Hunted by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #3)(59)

Walking up the front steps of the Federation Capitol Building at Iannis’s side was entertaining, to say the least. The guards flanking the huge, gilded double doors stared in shock as they caught sight of him, and by the time they remembered to bow we were already past the threshold and stepping into the entrance hall. Glossy mosaic tiles patterned the floors and arching ceilings with runes, and in the center of the large space was a fountain sculpture of Jeremidah. This time he was flanked by Faonus and Micara, the other two mages that made up the Founding Trio. All three mages were carved as though they were the same height, suggesting that they were equals. I wondered how true that was, if at all. My Northia Federation history was a little rusty.

“Lord Iannis!” the receptionist manning the desk to the right of us exclaimed. She was a petite human dressed in a gold and white button-up blouse and high-waisted skirt. “Is it really you? They said that you were dead!” Her pale brown eyes, the same color as the hair piled atop her head, were wider than serving platters.

“As you can see, Pamina, I am alive and well.” Iannis’s voice was deadpan, but I caught the flicker of humor in his eyes and I knew he was enjoying the receptionist’s reaction. “Would you mind telling me where the rest of the delegates are right now?”

“They’re enjoying dinner in the banquet hall.” Pamina’s mouth formed a small ‘o.’ “You’re going to cause an absolute sensation when you walk in. Do you need someone to escort you, Sir?”

“No need. We can manage on our own.” Iannis inclined his head, then swept past her and headed down a long, wide hallway to our right. Huge portraits of various Chief Mages and Ministers lined the gold walls, and my slippers fell upon a richly patterned carpet that ran down the center of the hall, leaving the rune-covered tile to peek out along the sides. I followed after Iannis along with the two delegates, hurrying to keep up with his long-legged stride. We passed a number of humans along the way as they moved between various rooms connected off the hallway, all dressed in the same gold and white uniform as the receptionist and many of them carrying files and paperwork.

“I didn’t think humans were allowed inside the Capitol,” I remarked as Iannis led us up a set of carpeted stairs.

“They weren’t, initially,” Secretary Bosal explained to me. “But the Federation realized that it was a waste of resources to employ mages for menial tasks like filing when there were plenty of humans who needed the work. Now we allow humans to work at the Capitol, so long as they are willing to be magically bonded.”

“Bonded?” I echoed. “You mean like magically sworn to secrecy?”

“Exactly,” the delegate answered. “Any human who breaks the bond will instantly die by heart attack. It is a rather effective deterrent against stealing or selling state secrets.”

“No kidding.” I turned away before the Education Secretary could see the disgust twisting my expression. On the one hand I understood that the mages wanted to take precautions, but forcing humans to subject themselves to a death spell in exchange for work seemed a little over the top. What if someone captured one of them and tortured them for information? There would be no hope for survival in that situation. Was the information contained in those stupid little files really so valuable that they were worth the loss of human life?

“If humans are allowed in the building, then why don’t I see any shifters here?” I asked Iannis.

“Shifters are trusted less by the mage community than humans, due to the hatred your species harbors for ours,” Iannis remarked dryly. “Given your origins as a species, it is only natural that we mages would rather not employ shifters in our main government building.”

The sound of violin music and chatter, which I’d caught strains of from the stairwell, grew louder, and I bit back a derisive snort as we turned a corner and came upon the banquet hall. The doors were thrown wide open, so music and light and tinkling laughter spilled freely into the hall, giving me an immediate impression of restrained elegance. More guards flanked the entrance, and expressions of shock crossed their faces before they stepped back to admit us.

The banquet hall was filled with round tables large enough to seat ten each. Most of the mages were seated at these tables, enjoying their food and wine and conversation, and my stomach grumbled at the enticing aromas of steak and salmon. A few people were standing around in small groups, some near the elaborate buffet toward the back of the room, and others near the entrance. The group nearest the doorway turned to look at us, and one of them dropped the glass of wine poised between her fingers.

“Lord Iannis!” the mage closest to us, a tall, slender man dressed in a set of silver robes that matched his short hair, exclaimed as the glass shattered into a million pieces. Dark red liquid spread quickly across the silver-veined marble, and the female mage who’d dropped it hastily scurried backward as a waiter swooped in to mop up the mess. “By the stars, but we thought you were dead!”

The entire room went silent at those words, and even the orchestra ceased playing for a few moments as everyone gaped at us in shock. Then the room exploded into pandemonium, and mages all around the room were jumping to their feet and rushing toward Iannis.

“Where have you been?”

“Do you realize you’ve missed over half of the Convention?”

“Was the Resistance responsible for your delay, or was there a mechanical malfunction?”