Eve of Destruction (50 page)

Marose sat on the right side, and she had more regality in the lone finger lazily holding her wine glass than Janel had in his entire body. She was afraid, too—Amaya could tell by her half-smiles and subtle nervous gestures—but at least she came across as someone who deserved to be here. It was an interesting juxtaposition considering how little support she had among the overall population compared to Janel.

Eventually everyone made it to their seats and the false pleasantries began to wind down. Amaya noticed the conspicuous absence of anyone on the left-hand side of the conference table, but when she started to ask Chaval about it, he immediately placed a soothing hand on her arm.

“I’m glad both of you accepted my invitation,” Chaval said, “and I hope our wonderful city has been welcoming enough despite our differences.”

“It really is impressive,” Janel commented, though his voice lacked any enthusiasm at all.

Chaval smiled and took the fake compliment in stride. “The hard-working people of Cadotheia deserve the credit, as well as a distinguished list of innovators who have made it possible—and hopefully given all of us something to think about concerning the future of our country. That’s what I hoped to talk about here today.”

“Which future is that, specifically?” Marose asked. “The one where you poison the skies of every city you touch, or the one where your Dusty thugs run rampant killing any magi they come across?”

Amaya’s mouth fell open despite herself. She hadn’t exactly expected either party to show up on their knees begging for scraps at the political table, but she definitely hadn’t expected…well,
that
. Maybe she’d underestimated this woman…

Chaval chuckled lightly. “I’m glad you’re willing to be so forthright, Madam Mayor.”

Marose shrugged. “I don’t see the point in mincing words. You’re confident you’re going to win, but you invited us here because you’re less confident that you can hold onto the prize once you take it. I’m guessing—I’m
hoping
—that you don’t want a civil war any more than the rest of us do.”

“Absolutely not,” Chaval lied. Or at least, Amaya assumed it was a lie, given what she knew about his hopes for the DeShane girl…

“Good,” Marose said, “so why don’t we start there?”

“We might be getting a bit ahead of ourselves,” Janel suggested. “Polls are not everything, and if either of you is expecting some type of resignation—”

“Nothing of the sort, Mr. President,” Chaval assured him. “Stranger things have happened than an unexpected election outcome. But I still think it’s in our best interests to come to terms on a number of mutually important issues. We’re never going to agree on everything and there’s no reason to pretend otherwise, but none of us want this to result in a war.”

Janel eyed Chaval for a long moment before finally nodding. “All right. What did you have in mind?”

Chaval passed around some documents, and over the next hour the three of them dissected them piece by piece. Amaya lost interest in the details quickly, and instead focused her attention on evaluating the game’s players. Within minutes it was clear that Marose had become the mayor of the Arkadian capital for a reason—she was shrewd and clever, and she was willing to fight tooth and nail to protect the interests of her people. Janel, on the other hand, seemed more and more like a fool who had gotten in way over his head. Perhaps that was why he hadn’t accomplished much in the last six years.

It was only when their discussion turned to foreign affairs that Amaya’s stomach twisted and she had to make a concerted effort to block out the conversation. Just like Hovien and Turrell, Janel and Marose spoke of other countries like quarries to be mined rather than spaces full of other human beings. Talam, as always, drew special interest because of its “reconstruction” and the various economic opportunities such a situation presented.

Or, in other words, the ways in which Arkadia might exploit the Talami people.

Eventually the door cracked open and one of Chaval’s aides peeked his head inside and interrupted the discussion. “Sir?”

Chaval raised a hand for pause. “I trust our other visitors have arrived?”

“Er,” the man stumbled, “yes, another envoy has arrived, but I didn’t realize anyone else was scheduled to—”

“They weren’t invited, but I knew they’d come sooner or later,” Chaval said. “Let them in.”

The aide nodded and disappeared, and a moment later the door opened. Two men and one woman strode inside, their stately, gold-trimmed robes as much an indicator of their identity as their haughty bearing and derisive stares.

Marose nearly dropped her wine glass, and her face went pale. Janel, for his part, simply looked confused.

“Madam Mayor, Mr. President,” Chaval said, “allow me to introduce the representatives of the Enclave.”

The man at the center of the group—tall, bald, and sporting thick gray eyebrows—nodded fractionally. “Thank you for agreeing to see us, Mr. Chaval. I know we weren’t on your approved guest list.”

“I’m willing to adapt,” Chaval replied easily. “I know you’ve wanted to speak with me for some time, I’m just surprised you didn’t come along with Ms. Marose.”

“We’re not here on behalf of her,” the man said flatly. “We represent a separate interest.”

Chaval smiled. “Of course you do. Please, have a seat…Magister Wilhelm, is it? We were just discussing the tariff issues with Dolecemi corn shipments in the last six months. This is an open forum about our shared future; there’s no reason you can’t sit in and join us.”

“We don’t need to sit,” Wilhelm told them. “We’re not here to negotiate anything—we’re here to deliver a message.”

“I see,” Chaval said, leaning backwards. “Well, then, by all means…”

The bald magister swept his eyes across the room, and Amaya had the mental picture of a scientist evaluating a colony of insects. She didn’t even know this man and she could feel the aura of arrogance radiating off of him. It was the same maddening hubris all magi seemed to wear like a second robe, but Wilhelm’s was even more pronounced than normal. Not that it was surprising, considering his position and likely personal power. Despite all the soldiers outside, Amaya knew they wouldn’t be able to stop these magi in time if they decided to use their magic…

“It’s quite simple,” Wilhelm said. “Withdraw your candidacy before the election.”

Chaval just smiled and folded his hands in his lap. Across the table, Janel actually snorted.

“You can’t be serious,” the president said. “You burst in here like you own this place and then expect a seat at this table. I thought you would have learned your lesson six years ago. The Enclave can’t bully the Arkadian people.”

Wilhelm didn’t even turn to acknowledge him. His eyes remained locked on Chaval, as if the two of them were having a conversation in a private room.

“I’m sure you know I have zero intention of withdrawing,” Chaval said eventually.

“You might have the support of the people, Mr. Chaval,” Wilhelm replied, “but without our endorsement, you will find it difficult to function.”

Janel snorted again. “They said the same thing to me, once. They said the people would never accept a torbo president, and that I wouldn’t be able to do anything—”

“The Edehan church will not support you, either,” the magister went on, ignoring the other man. “The Exarch herself will publically condemn your administration. You will find her word carries weight even amongst your most stringent supporters, and her enmity will cripple you.”

“Perhaps,” Chaval replied with a shrug. “Or perhaps it will just further convince them that the church has no real answers for them, and neither do the magi. Whether you like it or not, the future is right here before you. You can sit down with your comrades here and participate in shaping it, or you can let the tide of tomorrow wash you away. The choice is yours, Magister.”

Wilhelm shook his head fractionally. “Be as glib as you like, but no president has ever led this country without our support. You will not be the first.”

“You never supported me, and you still don’t!” Janel snapped. “You have no control over—”

“We allowed you to rule because it suited our purposes,” Wilhelm interrupted, turning to face the president for the first time. “That time is over.”

“Oh, please,” Janel scoffed. “This is all just empty posturing—”

It happened so quickly Amaya had to blink three times to believe it. In one moment Wilhelm was standing there looking down upon Janel as he would a child, and in the next a low rumble shook the room like thunder rolling in on the evening breeze. The president froze mid-word, his mouth hanging open and his hand stuck in the air. His twin aides and the two soldiers next to him looked similarly frozen, like they had suddenly and inexplicably turned into mannequins. A single flash of light and a low buzzing sound were the only clues that something had happened at all…

“As I was saying,” Wilhelm continued, “you will not rule this country without our support, Mr. Chaval.”

Every pair of eyeballs in the room gaped in horror at the display of power—except for Chaval’s. He acknowledged the stunned president as he might a passing pedestrian, then narrowed his gaze at the magister standing before him.

“That sounded like a threat.”

“Take it as you will,” Wilhelm said. The woman at his left handed him a rolled up piece of vellum, and he set it down on the table. “Withdraw and accept our compromise, or prepare to face the consequences.”

“I think you’ve interrupted our congenial meeting long enough, Magister,” Chaval told him. “The door is behind you, in case you forgot.”

For a moment, Amaya thought the mage might take the bait. Whatever in the void he had done to Janel, Wilhelm clearly had the power to crush every person in this room if he wanted to. Amaya rubbed her fingers idly across the gun concealed on her left hip, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to do a screlling thing with it if the mage decided to attack…

Almost in unison, the magister and his entourage turned and walked out the door. Everyone stared at the space they had just left, trying desperately to come to terms with what had just happened.

“—you have no control over—” Janel finished his sentence abruptly, then blinked and shook his head. His soldiers instinctively reached for their weapons before realizing their enemy was long gone.

“I’m afraid he’s already left, Mr. President,” Chaval said. “But that’s all right. There’s no reason the rest of us can’t continue our conversation.”

Janel started to speak, but no words came out. Instead he stood there, a perfect statue of impotence, his voice dying in the room’s stale air.

Amaya drew in a deep breath. For months she had been wondering when the Enclave would finally show its hand. Now that they had, it was every bit as bad as she feared. The three of them in this room could talk as much as they liked, but if the Enclave was willing to fight a war over this election, then nothing said here today would stop it. The magi would band together to try and reclaim what they had lost, and the Dusties would fight to the bitter end to defend what they had gained. 

And all of Arkadia would burn around them.

***

“You don’t really think this is going to work, I hope.”

Shaedra closed her eyes at the sound of the familiar voice behind her. It had been almost three days since he’d tormented her, and she had hoped he might simply refuse to follow her into Cadotheia a second time. But she knew better than that.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” she replied softly.

“The power of the Avenshal is not something you learn to control,” Alex told her. “It is not a beast waiting to be tamed or a fire you can douse with water. It is a disease that will spread across the Fane if it is not cured.”