Nightingale (The Sensitives) Part 35

I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. "There has to be another way. We need them to give me control. It's the only way to keep everything from falling apart. Why can't they see that?"

Silence settles over the room. Is this really it? Am I supposed to go sit in a corner and play quietly until the "adults" decide I'm useful? I bite my lip and allow the stinging pain to grow.

"You can do what Caitlin did," Oliver says. Excitement bubbles just beneath the surface of his words. "What she really did, not what the books say."

"And what's that?"

"Attack them."

I press my finger against my top lip and lift my eyebrows. "Tell me more."

Oliver turns on the wallscreen. A teenaged Caitlin stares back at us.

"How old is she here?" I ask.

"Eighteen. She's announcing a treaty she formed with the Eastern Society."

It's mesmerizing the way she moves her hands and the tempo of her voice. "Did she secure the treaty or did Charles?"

"Does it matter? History says she did."

"So she was in State at my age. How? Was it because there weren't enough leaders?" That would make sense because she came to power at the end of the Long Winter.

Dawson taps the wallscreen. "Ah. For that, I think you want to see this."

A newscaster dressed in old-fas.h.i.+oned clothes appears. He talks slowly, drawing out each word, and it takes me a moment to be able to understand what he's saying. The pictures on the screen, however, are easier to interpret: tornadoes, fires, mysterious explosions.

"Did Caitlin do that?" I ask. Pride peppers my words.

Dawson nods. "I believe so."

Annalise points at the screen. "How many did she eliminate?"

Oliver flips his hands over and shrugs. "My best guess is she started small. Maybe ten minor officials. No one seemed to suspect her at first. She was a just a girl with a strong apt.i.tude for magic. But by the time she took control of the State, at age twenty-two, there wasn't anyone left from five years earlier."

I exhale loudly. "I don't have five years. Not with the Splinter group pressing for control." I scrunch up my forehead. "I have to go after all of them. Now."

"Then you need a plan," Oliver says.

I rub my neck. "We need to strike when the most officials are together. It would be the easiest way to do it. Like what the Splinter group did when they attacked Kyra's binding." Out of the corner of my eye, I glance at my friend. She stops picking at her nails and lifts her head just enough so that I can see the flicker of excitement in her eyes. I grin. This is the mischievous Kyra I know.

Dawson checks his wristlet. "They're in session for another hour."

I bounce a little on my toes. "Then we need to move fast. Before they have an idea of what's coming for them."

"What are you going to do when you get there?" Annalise asks. "Yell at them? Demand they give you what you want? You need a plan."

She's pus.h.i.+ng me. She wants to know how far I'll go to get what I want.

I spin slowly, pulling the energy of the room to me, and unleash it on the piano. It turns into a ball of fire. "I'm going to teach them to never say 'no' to me again."

Our plan is simple: Kyra and I will enter through the front door of the meeting hall while my other guards transport into the back of the room. The five of us will then hold the Council hostage until they give me what I want.

Outside the door, I pause and wipe my sweaty palms on my skirt. For this to work, I have to show I'm strong, not just with magic, but also in politics. I have to convince every Dark witch in the room I can make difficult decisions. That while I may be young, I'm my mother's daughter, and I'm fully capable of being in charge.

Kyra jumps up and down in place. It's almost hard to believe she was sobbing not even two hours ago. I knew if I could just get her up, she'd be better.

"Ready?" she mouths.

I nod my head once.

With a flick of Kyra's wrist, the door flings open. Heads jerk in our direction, drinks are set down, and silence settles around us.

"Don't let us stop you," Kyra teases, clearly enjoying the fear I strike into the people in the room. It's nice to hear her happy.

Sun-Wei, Mother's advisor, shoves his chair back and jumps to his feet. "Lark. What are you doing here?"

"Taking what belongs to me," I say, keeping my voice light and bouncy.

Annalise, Oliver, and Dawson appear at the rear of the room and between the five of us, we surround the table of advisors and diplomats. Several of them jump to their feet, but Annalise uses her immobilization skills and wraps them up stiffly. All they can do is sit or stand.

Confused and panic-stricken, the various members of State yell at me. They demand I release them and explain myself.

Oliver told me the first thing Caitlin did was show her enemies no mercy. Anyone who questioned her was silenced.

I chuckle. This should be fun.

A waiter stands near me holding a tray in his frozen hands. Fear flashes in his eyes and I walk my fingertips over his arm before s.n.a.t.c.hing a canape from the tray.

"What are we discussing today?" I ask the crowded room. A wall of silence greets me.

"Let me remind you." I take a nibble of the canape. "You were voting to allow me to take my mother's-no, my family's-spot in State."

More silence.

"Annalise, you didn't tongue tie our friends, did you?"

My sister-in-law's crimson red lips part into a sweet smile. "I did not."

With a little skip, I position myself at the end of the long table, behind a witch I can't immediately place. Kyra moves to my left and her hand gently rests on the witch's. That's good. Perhaps she can influence this one into helping us.

"Kyra, are you cold?" I eye her sleeveless dress, and keep my voice conversational.

She s.h.i.+vers and runs her free hand over her bare arm. "I am."

With a casual toss of my hand, a fire leaps to life in the middle of the table. Smoke, thick and gray, billows above the heads of the members of State. Those nearest immediately choke on the fumes and smoke, and a woman sitting directly in front of the flame yelps, "Sun-Wei! Stop her. She's out of control."

I toss my head back and laugh. "Yes, Sun-Wei. Stop me. I'd love to see you try."

Sun-Wei's glare is a sharp as a dagger, but we both know he can't hurt me. Not when he's tied up in Annalise's spell. And certainly not when ordinary Dark witches think I'm their savior. He's screwed and he knows it.

"What is it you want, Lark?"

I study my hands as I splay my fingers and wiggle them. The magic inside me gnaws at my fingertips and I momentarily debate whether or not I should set something else on fire. But what's the point? Everyone knows that I can do that.

"I want my place in State."

Sun-Wei's jaw clenches. "You're too young. You haven't earned it."

I raise my eyebrows. "How old was Caitlin Greene when she became head of State?"

No one answers me. I toss the witch sitting next to me to the ground and she yelps in pain. With one leap, I land on the top of the table. The fire roars in the middle of the table, but it doesn't stop me. I sashay down the long mahogany surface toward the far end and toward the fire, knocking over gla.s.ses and scattering papers as I go.

"She was twenty-two." I reach the edge of the flame and take a deep breath. The easiest thing would be to extinguish it, but I need to show them nothing can hurt me. Not their magic, nor their lies. "Twenty-two," I repeat, stepping into the flame. My eyes don't waiver from Sun-Wei.

Behind me, Kyra gasps. "Lark. Don't."

But I'm already in the flames. Heat licks my skin, singes my dress and yet, it doesn't burn me.

"However, she was only seventeen when she brought the world to its knees. Not even a mature witch." I step out onto the other side of the fire and wave my hand over my dress. It immediately mends, and I grin. "At eighteen, she formed treaties with the Eastern Society to deal with the problematic witches in the North."

I stop before Sun-Wei. "She was nineteen when she killed her first man." I drop down so that my face is level with the Minister's. "I killed my first when I was seventeen," I stage whisper. "You know that, don't you, Sun-Wei? You know I'm stronger than Caitlin ever was and that's why you don't want me in State. You want all the power for yourself."

Terror ripples across his face. It's there in his paler than usual skin, the beads of sweat on his brow, the way his eyes anxiously search behind me, as if hoping someone would come to his rescue.

Too bad for him, there's no one who can.

"Listen to me," I say slowly as I stand. The heels of my shoes scratch the table as I pivot, and my eyes move down the table, stopping briefly on each face. Imprinting them to my memory for future use. "I may not have an official office within the State, but I am the descendant of Caitlin Greene. You will include me in all meetings. There will be no decision made without my approval. Is that understood?"

My words are greeted with a low chorus of "Yes, Miss Lark."

"Good, because I really hate having to do things like this." Sun-Wei's body convulses in his seat and his face twists in agony before sliding to the ground. I suck on the inside of my lip and let my mind work through the different ways I can hurt this man who defies me.

"Please, Lark. Please." He gasps as I slowly squeeze the air from his lungs with just my thoughts. His face flushes red, then purple, and then a weird gray color.

When I release him, Sun-Wei rolls to his side, unconscious.

Like air escaping from a balloon, the spell holding the room's occupants releases. Not a soul tries to flee. They all sit in their seats and wait.

"Now, who would like to explain this to me?" I point at the map on the wall.

A grizzled old witch raises his hand. "I will."

"Good." I nod. "Tell me everything you know. It's time I learned what's really going on."

32.

I'm exhausted, but that doesn't mean I can stop work anytime soon. There's simply too much to do. My brain swims with all the things I've learned the past few days. We're at war with every major society, and ours is the only one controlled exclusively by Dark witches. Everything else is in the hands of the Splinter group, and Beck is trying to rally the Light witches against me, the State, and the Splinter group.

I sigh.

How am I going to fix all this? The wars, the problems with food production and riots, and the whispers about Mother grow daily. Not to mention my two ex-mates and the Splinter group want me dead.

My head rests heavily in my hands.

Many of the problems could be eliminated if we rounded up a few Light witches and made them increase our crop output. If only we had a handful of Henrys, then this wouldn't be an issue. The humans would be content if we took care of them and the Splinter group wouldn't have anything to use against us.

Mother told me people don't revolt when they're well-cared for.

Which is why the Light witches refuse to work with us, and the few we have left, our healers, for example, must be kept under constant guard. We can't let them defect.

Mother left a fine mess in her wake.

A warm breeze pa.s.ses over my skin when I stand and walk toward the window. If someone had told me six months ago that this would be my life, I would have laughed. Me, in charge of the State? Ridiculous.

"Lark?" Miss Tully waits by the bedroom door, a saucer and teacup perched precariously on her palm. Part of my agreement with Kyra included the transfer of Miss Tully to my home. Kyra may not have appreciated her, but there's something comforting about Miss Tully. She reminds me of Bethina, only older.

"Come in."

She hobbles across the floor like a little mouse and miraculously doesn't spill a drop of the tea. It's impressive. She sets it down on the side table.

"Thank you."

Miss Tully knots her grizzled hands together. "You're a good girl, Lark."

I draw my brows together. "Am I?"

"You saved me. It would have been easier to walk away. I know that."

I huff under my breath. She doesn't know anything. Especially not the steep price I paid for her freedom.

"That day I found you, I knew there was something unusual about you. Even if you didn't." Instead of fear, sadness settles into the creases of her face. Without asking permission, she sits opposite of me.

Deep inside me, something trembles, and a low sob builds. When Miss Tully reaches over and takes my hand, every emotion that's been locked inside since Mother's death, rushes out: fear, anxiety, misery. And confusion. So much confusion.

She scoops me into her chest and holds me tight. We sit there, my head pressed against her frail chest, my shoulders heaving, and my tears staining her thin s.h.i.+rt for what seems like hours.

Eventually, I pull away and drag the back of my hand across my face. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't behave like that."

"Never be ashamed of showing your feelings, Lark." From her pocket she pulls a handkerchief and hands it to me.