INDEX:
Link here to a general overview of the novel
Prologue, Chpt 1, Chpt 2, Chpt 3, Chpt 4, Chpt 5, Chpt 6, Chpt 7
Join the story after Daav and Sebastian have been discovered at their hideaway.
Chapter Eight
Daav
I shove off the couch, reaching for the bag and our guns, Sebastian is doing the same. Both of us crouching low and running to get over to the tool bench and have access to whatever can be used as a weapon beside the guns. My stomach is still wet from Sebastian’s cum. Sebastian’s body presses against mine at my hip where we crouch low at the far side of the table from the door, letting the bench provide as much coverage as possible.
Still, we are exposed in too many ways to name. I’ve been a fool, trusting we’re safe.
Seven of them enter the warehouse. The four upfront hold guns.
Beside me, Sebastian relaxes. While I understand his relief at identifying our visitors, I am not clear that means we’re safe.
Johan. Head of our illustrious Conclave.
“Daav, Sebastian, we’re here to collect you. You’ll come to no harm.” Johan’s calm voice filters over the four men standing in front of him.
They’re the non-mage guards that the Conclave employees. Screened thoroughly, put under strong oath, paid extravagantly, and threatened to within an inch of their lives to keep the identities of the mage community secret while they work inside headquarters or protect mages outside those halls. Mages are important resources and their lives are too valuable to serve as a protection force, not to mention that we’re forbidden to wield offensive magic.
My grip squeezes around the pistol, safety still off, although I’ve pointed it at the ceiling now.
“Your guards’ weapons argue otherwise,” I answer.
“We didn’t know the situation we’d find. You have caught the interest of others who want to do you harm.”
Beside me, Sebastian snorts. “Understatement.”
I elbow him in the side. He grunts and shoots me a scowl.
“We’re not discussing anything until you have your men put up their weapons,” I continue.
“Put yours up as well,” Johan counters.
“Conclave assholes,” Sebastian mumbles.
And I hear his unspoken words, the accusations from the years they’d ignored Victor’s treatment of us. Ignored his victimization. They’d known about it, but I still owe them for my life despite it all.
“Can’t we just do what he wants,” another feminine voice adds, arguing back with Johan. “They’re not the enemy.”
“Shit, it’s Nuée,” Sebastian says.
“She’s how they found us?” I ask him. She and Sebastian are close. He’s likely shared the location of his personal spaces with her.
“No, not how they found you,” she huffs, clearly overhearing us, although we hadn’t been trying for quiet.
“Then why are you here?” I ask.
“To make sure that this circus doesn’t turn into a true disaster. Between your stubbornness, Daav, and Sebastian’s impulsivity, anything’s possible.”
“She has a point,” Sebastian says with a nod.
“Not helping, Angel.”
“Fine,” Johan bites out. “Put away your guns,” he says to his men.
Then, the click of safeties being reset.
The men are parting and Johan, Nuée and another mage from the Conclave, Angela, step forward.
Sebastian stands, moving away from the table, abandoning the little cover we have although he holds onto his gun.
“How did you find us?”
Angela and Nuée turn around, facing away from Sebastian’s nakedness.
“If you wouldn’t mind putting on clothes,” Johan grumbles, “the conversation would be easier accomplished.
“For you maybe,” Sebastian says. “We were just fine before you arrived, and it is my place. My dress code. You’re the ones intruding.” He turns to me, with a put upon over loud aside, not caring a whit about his nakedness. “It’s like they don’t know what human bodies look like when amazing sex is interrupted.” He calls out to the visitors. “It’s messy and full of unattractive swinging parts, funky smells and a lot of fluids. Don’t visit if you can’t look real life in the face.”
“Just put on your pants, Seb,” Nuée demands. “No one wants to stare at your junk. Real or not.”
“Oh I assure you, my junk is very real.”
He places his hand on his hip and purposefully sways. Unashamed as my release drips out of him down his thighs. I swallow a laugh. Verse, I’ve missed him.
I raise my eyebrows in appreciation. “They don’t deserve the show, Angel.” Then, to the rest of our visitors, “Give us a moment. If anyone else needs to turn around, go ahead. You’ve been warned.”
We move back over to the couch where we’d discarded the recently inconvenient clothes, wipe ourselves off as best we can, and pull them on.
“We’re decent now, for the prudes in the room. I’d invite you all to sit, but that implies we asked you over as guests,” Sebastian says, tucking his shirt into his jeans.
Johan doesn’t seem to mind being left to stand in the middle of the space with his lackeys around him.
I slip into my shoes and step next to Sebastian to join him. Together, and it feels too easy, too right to be by his side.
Johan walks over to one of the tables full of tools, fingering a chisel and shaking his head. “It’s time to come in. The explosion at your home meant a turn in the political situation and we need you where you’ll be safe.”
“We’ve spoken about this before, Johan. Staying independent is a condition of my cooperation.”
“Your cooperation means nothing to us if you’re dead. Your threat to leave us high and dry is worthless.”
“How did you find us?” I ask. We need to know our vulnerabilities.
“A contact at Seb’s…club,” Johan says, distaste in his words.
“What!?” Sebastian barks, his brazen and racy in your face attitude gone.
“A man by the name of Kilgar.”
Who was Kilgar?
“He’d never give you that information,” Sebastian insists, his finger flicking at his side.
“I think they threatened the club ownership to get his name, Seb,” Nuée adds. “Then threatened him. And he was worried about you. He wants you safe, too.” Like that explanation is more relief than some other alternative reason this mysterious Kilgar person has divulged our location.
Angela, so far silent in the conversation, admonishes Nuée. “You are here to help because you said they would listen to you. Not to incite more conflict.”
“It’s true,” she replies. “Deny it.”
Beside me, Sebastian has gone rigid as a board.
“Fuck you, Johan. I know you keep tabs on me and my habits since I don’t play nice with the quarter century, but I thought the Conclave tried to respect our private lives. I do the work you want. Leave my friends out of your shit. Don’t threaten them again.”
Hurt. They hurt Sebastian with this information.
Next to him, I reach my littlest finger, feather it over his wrist. He shivers. No one would see it unless they were standing near.
“Are you an adult, or a child, Seb?” Johan continues. “I vaguely remember your quarter century trial just the other day. You are a functioning member of the mage community, and as such you have just as much responsibility as the rest of us to keep Orreance whole. And you and your associate,” he gestures toward Daav, “have done enough damage out here on your own. You reap what you sow.”
My instincts sink their hooks into me, a need to step in front of Sebastian to protect him from the esteemed Conclave leader. “It’s me you want anyway, Johan. Leave Sebastian out of it. I’ll come in and he will return home.”
Sebastian turns to me. “Like fuck I’ll stay behind,” he almost yells, and punches me in the arm. The pain from the situation is vibrating off of him.
My punishment is deserved. Only moments before they’d arrived….
But now I’m not sure what will come. One week is a breath away, and with what had happened during our sex? The confusion of it as we’d triggered the Verse? And the sheer wonder of having my Angel again. I don’t deserve him. It is dangerous and the endgame hasn’t changed.
“The choice belongs to neither of you,” Angela bites out. She is Johan’s second, and a powerful Industrial mage. She excels at affecting large-scale, singular chemical reactions supporting the production of metals or plastics or concrete. Too bad that even our large scale producers can’t create enough product to keep our nation afloat. Hence, our economic dependence.
“Orreance’s Chancellor is demanding answers from the Conclave,” she says. “Staltz has cut off all trade with us. None of its allies are allowing us to import their goods. Our export contracts are frozen, not that they were robust to begin with. Even our own allies are afraid to do any business with us for fear they will be cut off from Staltz’s network. We are fucked, to put it in a language you might understand, Seb.”
“Damn, your father’s fast,” Sebastian murmurs to me, again none too quietly as I rub the back of my neck and try to breathe past the seething fire at the news of Carl Harkness’s continued cruelty.
His hand moves to rest at my lower back, the touch a warmth I crave. A reminder he is there, like he had been since the first day I arrived. We’re quite a pair, each reacting in our brokenness.
“This is no laughing matter, Seb,” Johan says.
Sebastian is not insensitive to serious threats, or to the welfare of our nation. He cares about its people too much. One might mistake his humor for a lack of sensitivity to or understanding of his surroundings, but that would be a mistake. His whimsy and wisecracks are actually a crafty strategy, both a distraction technique for defense and to buy himself time to find solutions. My Angel is one of the most intelligent people I have ever known. One of the most sensitive as well, and if I want to keep him as far away from further harm as possible, I cannot continue on like a bull in a china shop trying to shove him toward safety with my horns.
“I understand,” I say. “We’ll come into Conclave headquarters.”
“A very wise decision,” Johan answers.
Sebastian raises his eyebrows in obvious disapproval. “So you’ll plant Daav in the most public of locations, one his father is more than familiar with and has attacked in the past? If this is how you treat your most precious asset, I’d hate to see how you protect someone you don’t value. You have to own plenty of other property, hell, even putting us up in a seedy motel might be better.”
I shoot Sebastian a look of exasperation. A moment ago he’d been upset that I had tried to leave him behind. What did he imagine the options might be?
“We know our business, Seb,” Johan answers. “The attack on Conclave headquarters was more than nine years ago, and we have adjusted safety measures.”
Of course they have. Nine years too late. But instead I say, “We’ll come. If nothing else, I will have access to their labs.”
Nuée pushes past the formal welcoming party and rushes over to Sebastian, embracing him. She whispers in his ear, but it’s clear enough. “Come on, Seb, you belong with us. We’ve missed you, and just think what fun we can have with the Cohort? And force Daav to have some fun as well.”
She glances over at me with her words, a saucy smirk across her lips.
But underneath those words, a sadness lingers in her voice. She has missed him, worried for him.
“Don’t look sour, Daav,” she continues. “He deserves it. Don’t you think he’s kept himself away long enough avoiding your grumpy self? And now that you two have kissed and made up, we’ll welcome him home.”
Sebastian laughs and pushes her away, turning to me. “I was always the fun one of the two of us, Prince. Of course they missed me.”
I have missed him, too.
“I wasn’t responsible for keeping you away.”
He loses his smile then, and I’m sorry I said anything. Because it was a lie and because it hurts him to remember.
“No, I made that choice,” he says.
Johan clears his throat. “Nuée, please contain yourself. This is not a party we are planning.”
Angela crosses her arms and frowns. “Christopher has given her free rein which leads to a disregard for almost everything serious.”
Sebastian snorts. “I thought that was me. Are you trying to take my place, sweetie?” He chucks Nuée under the chin and she shakes her head at him.
His smile has returned, although it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“In all this mess,” Johan continues, refusing to see what any of this is doing to us, his precious quarter centuries, “have you forgotten it is Tristan Crane day tomorrow? The fact only makes it worse, muddies the people’s expectations and reactions. We need to make the most of this unfortunate incident.”
I haven’t forgotten, I just hoped to make it through the event with little fuss and to focus on getting results before the next week slips away.
“I said I am coming.” The clench of my teeth begins to give me a headache.
“Yes, return to the Conclave building, but please do it with dignity and decorum.” Angela appraises us with haughty disdain with her censure, as if she thinks we are incapable of proper behavior. “And you’ll have to quit that.” She gestures to us, her hand running up and down to indicate where we stand close to one another. “You’re no longer teenagers. If you want us to get through this mess then we need to manage expectations and present hope for Orreance’s future.”
Bitch.
And even more reason there is no future for me with Sebastian. I owe Orreance. And Orreance has definite opinions about relationships between mages.
“Ignore her,” Nuée murmurs to us both. “She’s just trying to get a rise out of you.”
“If you need anything, bring it now,” Johan says.
My Angel is staring down at the floor, biting his lip, having again lost whatever pretend smile he has insisted upon.
“Okay,” he says, breaking away from his pause and heading to the couch to sweep up our bag, donning his mask once more. “National holiday to prepare for, party decorations to arrange. Nothing says economic and political crisis like balloons and streamers, sweetie.” He hooks an arm around Nuée’s shoulders and heads them for the door.
Johan, Angela and the guards follow.
I take one last look at Sebastian’s sculpture of me, my heart thumping loudly in my chest.
I follow.
###
“Oh yeah, this screams safe,” Sebastian grouses as the black sedan turns around the front corner of the Conclave building toward the private back entrance of the stately white marble and columned building.
It had been designed and built in 1915 during the Golden Age of magic for Orreance as a display of power. Above it flies the country’s flag, redesigned after the asteroid’s visit. The blue, green and black material with a hexagram, the six pointed star of the Seal of Solomon, at its center signals the importance of magic to the nation with its mystic symbolism. The points represent the union of opposites and the six elements thought to be the nature of the world before science identified atomic realities: soil, air, fire, water, spirit and aether. And I wonder again about the irony of the symbol given the science basics that ground the energy we tap in the Verse.
Sebastian has never been one to be impressed by majesty, and I agree as there is little majesty to be leant by the ugly throngs of screaming crowds, their signs stabbing into the overcast skies as they congregate outside the building, as close to the entrance as allowed by police.
Johan ignores Sebastian’s taunt as the sounds of the protestors filter through the glass of the vehicle. Thankfully the windows are tinted dark for privacy.
Chants of anger and elation are a confused morass. The messages on the signs span the gamut of opinion. ‘Negotiation Not Suffering.’ ‘Verse is our Destiny.’ ‘Stop Staltz.’ ‘Magic Doesn’t Feed Kids.’ ‘Verse Power.’ ‘Daav Messiah.’
Our people suffer and it’s clear the pain spills over into strange combinations of patriotism and government criticism. How can it not? It has to go somewhere. I see it in the raw fervor on their faces. The last sign, naming me specifically as savior, spikes my gut hardest. Because failing means bottomless chasms of regret. Not helpful. I focus instead on the hard carved marble of the building, the smooth surface standing as a reminder of Orreance’s strength. A calm numbness settles through my bones, a distance from the emotion of my people. Easiest if I need to face the next week and deliver on my debt.
Then Sebastian’s warm hand moves to rest on my thigh. It startles me and I jerk my leg away. Unfair to my Angel, but I want to remain detached. Sebastian is too alive for any detachment and I both love and hate him for it.
I risk a glance at his face, and catch the end of the flash of hurt. Dammit, I caused that. Have caused that again and again since he returned. Sebastian is meant for smiles, the real kind. More than when he wears his mask. So beautiful, this man. The smooth column of neck, the triangle of his jaw under his short trimmed ginger beard.
He turns his head to look out the window at the protestors, and I know it for his attempt to hide the effects of my thoughtless rejection. The motion away from me causes the pendulum swing of the hawks at his ears. Sebastian is a thing meant to be free, like the birds he wears. I wish I could free him of the pain he’s carried with such strength all of his life, the curse of his magic. But at least I can protect him from myself. Not that I’ve done so this afternoon when I let myself taste him, take him, a selfish moment when my desire broke free. The feeling of his hard body beneath mine, his warm, tight passage as I pumped into him. The wild look to his gray eyes as he came. It’s addictive, having him so near, and remembering that feeling of having someone see inside my soul and cradle it close anyway.
The car follows the down ramp into the underground garage behind the Conclave building and we park and exit. We follow Johan up the stairwell off of the structure, guards trailing ahead and behind us, until we reach the lobby.
Staff crisscross the space, busy with their duties and the extra activities for preparation for Tristan Crane day tomorrow.
Johan turns to us again. “Sebastian, Nuée will help you settle in your room, find you some food, and you can meet the rest of your Cohort. They are all here for the celebration. Daav, you will continue with me. We have matters to review.”
“I’ll be coming with you and Daav,” Sebastian says.
“No, you will not,” Johan answers curtly.
I hold up a palm to Sebastian, needing to keep my Angel safe from Johan’s anger. Sebastian deserves to be welcomed back to their community. His exile has cut him off from the support he deserves, has deserved more than I ever have.
“I’ll meet you later,” I say, a gentle note in my voice that I hope cushions Sebastian from more feelings of rejection. I do want to speak with Johan alone and unknot myself from the increasing complications of my interactions with Sebastian. Although we need to have a conversation. “You should eat.” He’s gorgeous even with his too thin frame, and I wonder how spitting mad he might get if I tie him down and force feed him.
“You’ll be okay?” he asks me, brow wrinkling. Because of course he is more worried about me than himself.
“Fine.” And before I can stop myself, I grab his hand and squeeze. “I’ll be fine,” I say again, voice cracking, after which I clear my throat.
I release his fingers and a knowing smile finally paints his lips again. “Then I’ll go shower and remind the rest of the Cohort how much of a pain in the ass I can be, and how much they’ve missed me.” He winks.
“You are such an idiot,” Nuée says to him, bopping him in the stomach with the back of her hand. “How long have I told you to do this?”
“I’m sure you’ll remind me, sweetie. Ad nauseum.”
And a flare of jealousy at their easy relationship flushes through me.
He leaves with her, continuing to the far lift that goes to the floors assigned to the various quarter century Cohorts’ apartments.
“I’ll see you later at the meeting, Angela,” Johan says to his second in command. “Daav, follow me.”
I follow the long corridor to where Johan’s office opens off an anteroom, the name Sir Johan Shiloh on a placard on the door. We enter and his assistant sits behind an overfull but organized desk surrounded by the plush waiting room chairs. The office screams Johan’s position of importance.
He’s held the position of Conclave head only slightly longer than the twenty years since I had come to Orreance. Johan is a talented mage, although it’s his gifts of persuasion and political negotiation that keep him in office, his an appointed position within the elected non-magical government. The man has a knack for exerting just the right amount of power and delivering just the right amount of warmth that keeps him adored by the populace and keeps the Chancellor and Congress wiggling for him like fishes on the hook.
While the rest of the mage community remains anonymous, with the exception of the recent public unveiling of Sebastian and me, by tradition only the Conclave head is known to Orreance’s people. And as the public face of magic, Johan has cultivated a cult of personality. And does it well.
Johan continues past his assistant’s desk, expecting Daav to follow. “Kevin, hold my calls. If Senator Lanthrop reaches out, tell him I plan to be at the 3pm meeting. And make sure you leave early today. It’s Dorothy’s birthday and she deserves your attention.”
“Yes, Mr. Shiloh,” Kevin answers. “Good to see you, Daav.”
“You as well, Kevin,” I answer, nodding.
Kevin has been nothing but pleasant, efficient and respectful over the years I’ve known him. Ironically, I’ve probably spoken with him more often due to my need to check in with Johan than with most of my own Cohort. Dorothy is his wife’s name. If I remember correctly, she is seriously ill. Suffering from a heart defect and needing a transplant. Nothing that the current ability of our medical mages can handle and a problem as our medical technology lags.
Johan seems to like his assistant, and displays his usual caring and consideration toward him despite this obviously being a time of political crisis and on the eve of the involved Tristan Crane celebration when an assistant would be expected to work overtime. Johan’s consistent kindness to his staff is one of the few things I like about him. And that is the ridiculous contradiction of the Conclave head whom I mostly detest for his complicity with Victor’s evil. If it had been only myself affected, that’s one thing. But with what was done to Sebastian…. Johan is good at his job, and truly cares for his country and those he leads. But the path to hell is well and truly paved as they claim, and forgiveness is an indulgence for which I have no interest.
Inside his office, Johan closes the door and gestures me over to a seat. If he minds that I still smell of sweat and sex he doesn’t say. And while I must do this alone, I like the reminder of Sebastian with me.
“How close is Dorothy to getting her transplant?” I ask him. “The med mages still treat the symptoms regularly? She hasn’t been cut from the rotation?”
Johan lifts an eyebrow at my question. “She’s receiving all she is able. I would never let Kevin’s wife suffer if I could help. But there’s little more to do without the transplant and she isn’t doing well. For someone so eager to stay separate from the Conclave and your community I always find your interest in their welfare quite amusing, Daav. ”
Wiping the smug smile from Johan’s face is as tempting as ever. I ignore his comment. My wish to focus on my goals has never been about a lack of care for our people and Johan knows this. He’s trying to provoke me, or maybe it’s payback for having to chase us today.
“Coffea, water, juice?” he asks, going to a sideboard and pouring himself a cup of dark brew.
“No thank you.” I sit and cross my legs, impatient for the conversation, and for the both of us to come to the heart of the matter.
Johan sits behind his broad wooden desk with his coffea.
“I’ll get to the point,” he says after taking a sip and placing the cup between us. “Since the video went viral we have faced a shit show. We’ve been lucky to keep your identity quiet all these years, but our luck has run out. Blown up in our faces literally. Spectacularly. Harkness has had you in his sights the months since Victor’s death, but now he’s up against a wall and is viciously attacking Orreance to solve his not so little problem created by the exposure of your identity.
“The way I see it he has to correct the damage before your birthday. Your death may not be enough. He’s calling for your extradition to Staltz, although he denies you are his son. He claims you’re an imposter and that you’re slandering his name and position. Until we capitulate, Orreance will be frozen from all supplies and goods from Staltz, its allies, and any country wanting to maintain economic relations with Staltz. Half the country is calling for us to meet his demands, and half have elevated you to their hero, a godlike figure they are sure is the messiah they hunger for. Both sides are rabid over it. I don’t need to remind you how fine a line we already walked with Staltz and our economic position before this disaster.”
“A shame you lost Victor,” I say with a shrug. “He was the lynchpin keeping it all from spiraling, yes? His contacts and underground influence in Staltz has kept it all together. How inconsiderate of him to die.”
In truth I suspect it all came down to blackmail. But the secrets he wielded died with Victor. Although I have not given up on my attempts to resurrect them.
“Your sarcasm is wasted, Daav. I know you hated him, with good reason, and you know the influence he wielded. It’s what got you out of Staltz, has kept you alive all these years, and kept Staltz mainly off our backs. That’s beside the point. You can hate the Conclave all you want for our decisions, but now, none of us are safe. We have decisions to make, and you do care about the outcome.”
“Are you asking me to cooperate and return to Staltz?”
“Of course not! We have too much riding on you.”
I nod. “Then what do you want from me? I have been doing everything in my power to get ready for my quarter century trials and offer Orreance all I’m able. You know my commitment.”
Johan’s lips tighten. “Yes, but we need time to prepare. I need to understand your strength so we can plan for all contingencies. We’ve left you alone since Victor died, as you asked, in order to build your power. But if we’re going to get through this, I need to go into it with eyes wide open.”
I snort. “Because if I’m not the prophesied mage you will have to move quickly to ensure our country survives.”
Will they hand me over to my father if I fail? Perhaps. For Orreance’s welfare.
“I’ve set up the main lab with a test of your ability as it rests at this moment. I can compare it to your last levels before Victor died when we measured your reach. Give us this at least. I have a 3pm meeting this afternoon with Congress to provide an update. Show us where you’re at before then. They want a report. I need resources to protect you and make the most of the next few weeks, and I need their cooperation to do that. You’re here for that purpose and so we can keep control of the public relations nightmare. And after tomorrow’s Tristan Crane celebration I’ve booked you into the lab each day until your quarter century. You have it for as many hours as you want.”
Everything he says makes sense, and my logical mind agrees. I owe him this cooperation. I want the success as much as he does. Still, the itch under my skin nags at me for something different than his reasonable plan. Like there’s something I’m missing that will help solve the puzzle, or change the name of the game altogether. It’s why I’ve kept my recent activities secret from Johan, and not only because it’s in my nature not to trust.
“Are we at least watching Staltz’s military movement? Getting our own ready for the little it does us?”
“That’s not your concern,” Johan answers. “Staltz still risks its allies’ trust if it goes martial in its planning.”
Johan dismisses just about anything not magic related. It’s one of his greatest faults.
“There’s nothing else you can tell me?” I ask. “Nothing that provides a last edge?”
Johan leans forward. “You have everything I have to give.”
Maybe, maybe not. There seems to be way too many gaps in the Conclave libraries about the years Orreance’s magic was strong and dominant. The accounts of the asteroid’s passing read more like legend and myth, and our scientists are strangely silent on the matter, although perhaps that’s due to their total lack of funding.
“Orreance is about our magic. Help us save it, Daav,” Johan continues, layering his words with the charisma he uses to keep his power.
And still that itch calls me to walk out of this office, find Sebastian, and leave.
I ignore it.
“Show me to the lab,” I say.