to have a good time.”
Monica cut the man off. “For heaven’s sake, Jordan. Let your wife talk. If we don’t discuss these things, they will only get worse.”
The woman smiled at Monica. “Thank you, dear. And this is important. You think that all the trouble will always stay down on the Boulevard?”
“Always has,” a man across the table said. Hannah recognized him from his mustache as Nikola, the magitech professor. “Societies need a place for the dregs to run to. The Boulevard serves its purpose, ladies. Let’s not kid ourselves. We need that place.” He scoffed. “Imagine if those people were living in our neighborhoods, playing with our children. It would be chaos.”
The woman with the button nose shook her head. “Nik, that’s fine and good. Let the normal poor… well, let them do whatever the hell they do. Can’t be much of anything. But it’s the Unlawfuls I’m talking about. Those people are all from the Boulevard. And like the Prophet says, they need to be properly restricted. It’s the way that magic was intended, from the very beginning. Might the Matriarch help us if they all started casting? Can you imagine? They’d probably riot in the streets—raping and pillaging without consequence. Like I said, we just n
eed to let Jedidiah’s people do their work—before it’s too late.”
All the people within the vicinity of the conversation nodded in agreement.
Matthias, a highly ranked governmental official, piped in. “Screw ‘letting them’ do their work. I say we deputize their asses and arm the disciples. I mean, our men can only do so much. We’ve been recruiting like crazy from outside of Arcadia to try to instill law and order, but Jedidiah’s people have something our hired hands don’t have. They have a fire that is kindled by religious vigor and civic pride. I say we give those bastards magitech and let them take out anybody who might even look like an Unlawful. God knows a few mistaken kills wouldn’t cost us anything. Better safe than sorry.”
I’m about to lose it, she said to Gregory through her mystical communication.
He reached under the table and squeezed her leg. If it weren’t for the mission, she would have lashed out. The nobles had no idea they were talking about her. But for now, she knew that she had to withhold the passion within her. There would be a time to unleash it, but wisdom had to keep her in check.
And then it happened. Nikola turned to her. “You’re newly back to Arcadia, Deborah, and your father is a teacher of our history. What do you think about all of this Unlawful talk?”
Hannah forced a smile as her mind raced for the proper words. She nodded at Jordan, the husband. “My father has taught me not to talk about politics or religion at the table as well, and I was only a young girl when we left, I don’t know much about these things.” She fluttered her lashes like she thought a noblewoman might. “But he also has taught me never to disparage a fellow citizen of Arcadia, no matter their station.”
The woman with the button nose furrowed her brow.
She turned to Nikola and then Matthias. “But my auntie always told me something else. Only out of a foul person comes foul words. So, there’s that.” She nodded and cocked her head to the side, trying to look as innocent as possible. She could see the noble people all give themselves strange looks as if they were trying to work out if what she said was an insult. She decided to leave before it got to that. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to freshen up a little.”
Hannah clenched her fists as she left the hall. She could feel the red forming behind her eyes.
****
Following the directions given to her by one of the middle-class servers, Hannah spun through the enormous mansion, looking for an open restroom. Her head pounded in anger. If she hadn’t left the table, she was going to explode or blow one of the noble people off the planet.
The house was bigger than Girard’s, which was the biggest Hannah had ever laid foot in. The absurdity of its size punched her in the face as it only reminded her of the squalor that she and the rest of the kids of the Boulevard grew up in. Finally, she found what she was looking for.
Pushing through one of the large oak doors, she found an empty bathroom. Hannah shut the door behind her, and with a flick of her wrist, she locked it. A magitech light flashed on, and she looked herself in the mirror. Blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair staring back at her.
“Go to hell,” she sneered at the image of the noble girl that she was supposed to be. Hannah hated Deborah, and Girard, and the rest of them. She wasn’t sure if she could do it—keep the act up. It was because of them—people like Matthias—that Arcadia had become what it was. If Ezekiel wanted change, Hannah couldn’t help but believe that they would all first have to be taken out of the picture.
She pulled both handles on the sink and let the water run until it became warm. Leaning over the basin, she splashed water onto her face, hoping that it might cool her spirit. Standing up straight, she peered into the mirror.
Hannah jumped and nearly screamed when she saw a figure looming behind her.
“Holy shit burgers, Ezekiel. What the hell are you doing here?”
Her teacher grinned through his white beard. He held the illusion of Girard the noble, but in his smile and the way his eyes squinted when he did, she could always see glimpses of the man who had saved her life.
“Naturally, all the nobles of my stature were invited. Thought it might seem strange if Girard didn’t at least walk through. Not to mention I started to get worried that you’re about to lose your shit.”
Half of Hannah’s mouth turned up in a smile. “Can’t do anything without you knowing, can I?”
“This was one of those circumstances where I chose to put your safety over your privacy,” Ezekiel said. “But am I wrong?”
Her eyes narrowed. “They’re damn animals, Ezekiel. My life—all of my life—was shit because of them.” She shook her head. “For months, I’ve been focused on one goal. Everything, the training, the planning, the rebellion, it was all for the sake of taking out Adrien. He was all that mattered. But not anymore. The problem is deeper than him, and the roots go wide. I want to ruin them all.”
Ezekiel reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. Squeezing, he said, “Change is coming, Hannah. But it’s going to take some time. Those people out there, they’re not all bad. They’ve been taught this for years—decades, really. Adrian is powerful, not only in his magic, but also in his rhetoric. They have been taken in by it, which isn’t hard since they benefit from the system that is in place. And truthfully, most of them have never even met someone like you, never been to the Boulevard. They may be talking out of their asses, but it’s because they’re ignorant. They’re like children. But they can learn, and we need to at least give them a chance before we bring down justice and wrath upon them.”
Hannah leaned back against the basin. She didn’t want to go back out. If she could, she’d stay with Ezekiel there in the restroom all night, or better yet, have him transport them back to the mansion. But she knew better. The mission had to go on, and she had to get the plans from Elon’s office. Those plans were the key to defeating them and stopping Adrien from whatever he had planned.
She flicked her hand. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe there are a few good ones, hell, I don’t know. But those ass munchers I was sitting with are evil to the core. And when the fighting starts, their window for change is going to get really damn small. They’d better pray they don’t get in my way.”
Ezekiel only nodded. He knew when to push her, and when to let her vent.
“I better get back out there,” she said, her heart still racing. A bead of sweat rolled down her back.
“I agree. But first, you need some help.”
Ezekiel reached up and placed two fingers on her forehead. Before she could make a smart-ass quip, he was speaking gibberish and his eyes flashed red. All the anxiety of the mission rushed out of her. Hannah’s heart steadied.
“Better?” he asked.
She smiled. “Could have used that twenty minutes ago, you bastard.”
“I told you, constantly keeping up an illusion like you are, especially around so many people, it takes an emotional toll—even on the oldest mystics. But that doesn’t mean you can’t get better, and every moment is an opportunity to learn,” Ezekiel said.
“And an opportunity to kick your ass.” She smoothed her dress and pushed around her curls. “Alright, this noble bitch is gonna go own that dance floor, Daddy.”
Ezekiel laughed. “Please don’t call me that. Pretending to be Girard is creepy enough.”
His eyes flashed red again, and he was gone. She took a breath and then left the bathroom to enter the fray.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Halfway up the mountain, Parker was breathing heavily. Karl, though a foot shorter and twenty pounds heavier, bounded up the stairs ahead of him. It took every ounce of energy and concentration the lowlander could muster to try to keep up with the rearick
Just as Parker thought he would drop, Karl paused and dropped onto a rock overlooking a valley.
“Damn, it’s good to be home. I missed her.” His eyes roamed over the valley below.
Parker couldn’t help but grin. He’d never seen the rearick be anythi
ng but salty. Now, surveying the mountains from the rocks of his home, Karl was his own version of elated.
Pulling his cloak up around his face in an attempt to block the wind, Parker asked, “How long have your people been here, anyway?”
The rearick was busy filling his pipe with the lowlander weed he had become accustomed to smoking. Like most pleasures of the body, the lowlander smoke wasn’t nearly as good as what the rearick grew in the dirt of the crag, but it would get him the last leg toward home. Puffing on the pipe, bluish white plumes drifted over his head.
“Been here?” Karl shrugged. “As long as any. My people pushed into these mountains during the beginning of the Age of Madness. While most of you lowlanders huddled in the prairies and tried to find refuge in the trees, we decided to climb. Guess the Mad didn’t see it as worth their time, or their damned animal instinct told them to go after the easier prey.
