Syphon's Song (31 page)

Considering Selene’s disinterest in the social niceties, Bronte let her own curiosity have its reign. She leaned forward against her legs, bringing her closer to the necromancer. “You weren’t…dead before I took the edge off, were you?”

“That’s a stupid question. Of course I wasn’t dead.”

“Oh. Well, how did I take the edge off?”

“I was clogged up with our mother’s killing spell.”

Our mother? Bronte barely caught the rest of the woman’s words.

“It’s hard to use a death spell on a mage who resonates with death’s energy.” Selene shrugged. “You’re her syphon daughter. I’m her necromancer daughter. It only makes sense that all of our powers vibrate. Though you certainly didn’t take much of the power off. If you’re a typical example of a syphon, they’re not very powerful.”

“You’re my sister?” Bronte sat stunned. The insult in the envoy’s words only half registered.

“Don’t tell. The Rallises might not want you if they know you’re related to a bone witch.” Selene laughed with bitter glee. “Yes, you’re the favored Casteel daughter. You got to stick around for sixteen years. She threw me out three days after I was born, when my necromancer power surfaced. The Council took me in. So don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”

To throw out a baby—how could they? Bronte’s estimation of her parents dropped to the darkest pits of the universe.

Selene stood and walked to the door. “Be at the gyre’s edge at seven thirty.” Her voice was as icy as ever.

16

Bronte chose a rock the height of a chair, three rows away from the center of the gyre. The sun streamed through the branches of the white guardian trees as it headed back to the horizon. She’d endured Helen’s company at the big house for as long as she could. The news that she had a sister burned her tongue. She’d kept quiet, though Selene was wrong about the Rallises. They’d still want Bronte regardless of her necromancer sister.

She had a sister. Bronte sat on her white rock, the words reverberating through her mind. She was due some peace to think it all through, and no one could get to her in the gyre. The only other person in here was dead.

Dane and Gregor lingered on opposite edges of the gyre, frowning and frustrated that they couldn’t get to her. She ignored them and opened her violin case with a flick of the clasps. The case’s velvet lining was worn and dotted with bald patches. She pulled out her instrument and bow.

She was a mage. It was officially on the Republic’s record books. And she was going to play like one.

She tuned the four strings until they vibrated with perfect harmony. It was the antidote to the tension coiled inside her. She caught her first deep breath in hours. The rocks of the gyre absorbed her notes and sang back to her. Constant and steady. The only constant in her universe at the moment. She had no idea what was next in her life other than pulling the bow across the strings and letting the song building inside her have a life.

The notes danced out of her one at a time. The gyre’s power magnified and stretched the music until it seemed as if her creation would go on to infinity. The first stars in the sky were reaching for it when she heard her name. She lifted her bow from the strings and noticed night’s darkness for the first time. The dropping temperatures penetrated her skin.

Her time to herself was at an end. Selene stood among the trees enclosing the gyre. After playing for so long, it took Bronte a moment to bring her into focus. The shadows complicated the task. She studied her sister and waited for some sense of connection to form. It didn’t.

Selene disappeared back into the trees. The gyre’s vibes were probably too uncomfortable standing that close.

Bronte packed away her violin and stowed the case against a rock. She started toward the tree line, weaving in and out among the petrified tree trunks in an uneven maze to the gyre’s edge. The tight trees standing sentinel let her pass through. A mass of mages gathered on the other side.

The Rallises were all present—except Vincent—as well as the judge and her court. Bronte wasn’t sure why they needed to be here, but she wasn’t going to ask. With a twist of bitterness, she noted her parents’ presence. Phyllis sat in a chair that someone had dragged through the forest for her. She certainly hadn’t performed the task for herself. She either still suffered from the effects of Selene’s defense or had fooled them into believing it. A Casteel sentry, his uniform silvery-gray with a yellow sash, loomed behind Phyllis. Bronte remembered dozens of them guarding the Casteel house. He watched her, his focus visible in the moonlight.

“You’re late.” Selene’s flat tone didn’t carry far in the damp night air, but Bronte heard her clearly enough. The necromancer had changed out of her black suit and into brown canvas pants dotted with pockets and tucked into short boots. Her fleece jacket buttoned on the diagonal and had two more pockets. A black stocking cap hid her hair and accentuated her pale face. Bronte would have asked her how she was feeling, but she didn’t think the frigid woman would welcome the inquiry.

Selene looked Bronte up and down, disapproving of her attire with a silent sneer. Bronte still wore her dress and boots. They weren’t warm enough, but she wasn’t going to complain in front of Selene.

Helen came to her rescue. She carried a coat and held it open. It was long, lined, and warm. Bronte slipped it on, colder than she’d realized.

“Thank you.” She noted the gleam in Helen’s eye. Not maternal pride exactly. More like a queen sending her army into battle and anticipating victory. She supposed a Rallis always expected to win, though what prize was there here?

Bronte searched for pockets to warm her fingers, but her hands slipped right down the front of the coat. No pockets. She used her sleeves as an impromptu muff.

“That was a beautiful song, darling. Sad though.” Helen’s breath puffed a cloud of condensation with each word. “Button up that jacket.”

“It sounded like a funeral song. Appropriate for the occasion.” Selene stared straight ahead, her gaze pointed beyond the white trees shining in the dark.

“That was not my intention at all.” Bronte bristled to think someone would connect her new song to her grandfather—a man she’d hardly known and who had never done anything to help her. But considering Selene had saved her life and been injured in the process, Bronte decided not to take offense.

“His ashes would tremble to know that you dare hold yourself in such high regard.” Phyllis’s injuries had not damaged her nastiness. “Why would you possibly think you would have the honor of gracing him with music?”

Bronte was grateful Vincent wasn’t here to witness this. She ignored her mother and focused on Selene. “Are you ready?”

Helen took up the battle for her. “Contrary to your point, Lady Casteel, you are the one who will miss the honor of hearing such music. You are blind to the gifts bestowed on your family, and you are no longer entitled to them. You’d be wise to curb your tongue since Bronte is helping to retrieve your medallion. She could just as easily hand it over to Edmund or me, or hold it for Vincent. Or she could put it around her neck and take the seat herself.”

“Impossible!” Phyllis made to stand, but Bronte’s father stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. His consoling pat had Bronte wanting to roll her eyes. Her father seemed meek compared to Phyllis, but Bronte didn’t trust it.

“Let me be clear,” Helen continued. “We tolerate your presence on our land only so you can remove the body corrupting the Rallis mark. The High Council asked us to permit your attendance. Know that the next time I see you, I will wipe your vibes clean of this Earth.” The promise rang with power, multiplied by gyre’s influence.

Apparently, Vincent got his warrior powers from his mother. Bronte wished she had some for herself.

“Let’s begin before this night passes into dawn.” Selene took charge.

Three men stepped out of the shadows, armed and fierce, with heavy glares for Selene. She ignored them.

“Miss Casteel, how long can you channel the power of the gyre?”

“I don’t know, Miss Glender.” The chances for a sisterly relationship appeared slim. “I’ve yet to discover a limit on how long I can be in here.”

“If you lose control of the power when we’re in there, it would be detrimental to my well-being.”

“I don’t anticipate it being a problem. If that changes, I’ll let you know.” Bronte’s retort bounced off Selene’s snooty demeanor.

“Yes, do so. As soon as possible.” Selene turned to her men. “Stay prepared and keep your wires on.” Selene tapped her ear. “I expect you to be standing ready when I exit the gyre. If you are not, the Council will be notified.”

They stood with their arms crossed. Their sneers made it clear they would run right over Selene or leave her behind if they were allowed. They held no respect, much less affection, for the necromancer.

She turned to Bronte. “Instruct me on how you will make the gyre’s power level appropriate for me. You were in it a moment ago, but the energy was still too much to cross.”

Bronte took a breath. “When I did this before, I held Vincent’s hand. And somehow it worked.” All she received for her explanation was a glare. She tried again. “I think I channel enough power in my immediate vicinity to keep it away from anyone who’s touching me.” It sounded possible.

Selene extended her hand, a regal gesture. Bronte chafed but she took it and stepped backward toward the gyre. Selene didn’t move. Their arms stretched between them. Bronte waited. Her sister slowly lifted a foot and placed it over what must have felt like a barrier to the gyre, a test for safety. Bronte took another step in.

Selene nodded, satisfied. “Let’s go.” Another step and the two walked through the circles of moonlit stones. Their joined hands formed a bridge between them as they went around the rocks.

Bronte bit back her questions until they were far enough in that no one would hear. “How did the High Council end up raising you?”

“How did you become so callous you could ignore the state of the Casteel people?”

Bitterness flung so hard and fast Bronte wanted to duck. “I didn’t ignore them. I was kicked out. I survived on my own.”

“Bullshit. You were plopped down in a private school.”

“Look, I know nothing about the Casteels’ problems. Even if I did, I couldn’t have changed anything. I lived as a Non. I kept my head down to save my life. I stayed away from anything to do with mages in case one of them recognized what I am.”

Selene huffed. “And now that you’re through hiding, are you going to work for the good of the Casteel mages and Nons? Or are you too scared? The Casteel Territory’s power is out of control. Their mages suffer.” Her sour laugh echoed around the gyre. “Goddess, it all makes perfect sense now. The Casteels’ salvation was handed to them in the form of a syphon who could regulate the land’s power. And she ran away from home.”

“Kicked out, envoy. And everything was fine when I left.” Bronte looked away with a heart turned heavy and hard. Their dark walk was a perfect setting to share secrets and confidences. No one could get to them. It would have been just the place for two little girls with dozens of giddy secrets to tell each other. Selene’s presence was a mirror of what might have been.

“Of course it was all fine. You were doing your job. You syphoned away the excess vibes. Then you abandoned your post, and it all went to hell for the people who live in Casteel’s territory.”

“If that’s what happened, I didn’t know. I couldn’t sense it at all. The only vibes I can sense are Vincent’s and this gyre. Leaving Casteel was no more my fault than it was yours. Why don’t you go take up the cause of the Casteel people and better their land?”

They made it to the center where the tall, leaning stones formed the partial covering into the cave. This was as far as she’d ever been. Selene planted her feet. “I’m indentured to the High Council for one more month.”

“Indentured? I thought only Non-mages could be indentured.”

She shook her head like Bronte was an imbecile. “After that, I will have paid them in full for raising me. My service to them started when I was fifteen. It ends at the close of my thirtieth year.”

What kind of childhood had the Council had offered Selene? It went a long way to explaining her personality.

“What will you do when you’re done?” She couldn’t help asking, though it was none of her business.

“What are you going to do now, syphon?” Selene countered. “Anything worthwhile?”

“What do you think I should do? Go back to Casteel Territory? Would that please you?”