Chapter 24

MARCUS'S POV

“The winds are shifting against you, my son. I am afraid you are too blind to see,” my mother says as we sit in her garden.

“What do you mean, mother?” I ask her and she shrugs.

“You are a strong man, stronger than any I have seen but you are full of fear and your trust is too deep and too easy,” she says.

I sigh and prepare myself for a lecture. I want to turn off my attention but she will know if I do that so I have to endure this.

“Are you saying that there are those who are plotting against me? How do you know this?” I ask her. My mother shakes her head like she is trying to remove something clinging to her hair.

“You still don't see. I don't have to see it. I have my instincts and that is enough. I see the way they look at you and I can sense the hushed conversations, the sudden silence. Something is about to happen.”

“Where do you think it will come from. Who do you think will have the courage to challenge me? Elliot?” I ask. My mother nests my gaze and looks away.

“Your brother may disagree with you in many things but you know, as well as I, that he is loyal. He is perhaps the most loyal official you have,” she says.

“Then…Simon?” I ask. My mother thinks about it for a while then she shrugs.

“It's possible but he won't go through the route of challenging you to a duel. He would be soundly beaten unless he has a way to rig it, a way to make you weak. It's either that or he calls a conclave that will deem you unfit and have you removed,” she says.

I look at a little blue bird that perched on one of the small trees and I wish that I am that little bird but you would have many predators. That makes me a little sad. I have many predators now. It is tiring, being the strongest, always being the strongest.

“What would you have me do?”

“Be careful around him. Be wary of his counsel,” she says. I think about it for a while then I nod.

“I will do my best,” I say.

“I love you. You know that, right?” She asks me. I look at her and she bites her upper lip then looks away.

“That was the wrong thing to say.”

“Do you mean it?” I ask. She is silent for a while, then she nods.

“Yes I do mean it.”

“It's a little late for that now, mother. Don't you think?”

“I hope you're wrong,” she replies. I stand.

“There are days when I hope I am as well,” I say then walk away from the garden.

ELIZABETH'S POV

He is in his office when I come in with the designs. I know they don't have to be seen immediately but he has been out of sight for the past week and I have been worried. I watch as he goes through the designs then he smiles at one then looks up at me.

“Ugh, static motion. Really?” He asks. I laugh as well, remembering that I was on probably my twentieth cup of coffee by that time. When he is done, he leaves the tablet on the table.

“Which was your favorite?” I ask him.

“The one that looked like a flame. It would be a liberating thought, driving fire.” His time is almost wistful.

“Why do you think so?” I ask.

“I fear fire,” he says.

“You mean you…”

“Yes, pyrophobia. I have a deep fear of fire.” Even the thought of fire bothers him, apparently.

“Why does this happen?” I ask. He taps his fingers on the table then stands.

“Take your designs to…”

“Marcus, tell me. Please,” I say to him. He does not look at me but out the window.

“When we hear death, it is easy to think of it as an abstract thing, something that won't happen to you but happens to others. It is something to philosophize about. Makes it seem a little less real, isn't it so?” He asks me. I nod in agreement.

“I don't see death that way. It is not abstract to me. When I was caught in a burning building and the flames surrounded me, I knew that I would die. I could hear my mother telling my father that he could not save me. When the fire met my arm and I could feel that pain…that terrible pain…” he pauses and looks at his arm. It is covered by the sleeve of his suit but I can tell that he is seeing through that. He sighs.

“Death isn't abstract to me. I could lose anyone at any time. My brother does not know that. Most of them don't but the elders do. They know what it is like. Why do they want their young to die or has it been so long that death has returned to being abstract for them as well?” He asks.

I have no answer for him and it does not seem like he requires any of me.

A call comes in on his phone and I know I am not supposed to listen but my ears pick off the words before I can give him privacy.

“Brother, come home now! A conclave had been called,’’ I hear a lady's voice say from the other end. His eyes harden and he clenches his jaw then nods. His voice is perfectly calm when he speaks.

“I'm on my way.”

He looks at me.

“I will come with you,” I say to him. He doesn't say anything but I know he approves when he slightly touches my arm as he walks past me.