Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(101)

“Yes, Papa,” I said. “I’ll try.”

Papa and Tiberius walked me back to the Royal Hall, where we parted ways. They went to join the broken Council, already tasked with replacing their dead, and I veered off to our new apartment.

Busy maids and attendants bustled inside, trying to find something to do to keep busy. I slipped past, ignored, as I wanted to be. Except for several swords, a few pairs of armor, and four heavy chests that no one but Papa could open, we had very little to bring with us to the new lavish rooms. I stepped out onto the large balcony jutting off from the High Priest’s chambers and drew in a deep breath.

The dying summer heat settled in a sticky layer on the rolling emerald hills of the Central Network. They unfurled in front of me like the white banners rippling from every turret, signaling Chatham Castle’s mourning for our lost High Priestess. From the Witchery flapped our own white flag. The words The Wits were invisible from so high in the air.

A lonely, empty ache gnawed at my bruised and brittle heart, keeping me company. From such a beautiful summer evening, I drew very little joy. The solitude left my thoughts free to roam to the High Priestess, replaying the moment of her death again and again and again.

There’s always more room for pain, isn’t there? I thought. Joy is so fleeting.

“Mildred hated the summer.”

I looked up to find Marten come up to my side, his hands resting on the stone railing separating us from a fall several stories high. Guardians bustled in the lower bailey below. Witches moved back and forth on the wall, some of them laughing, some of them talking. It all seemed so normal. Didn’t they know what all of this change meant? The flapping white banners, the Council assembled in the West Wing, discussing what should be done with the Southern Network and the Borderlands. Would the East help? Would I be able to convince Papa that we should fear Angelina the most, that we should find the Book of Spells first?

Why didn’t they see the battles we faced?

“I don’t blame her,” I said, feeling a trickle of sweat fall down my spine. “The heat is relentless.”

His lips twitched in a little smile. “She didn’t like the winter either. Too cold, she’d say. She didn’t like waking up with a chilly nose.”

The High Priestess’s voice, full of snap and vinegar, played through my mind, bringing a small smile to my face. I couldn’t imagine feeling any humor over her passing, and then realized that I was smiling to keep from crying.

“She wasn’t an easy woman to please.”

“No,” he agreed with a deep breath. “But she was the best leader we’ve had since Esmelda.”

The little stirring of pain in my heart agreed. I’ll miss you, High Priestess, I thought. The magic whispered. I left it alone, neither using it nor pushing it away. My powers and I now lived with a mutual agreement of tolerance.

Marten stood next to me for several minutes in a companionable silence, surveying the landscape. I wondered if he sought the inevitable dark wings rising from Letum Wood that I did. The forest dragons had been circling Chatham Castle every night and morning since the High Priestess’s death. We might have had Miss Mabel locked away, but the danger had only increased.

“I loved Mildred almost the moment that I saw her, you know,” Marten said in a musing tone. “Our life together was far from conventional, but it was worth it.”

I caught a gasp.

“You—”

His eyes twinkled just a little as he looked down at me.

“You’ve proven to be an exceptional secret keeper. I heard you in the gardens that morning. Mildred didn’t. At least I don’t think she did.”

A blush crept up my cheeks, along with a feeling of relief that I’d kept their secret.

“Why didn’t you say something?” I asked.

“I knew I wouldn’t need to.”

The lingering smile on his face disappeared as his chin quivered and his forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know what I shall do without her. Mildred and I could never officially vow our hearts to each other the way your parents did, but she had mine all the same.”

I observed him in silence, recognizing the same sorrow in his eyes that Papa tried to hide in his own. Marten shook himself out of his bleak, morose thoughts.

“I came to fulfill a promise,” he said. I looked up at him in question. He held a small piece of rolled parchment in his hand, sealed with a dollop of wax and a piece of tied twine. “The High Priestess has asked me to explain to you why she chose to have Miss Mabel kill her, and so I shall. The very night she made the vow with you she tasked me with the job of finding a way out of your Inheritance Curse. I searched for months, but found nothing in the way of magic to remove it. Eventually we grew desperate. I went to the West as an Ambassador and spoke with Miss Mabel.”

My breath caught. “You went to her? Why didn’t you just kill her right then?”

“As an Ambassador under the Mansfeld Pact, I am bound by a very strict magic. I could not bring harm to Miss Mabel while bringing the message from Mildred, as much as I wanted to. It’s an unalterable law.”

His eyes narrowed on the horizon with a deep breath.

“Mildred knew that Mabel would bargain for the chance to kill her, but likely not much else. I gave Mabel a couple of options, one of which was Mildred’s life in exchange for yours. Mabel said she’d let us know.”