Antebellum Awakening (The Network Series #2)(8)
My eyes snapped back onto hers. “What?”
“You did nothing wrong in defending yourself, and you managed to save a dragon in the meantime.”
“But I lost control of the magic.”
“Yes, but you saved your own life, and possibly Camille’s. Alvyn admitted to your father that he planned to kill you.”
A little shiver of fear skimmed my spine when I met Papa’s suddenly turbulent eyes. So Alvyn had faced Papa. For a moment I felt a flash of pity for the poacher.
“He actually confessed to wanting to kill me?”
The High Priestess gifted me with her piercing stare. “He had to. Veritas is a very powerful potion, as I know you are very aware.”
No arguments here, I wanted to say, recalling the terrible memories of the Veritas potion I carried with me from my time at Miss Mabel’s. Veritas caused a crippling vertigo and nearly unstoppable desire to speak your deepest wishes. No one could withstand the Veritas without years of calculated exposure.
“What will happen to him?” I asked.
“He dies tomorrow.”
Her simple response startled me, and I could only stare at her for several moments, blinking.
“Dies?”
“Yes. Both of them earned it. I will not allow traitors to live. Enough of the poachers, let’s talk about our plan for you. Until Miss Mabel is dead I will fear for your safety, Bianca. Chatham Castle is not the safe place it used to be, unfortunately.”
The rush of panic took me by surprise.
“You aren’t going to send me away, are you?”
“Of course not,” she said with a frown. “You’d be less safe anywhere else. Besides, your father has a plan of his own.”
She looked over to Papa, silently giving him the conversation. His forehead had puckered into deep grooves that smoothed out as he spoke. The fast, clipped inflections of his tone comforted me.
“She’s right. Ever since your mother died your powers have grown, B,” he said in a quiet voice. Worry flickered through his gaze for just a moment, then disappeared. He straightened up, standing to his full height. “Mabel isn’t under our control yet, which means you need to learn how to fight in order to defend yourself should the occasion arise. You have to learn something more than how to use blighters in a Mactos.”
Blighters, Mactos, defend yourself. All these words took me back to my time with Miss Mabel. I’d stood alone against her in a Mactos, a magical fight where blighters, little balls of energy, were used as the main weapons. Just remembering that day flamed my already agitated powers. I swallowed. “Papa, I haven’t done anything to make the magic so strong.”
“It’s not your fault,” he said, sharing a glance with the High Priestess. “It’s to be expected with grieving. I thought the magic would work itself out if I gave you time to process losing your mother, but that’s obviously not the case yet. Perhaps you just need more time.”
I flinched at the reference to Mama and remained silent. I didn’t know what to say. Papa dealt with everything through logic. Forward movement. Never looking back. Emotions placed on the back burner to deal with the current situation. When he grieved, he did it in private, away from the light and other people. I didn’t doubt he mourned as deeply as me, but he did it in such a different way that I sometimes felt as if I were drowning in a sea of despair while he stood on the shore.
Papa continued, pulling me from my thoughts, “You need to be able to defend yourself from witches like Alvyn or, heaven forbid, Mabel when she shows up.”
His use of when and not if sent a violent shudder down my spine.
“That’s why we asked Merrick here,” the High Priestess said, turning her eyes onto him. He stood several paces behind me with his hands folded behind his back, so silent I’d forgotten he was there. “You have served as an apprentice to Derek for nearly two years, is that right?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Merrick responded.
“You have three months before the Protectors can vote on whether or not they will accept you. Is that also correct?”
Merrick nodded once. Every male witch that hoped to serve as a Protector had to survive an initial training period that lasted an entire winter. If the witch passed and still wanted to be a Protector—and most did not—they spent two years as an apprentice. At the end of the two years, the Protectors voted on whether they would keep the candidate or not. Few enough made it past the initial training period and even fewer were initiated after the vote. With only thirteen people allowed at one time, the Protectors were one of the most exclusive groups in all of Antebellum.
“I’m assigning Merrick to teach you sword fighting,” Papa said. “He’ll continue with his regular duties, of course, but will also instruct you every day. Our hope is that through learning how to fight physically, you will not only learn how to protect yourself, but also give your emotions an outlet.”
Merrick’s shoulders tightened, but like most Protectors, his expression never changed. I suspected he may resent it; he probably saw it as a babysitting duty rather than an educational experience.
“The magic took over you today, and you nearly exploded.” Papa’s chocolate eyes latched onto mine. “Since you refuse to talk about your mother, we’ll try giving you a physical way to express your emotions.”