Hunted by Magic (The Baine Chronicles #3)(79)

“This is going to be an interesting day,” Cirin murmured over his cup of coffee.

“No kidding.” I took a long sip, savoring the rich aroma and flavor. “The delegates are going to be in an uproar.”

“I believe we’re ready now,” the Minister said in Secretary Bosal’s voice. Aside from the more formal robes he wore, he looked exactly like the delegate. I touched my own head of hair, which was distressingly short and mousy and completely unlike the mane of curly black locks I was used to. But I was just going to have to get used to that – I only had to wear this disguise for a few hours, and honestly I was lucky Iannis had convinced the Minister to let me attend in the first place.

The traffic-heavy carriage ride to the Capitol Building was long and filled with tension. I looked out the window and tried to focus on the passing scenery and ignore the fact that my elbow and thigh were literally rubbing up against the most powerful man in the nation. Iannis had disclosed my true identity to the Minister, and though the man was courteous enough not to say it in front of me under the circumstances, he was not pleased that Iannis had chosen a hybrid apprentice. But the Minister had thanked me, albeit reluctantly, for rescuing Iannis from “those dangerous savages” and ensuring he made it to Dara for the Convention. I guessed that his ingrained disapproval of shifters warred against the fact that without my reconnaissance skills, he might well have been dead by now.

Despite my nerves, I couldn’t help my fascination as I entered the Great Rotunda for the first time. It was a huge, round room with a domed ceiling that soared impossibly high, pushing through the second story to crown the top of the building. A golden fresco made up entirely of runes swirled out from the center, and rimming the dome were small, arched windows that allowed sunbeams to filter in and bathe the room in light.

The seats were organized theater-style, with four rows that spanned the length of the room, except that in front of the red-covered chairs there were gleaming wooden tables where the delegates could set pen and paper and glasses of water. Each seat was designated by a golden place card on the table, announcing which delegate was to park his behind there, and small sheets of paper and pens had been set out at each station. Iannis led us to a group of seats in the top row, closest to the end. To my dismay, I was seated between the Minister and the Finance Secretary rather than next to Iannis, but there was little I could do about it. I cast my gaze to the center of the room, where a long desk had been set up, flanked by two smaller ones. Four mages sat at the largest desk, members of the Minister’s office who were running the Convention in his stead. Typewriters were set up at the smaller desks, and I assumed the mages clacking away at them were assistants or secretaries of some kind.

“Delegates,” a silver-haired mage called, and the way his voice reverberated throughout the room told me his voice was magically magnified. “The Convention is now in session. Please take your seats.”

There was a loud, collective rustle of clothing as the mages who were still standing obeyed, and then silence fell across the room. The silver-haired mage tapped his throat, then leaned in and conferred with the other mages at his table in hushed tones.

“That is Federation Secretary Yaris Brung,” Iannis told me. “He mostly deals with foreign affairs, but he is also known to be the current Minister’s right-hand man.”

“Gotcha,” I replied, keeping my eyes trained on the conferring mages.

“There is other business to attend, but we will start with the vote for the next Federation Minister,” Secretary Brung announced. He picked up a black, rectangular box with a small slit in the top and spoke a Word, and the box began to levitate. “Before you, you will find pen and paper. Please write down your candidate of choice, and place your vote in the box when it comes your way.”

Before the procedure could start, a tall, elderly mage I had not noticed before asked for the floor.

“You may speak, Lord Ortho.”

“The Chief Mage of Suluris,” Cirin whispered for my benefit.

“Secretary Brung, has the ailing Minister not made some recommendation about his successor, as is the custom?”

Brung looked uncomfortable for a moment, but replied quickly enough, “No, Lord Ortho, most regrettably. Perhaps Lord Zavian felt too weak to do so. In any case, he deemed it best to leave the decision up to the Convention itself.”

Iannis and the disguised Minister exchanged a quick glance. I could sense the Minister’s shock at what had to be a brazen lie from a trusted subordinate, and imagined that he would be planning swift retribution against the traitor very shortly.

The box floated toward the delegate sitting at the end of the first row, and I watched as it hovered there, waiting while she carefully wrote out her choice on the piece of paper, then folded it neatly before placing it in the box. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Minister sit up straight, and I could only imagine how he must feel at having to sit here and watch the other delegates vote on his replacement as though he were already dead. His eyes narrowed as he watched the progress of the box across the room, and I half-wondered if he was somehow using magic to see how the delegates were voting. But there was no trace of the strong, burnt-sugar scent of a recently cast spell, so I figured he was just speculating.

I waited with bated breath as the box circulated around the room, going up row by row to allow each delegate to cast their vote. When it arrived at Lord Cedris’s section, he took his time slipping the piece of paper into the box, and there was a distinct smirk on his handsome face. Pompous ass. He was probably voting for himself anyway.