They want change? A smile curls the corners of my mouth, and I look across the room to the wizards observing Bram with a watchful eye, Lucan with resignation, and Ice with a burgeoning grasp of the situation.
“New blood? Excellent notion. If we’re fearful of a Deprived uprising, which I completely understand, perhaps the way to show progress isn’t to elect another Privileged who claims to represent one of them. Perhaps it would be better to actually nominate one of their own."
Spencer recoils, his brushy gray brows forming a V over his prominent nose. “A Deprived? On the Council?”
“Indeed. Nothing would say change and progress to the Deprived more than that, and Mathias would have to champion that candidate if he truly favors their emancipation.”
“Eh…” His brow furrows in thought. “Perhaps we could discuss it. I’ll talk to Blackbourne. We may be able to find someone…”
I glance across the room again. Bram leaps up from the sofa with a snarl. Lucan and Ice hold back my grumbling and growling brother. After they subdue him, Ice pins me with a stunned stare and emphatically shakes his head.
“Actually, I have someone in mind,” I murmur. “Someone whose grandfather sat on the Council before the Social Order stripped him of his rank. Someone whose line is long, whose wishes to preserve magickind and peace are pure. Someone not ideologically aligned with my brother.”
“Oh?” He looks genuinely intrigued, and hope ratchets up inside me. “I would be very interested.”
“Good. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. How would you feel about Isdernus Rykard?”
Chapter
Thirty-Five
Ice
* * *
When I hear my name fall from Sabelle’s lips, my heart pounds with equal parts terror and impossible hope. Me—a Deprived madman—on the Council? The very thing I begged Bram for centuries ago, now offered by the woman I love.
The moment she ends the connection with Spencer, Bram shakes free and bolts to his feet, tearing across the room toward her. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”
As I grab Bram’s arm again, yanking him away from his sister, I wonder the same thing. Where did Sabelle get the mad idea to nominate me for the Council? Bram would have to do it officially, of course, and I have no doubt he would cut out his tongue before complying.
Pocketing Bram’s transcast mirror, Sabelle turns on her brother with flashing blue eyes. “Shove down that destructive fury Mathias left you with and think. Blackbourne and Spencer are afraid. Mathias is more than they can take on, and they know it. They hope that, by appearing to be an ally, he won’t turn his violence on them."
“Idiots. Appeasement never works with tyrants like him.”
“You’re right. But the best I could do was use their arguments against them. They’re afraid of a Deprived uprising because the group has no Council representation? Then give them a seat at the table. We’ve been talking about this for decades anyway.”
“Spencer lied. He and Blackbourne are old bastards, afraid of losing their power. They’ve fought me since the day I assumed my seat. They know change is coming, and that I’ll bring it.”
“Exactly, but that’s the beauty of my plan: If you nominate Ice, he should pacify the very people they claim to accommodate. So if Blackbourne and Spencer still vote for Mathias, you’ve boxed them into a corner. They’ll appear to support evil. That should lessen their influence. And we both know that Mathias will kill them once their usefulness is at an end. Either way, through their cowardice, they’ll have signed their own death warrants.”
Bram appears to consider her suggestion. Then the fight leaves him. Slowly, I let him go.
Sabelle’s ploy shocks me. I know she’s clever, but her mastery of politics astounds me. She understands the Councilmen well, what motivates them, what they want and fear. She found a way to use their lies against them. Pride bursts from my chest…even as I know I’ll have to decline her suggestion.
“Sabelle.” I cross the room and take her hand in mine. “Bram was right to refuse to nominate me after Gailene’s death. I’m…not Council material. They all think I’m mad. I don’t hold my temper well. My birth alone will ensure they never listen to?—”
“That’s rubbish!” she interrupts. “You’re strong and resilient. Smart. Once they get to know you, they’ll learn you’re not mad. And I firmly believe they need a temper or two to shake them out of their passivity.”
That’s what she thinks? Despite being born Deprived, I rarely felt less than equal—until Bram’s refusal and rejection all those years ago. I remember that moment of shame, the bile clogging my throat. The sting of humiliation. I’ve never forgotten—nor forgiven my former friend.
Can I get into political bed with someone I’ve long regarded for two centuries as my enemy? If I ever want to avenge Gailene, if I want to keep magickind from descending into chaos, do I have a choice?
“The Council elders have grown far too comfortable, and those who are left are putting their safety above those they’ve sworn to protect,” Sabelle points out. “If you’re calm and logical and couch your arguments properly, they’ll listen to you—if you and Bram learn to work together. And vote together. Along with Sterling and Tynan, you four will command the Council. You’ll set the tone and standard. And you’ll control the policies.”
I drink in her words. They swim in my head. A Deprived who was born without a future suddenly becoming one of magickind’s seven most powerful wizards? I’ve never craved power, only wanted it to stop Mathias from spreading evil. Now…I feel compelled to ask myself some hard questions. Even if Bram and I can tolerate each other, what do I have to offer the Council? Bram has accused me of fixation on everything anti-Mathias. What’s changed? What do I really know about governing magickind?
Sabelle turns to her brother. “In suggesting you nominate Ice, I’ve given you everything you’ve ever wanted in the way of Council power: majority control. All you have to do is bury the hatchet with him.”
