Chapter Eighteen

Neith

 

Even before I returned to Ekebati yesterday, Father had called for an emergency council meeting. I’m glad he did it because I didn’t have to. Nome Sirou’s residence in Yakutsk was selected as the meeting’s location. To me, he complained about going to the frigid region, saying something about certain body parts freezing off.

 

The Sirous arranged for the meeting to take place in a wide chamber with a massive fireplace set in the northern wall. Everything in the room is a blinding white to match the frozen tundra past the wide transom windows framed with decorations reminiscent of this region’s cultural history. They remind me of the windows on the doll house I had as a child.

 

If one, then all. I remind myself of the old philosophy, which is all anyone says now what with the rebels toying with our businesses, our profits, and now our very lives. It is also why, despite the danger of travel, most of the nomes are present today. Even Nome Ategun, despite the knock to their reputation, is here. Their scion, however, is absent.

 

Scanning the room further, I see the head of the newest nome—Titane Wuday. I saw her when I commed her to welcome her to the Group of Twenty, but seeing her in person forces me to stop and study her a little longer than polite. Framed by a sea of white just beyond a wide window, her skin tone and attire are a direct contrast to the tundra outside. Her head is sheathed in black fabric which transforms into a body-flattering dress that sweeps the floor. The crown of her head dazzles with every slight movement she makes due to gemstones woven into an intricate pattern on her clothing. It shall be interesting to see where she’ll stand on the Phalanx issue. I only wish I’d had more time to talk to her about it.

 

Father stops to greet Titane Yetun and I stand alongside him.

 

“Nabo.” She shakes Father’s hand a wide grin on her sepia-complexioned face. “The Mezans can’t be the only ones to get some of those fancy soldiers of yours. My wife won’t leave the house without them and she’s got my husband, Motande, on her side, insisting I get some now.” She looks to those standing around her as if seeking their support. “I’ve got to keep my wife happy or she’ll make my life as well as my husband’s, hell.”

 

“Had I been aware of your interest, I would have happily sent some to accompany you here today,” Father says.

 

Titane Yetun’s shoulders rise and fall as she chuckles. “Would have made my life much better. She tried to stop me from coming, that wife of mine.”

 

Her small audience joins her in polite laughter. All except Father and I. Laughter, under the circumstances, is inappropriate.

 

The conversation continues but I opt to study the rest of the chamber. While the space isn’t as large as my family’s auditorium, it is large enough to hold everyone here and those who will attend virtually. Right in the center is a large whitewood table with ten chairs, where the council members will sit. Metallic holoform disks rest on two chairs. One is activated and displays a virtually attending guest—Titan Damil. He’s a blue, semi-transparent version of himself—his holoform. It rapidly gesticulates, suggesting he’s having a conversation with someone wherever he is. The other disk is for Titan Talum.

 

The council’s table is encircled by a series of white chairs set ten feet away. In one of the seats, Titan Saint Esprit’s holoform sits still with a forlorn expression. He’s focused ahead of him as if he’s studying the long vertical lines of the whitewood table. This is my first time seeing him since his son, James’s, death. The rumors are true. He’s become a shadow of himself.

 

The only person seated at the table is Titan Kriel. His thumb sweeps up and down in short, jerky movements on a slate screen. It’s a shame he has chosen to ignore the alliance and strong friendship his late father had with mine. According to Bel’s father, he declared his distaste for the Phalanx to Acri’s father. I usually know what people want but with Titan Kriel, I can’t quite tell what would bring him closer to saying yes and not knowing is infuriating. I’m still staring at him when he lifts his head my way. Dipping my head in a curt nod, I flick my eyes elsewhere.

 

Bel and Acri stand by the fireplace, their faces lit by the glowing embers emanating from the room’s northern wall. While our conversation in the library ended horribly, I’m willing to do what it takes to bring us closer to reconciliation. Excusing myself from Father and the Yetuns, I cross the room in their direction. I’m halfway across the chamber when soft fingers clamp around my upper arm.

 

“Scioness Reffour?” Despite its dulcet tone, there’s a strength behind the voice and I shift to see who it belongs to.

 

Titane Wuday smiles at me. “You look lovely in bottle green, Arbiter.”

 

“Thank you Titane.” I look down at my dress. To me, the hue is dark green, but if she says it’s bottle green, then who am I to argue? Bel would love to know the newest Titane is as color literate as she is. “With the recent events, I thought it best to wear a somber color.”

 

“Same here.” She folds her arms and I notice the sleeves of her dress connect to rings on both of her middle fingers. Fashioned to resemble her family’s insignia—three diamond shapes touching tip-to-tip in a line.

 

“It’s a shame to meet you under such circumstances.”

 

She scoffs, but it’s a friendly sound. “Aren’t these the sort of circumstances under which people like you meet a brand new nome?” She takes my hand and gently leads me back to the window she stood at earlier. Staring out at the ice, she adds, “Death and destruction. It’s what must happen for a new family to ascend into the Twenty, no?”

 

Her point is well made

 

“You might be correct.” I study tumbling snowflakes. “It’s the way of our world.”

 

Again, she scoffs. The sound is harsher this time. “Does it have to be?”

 

“No, but that’s the way it is.”

 

We settle into an uncomfortable silence as the Titane and I stare at each other closely. She’s barely been a Titane and she’s already criticizing the system she’s readily walked into. Her eyes are a deep brown but her right one has a hint of something lighter in it. Blue? Gray? I can’t truly tell.

 

“Arbiter,” Father’s voice. “It’s time.”

 

I dip my chin at the Titane. Father says a few words to her and takes my hand, leading us to the head of the whitewood table.

 

I’ll have to speak to father and get his take on her. Thankfully, she has no vote on the Phalanx issue as she’s not on the council. I don’t need more opponents intent on weakening my family.

 

I will not lose.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council.” I begin. “Attendees from the Group of Twenty. Once again, unfortunate circumstances force us to meet.” I spot Invier’s mother, Titane Floran and her sad eyes. Seth sits beside her, giving me a weary smile. I’m surprised he didn’t attend via holoform like his father. Instead, he’s sandwiched between the Titane and her daughter who, as always, scowls at me.

 

“Before we discuss today’s pressing matters, let us first acknowledge the newest member of our great Group of Twenty.” I sweep my arm in Titane Wuday’s direction. “Please stand, Titane Wuday.”

 

The Titane eases to her feet, head held high and regal, exchanging terse smiles and nods with several of those gathered before taking her seat.

 

“Our next order of business is to fill the empty council member position. With the Cyras no longer a part of the Twenty, their spot on the Council must be filled.” I study the one empty seat across the table from me. “After a preliminary discussion with the other members, one name was mentioned repeatedly.” Turning to face the chairs surrounding the table, I say, “Titan Sirou, will you please join us at the table.”

 

He’s seated next to his daughter and for the first time ever, I’m able to look at her without anger in my heart as she leans on her father with bloodshot eyes.

 

Xana Sirou just experienced the worst day of her life and I feel nothing but sadness for her. Despite her heavy flirting with Invier in the past and my plan to orchestrate a pairing between Ika and herself, she didn’t deserve to lose her family the way she did.

 

Titan Sirou gently pats his daughter’s hand and straightens. In the past, the introduction of a new council member would be welcomed by a boisterous reaction from the crowd—boos from opponents or cheers from supporters. Today, the reaction is somber and nothing but Xana’s sniffles accompany her father’s procession to the table.

 

“We are all aware by now that missiles targeted two airships yesterday. The result was the unfortunate loss of life for Nome Sirou.” I suck in air loudly. They are bound to think I’m thinking of my close call. And they should. The seriousness of today’s meeting should not be lost on anyone. “We must decide how to address this latest attack from the rebels.”

 

Heads bob as I make eye contact with as many as possible. I purposely avoid looking in Bel’s direction. When I glance Titan Kriel’s way, he’s examining his hands. Like him, the Ateguns don’t look my way. Big surprise.

 

Adela’s father rises to his feet. “We must react,” he says, looking around the chamber for support. “For too long, the rebels have suffered no repercussions for their aggression against us. No longer!”

 

“I agree. The rebels must take us for fools at this point,” Titan Talum says, his expression stern.

 

“And we must never forget Ghitu. The rebels killed my son there.”

 

Titane Vesta’s voice is unmistakable and I twist in her direction. She wears a dark gray dress, still in mourning for Erhart. Once again, guilt blazes through my chest, raw and unrestrained. She’d called after the missile attack and once she learned the Phalanx had been instrumental in my safety, she placed an order for a contingent of her own. “’Council vote be damned. I only wish the Phalanx had been available when Erhart went to Ghitu,’” she’d said.

 

“Let us focus on how to address the rebels then.” I raise my voice to cut into the growing mumbling taking over the room.

 

“How did you deal with them today, Arbiter?” Titane Yetun asks. Her voice is calm, but her violet irises have the look of a woman waiting for entertainment.

 

I must be delicate in answering this seemingly straightforward question. My response might influence the council’s impression of me and therefore, their decision on the Phalanx. Even those pledged to support my family could waver if public opinion of me swings negatively.

 

If I show insufficient compassion for the Sirous, I’ll be seen as a haughty, young Arbiter, undeserving of trust. Those who want to see my nome and I fail will pounce. There’s no shortage of such rivals and they stare at me in anticipation, like a lion patiently waiting for its prey to realize it can’t swim and return to shore in lieu of drowning. Titan Kriel, whatever his motivations may be, and Titan Ategun, who seeks retribution for his family’s current lowered reputation due to Ika’s dismissal from the Pursual. Plus, who knows which other opponents secretly salivate as they await my downfall? After all, some nomes are yet to openly support the Phalanx content to wait and see which side will win before playing their hand.

 

Invier’s family is one such example. Father called her yesterday and she harped on about her family’s declining wealth and status. She also mentioned the loss of her son, but not as often as she spoke of the need for more deals to solidify her nome’s position above the Wudays. “‘It would be a shame for Nome Floran to fall behind these newcomers.’” Her objective plain, Father proposed some options that should have allayed her fears. Yet, that conversation ended without a firm commitment indicating she’s waiting to see whether our rivals will offer more.

 

I look down at the whitewood table’s surface, my eyes traveling along its straight lines. Far too often the powerful forget humility can be a useful tool. Master Portan says in my head. A sharp pang slices through my chest at the thought of him. I take a deep breath to push the sensation away and tune back into my surroundings.

 

“It is difficult to answer that question, Titane Yetun,” I keep my voice low. “All I can say is we were extremely … fortunate.”

 

“Fortune had nothing to do with it.” Titan Sirou says, his voice hot. “If my family had those new soldiers, they would still”—he makes a strangled sound—“be alive.”

 

A hush falls over the room and I can tell the Titan’s words have struck a nerve even the holdouts can’t ignore.

 

“I lost my wife, my mother, and my three-year-old twin girls.” His breath hitches loudly as he stands. “Do you know what I would give to have even five more seconds with them?” The Titan looks around the chamber. His last remaining child cries loudly. “I would tell them …” His voice fades and he staggers back into his chair, only to be held at the shoulder by Titan Kriel who he shrugs off.

 

“Don’t touch me! You who is content to tie our hands behind our back while the scum of the earth whittles us down one by one!” He slams his palm on the table and Titan Kriel slinks back to his seat. “We have the tools to eliminate the rebels. Why waste time talking when we should be using them to root out those savages?” Titan Sirou’s tone is high, cracking at certain points. “Or, have you all forgotten, an assault on one nome is an assault on the collective?”

 

I place my chin on interlocked fingers and lean back into my seat. Things are going exactly how I want them.