Veiled (33 page)

The ritual continued, question and answer, each exchange scripted. I took the opportunity to look around, scanning the faces of the mages I could see. A few looked thoughtful. More looked angry. I didn't get the sense that the Light mages
here were happy about what was happening today, and as I looked into the futures in which I approached people, I saw that anger turned towards me. Of the ones who recognised me, all too many saw another Dark mage like Morden. They were looking for someone to blame, and I didn't think that was going to go away. If anything, as the reality of Morden's presence on the Council sank in, it would get worse—

A voice whispered into my ear.
You know where you belong.

I jumped, twisted. There was no one behind me. Mages around me turned to look at me, frowning. I looked from side to side, heart hammering. There was no one there, and the futures were clear.

But I'd known that voice. It had been Richard's.

On the stage below, the master of ceremonies turned from Morden to the sitting Councillors. “Who will accept this mage to the Council?”

Everyone fell silent, watching. All eyes were on the nine men and the one woman sitting on those chairs. One of the men was the first to move, straightening his dark red robes before unhurriedly rising to his feet. A moment later, a second stood, followed by a third. One at a time, slowly and deliberately, each of them rose . . . except for Levistus.

The chamber was dead quiet, and I held my breath. Everyone's eyes were on Levistus. An election to the Council had to be unanimous. The appointment would have been decided over behind closed doors, but any member, at least technically, had veto power. If Levistus stayed seated, Morden would be refused his seat. Levistus would almost certainly be removed from the Council himself in the aftermath, but he could do it . . .

Levistus stayed where he was, and I sensed the futures fork, just briefly. Then he rose to his feet. His pale eyes regarded Morden without expression.

“It is agreed,” the master of ceremonies said. “Mage Morden, step forward.”

Morden stepped forward and bowed his head. The master of ceremonies picked up a gold chain, twin to the ones worn
by the ten mages standing behind him. The chain was plain and heavy, almost simple compared to the artworks around the chamber, but it symbolised far more. He placed the chain around Morden's neck. “You are raised to the Junior Council, that it may further endure,” the master of ceremonies recited. “May the Light guide you.”

Morden straightened. His right hand came up to touch the chain, holding one of the links between thumb and forefinger for a second, then he nodded to the master of ceremonies and walked to one of the empty chairs. He sat, and the other ten sat as well. Now there were eleven.

A faint murmur went through the room, then died away into silence. I don't know what I'd been expecting—an outcry, maybe. Instead everyone just watched. You read a lot about history being made; you don't often see it happen. Sitting on his Council seat, Morden surveyed the crowd. I was hidden away at the back, yet his eyes found me. Maybe it was my imagination, but he seemed to give me a tiny smile and a nod of the head.

I looked away sharply. The master of ceremonies was announcing something else, but I didn't listen. Instead I found myself scanning the faces around me, looking from one mage to another. None were familiar, and it took a moment before I realised who I was looking for. Richard. I couldn't see him, or sense his presence, yet somehow I knew he was there.

Caldera's wrong,
I thought.
Things are changing.
I turned and walked out of the Conclave, leaving the Council behind. The Keepers on the door watched me
go.

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