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I shudder. Seps and griffins are bad enough, but Wendigo? “Isn’t all of that a bit overkill?”
Plume nods, rubbing her eyes as she stifles a yawn. “Yeah, Mace called for it this year. I think it’s a little much to send out a malevolent spirit that makes humans want to eat each other.”Bile rises in my throat. I’m too hungover to think about humans eating each other.
She cuts a furtive glance towards me, looking to see if anyone is around to hear us. I instinctively take a step closer. “Zeph, I could barely control them last night. Normally, when I take control of them, it’s easy, but they kept shaking me off. I don’t know what’s going on.”
These beasts are a threat to everyone, even fae, and losing control of them could be catastrophic to us all. “How many did we lose during the night?”
She sucks her teeth in thought. “I think around ten. I did the best I could, but that was more than intended.”
I know those deaths will weigh heavy on my friend. Typically, we only see that many deaths throughout the whole of the Race. This was just the first night.
Plume steps away from me, a yawn stretching her face. “I have got to get some sleep. Can we catch up tonight?”
I watch my friend walk away, and my eyes drift down the curves of her waist and rear. As far as I knew, Plume had never taken a suitor home. Her options have been there, so it must be a lack of desire. Or maybe she’s just not interested in any of the fae here.“Rest well,” I call after her retreating form.
I snag a paper cone of roasted nuts from the counter of the command center and slide into my seat next to Nimh, who greets me with a wide smile. Her wet blue hair is piled high on the top of her head, and her long, slender ears glint with multiple rings down their lengths. Mace stalks in shortly after I finish my snack and takes his spot at the head of the table.
“Last night went very well, team,” he starts. “The beasts culled the herd a bit, and those who survived have proven themselves a worthy contender for a place in our beautiful city.” He’s wearing fighting leathers today, straps and buckles wrapping around his torso and upper arms. As the leader of the Patricians, he feels the need to portray a very aggressive image. It’s a little much if you ask me.
The group buzzes with excitement, discussing their plans for the day, each focused on our tasks to ensure the Race’s entertainment and flawless execution. As I glance at the connection and the images of the Racers cycling through, I can’t help but yearn for a glimpse of Mousy and Mistflow. Yet, they remain elusive, with no sign of them as they continue their journey. Without an interesting show on the connection, my mind wanders, the room’s noise fading into the background.
The memory of my dream still hangs over me, a continued haunting of my magic. The protestation from my own magic has lingered, never woken up by a mere dream before. Loris’s insight that it could be Winter magic resonates, and as try as I might, I can’t ignore it. But why would Winter magic invade my dreams? And why did it manifest in that forest clearing?
Once subdued and under control, my magic thrashes within me, awoken without my consent by that forest clearing. It prickles at my fingertips, a relentless buzz that I haven’t experienced since my youth when I grappled to tame its power. I try to recall the last time I directly combined with another Seasonale, but my memory remains frustratingly blank. The allure of merging this unfamiliar magic with my own power tugs at me.
Winter magic has always been so rare even books on it are limited. Centuries have passed since anyone has been known to wield it, and yet, my dreams were full of it last night. Worse yet, it called to me, begging to be mixed with my magic.
The Summer magic in my veins is like a caged animal, roiling beneath my skin in an effort to burst out. I’ve got to let some magic out before it bursts from my pores.
With barely a thought, I bring a flame to life in my palm. It flickers and turns as if it’s a sprite. Very few people from the table even look up at my display of power. I see sparks of magic flying from the flame, floating lazily in the air for someone to grab and combine with their own. Flame magic is a blinding red smolder, like the cracklings of a wood fire drifting aimlessly through the room.
That small amount of magic helps push the unsettling feeling left by the dream out of my system. The beast within me calms and curls up to sleep.
“Zeph, what is your plan for the day?” Cirrha asks, shaking me from my thoughts. I startle, wave the flame away from my hand, and look up at her. Her rich mahogany skin is barely covered with a gauzy dress, and her hair is tightly curled around her face.
I briefly wonder if Mace has slept with her, too.
“It’s going to be a scorcher.” I smile widely, rubbing my hands together. “I’m going to raise the ambient temperature throughout the Summit, slow the Racers down some.”
Cirrha nods approvingly, and Nimh squeals with excitement. “I’ll let the selkie know that they’ll have a lot more visitors to the waters today.”
As I listen to the plans of the entire team, it becomes clear that the day will be relatively quiet for the Race. Considering the intensity we’ve brought to the initial stages, it is a welcome change. Mace wanted to start strong, building excitement throughout the city and capturing the attention of our citizens. Undoubtedly, they’re now glued to their connections, eagerly following every twist and turn.
I observe Mace as he pushes away from the table, his demeanor devoid of expression. He wasn’t always like this. I remember a time when he had good intentions for the partnership between Ytopie and the Lowland’s citizens. Memories flood my mind—him meticulously crafting his first dozen Races with the utmost care, minimizing casualties. But now, it feels like he’s driven by pure destruction.
Unnoticed, Mace slips out of the room and heads down the hallway. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I follow behind, doing my best to avoid detection.
Mace takes the long way through the Palace, meandering through the hallways and stopping to chat with people as he passes. It’s clear the citizens and workers who mill about the area have affection towards him. I hear stories about how he’s helped their families, causes he’s dedicated time and magic towards, and thanks lavished upon him for his work as a Patrician. I’ve long since known he puts on a public persona, but it still shocks me that he isn’t reviled throughout the city.
He may have everyone else fooled, but not me.
After what feels like ages, he slips into the library. The door is left open a smidge, allowing me to see and hear pieces of his conversation. Surrounded by the musty books and low lighting that is home to all the history and knowledge of Krillium, Mace seems surprisingly at ease. I wonder how much time he spends here.
Concealed in the shadows, I hold my breath and listen to a hushed conversation unfolding before me. Mace, his voice barely above a whisper, exchanges words with a man whose face remains hidden. A nagging sense of familiarity tugs at the corners of my mind. Who is this man, and what is he doing having a clandestine meeting with Mace? Any covert action from Mace is enough to put me on high alert, but the addition of an unknown person has alarms blaring in my mind.
My heart quickens as I strain to catch fragments of their conversation. I hear mention of finding a “right fit” and constant references to a vessel. This vessel is obviously essential to the two of them, and my first instinct is to destroy it.
What isn’t clear to me is what this vessel could be or why they need to find it. It must have something to do with why Mace seems to be wound particularly tight regarding this year’s Race.
