Allegiance 

“No matter how we look at it, Mildred, we don’t have enough Resistance members.”

Stella delivered the news from her desk with a frustrated huff. Envelopes marked urgent soared around her head in mindless circles, enchanted to stay in flight until opened. With nearly every correspondence marked urgent these days, none of them received real priority. Papers scattered her desk in a mind-numbing array that Mildred couldn’t even look at without wanting to drop everything and organize.

“Why not?” she asked, without looking up.

“We need Resistors watching the private houses of each Council Member, Guardians manning the dungeons and the cities in case of riots, and the entire maid staff taking charge of the secret passages. And, of course, the fireboys must transform into statues and watch every hallway to ensure that an Elitist doesn’t get away. Jorden and Imogen’s family will take care of Ashleigh City, but they’ll need at least one hundred witches as reinforcements. We simply must find more.”

Stella had dragged a hand through her hair so many times that the once-proud bun now lay in tatters around her neck. The clock ticked away, announcing six thirty in the evening. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“What specific jobs do we need more witches for?” Mildred asked. “If we have an idea in mind, it may be easier to recruit candidates.”

“We need Resistors in Chatham City and Ashleigh City. Elitists lurk everywhere in both, and panic may spread there as soon as they hear what’s happening.”

“I don’t know who else we can trust to bring in,” Mildred admitted, chewing her bottom lip. “I have a few witches in my Covens—”

“You’re using them to watch the Middle Covens, remember?”

“Oh, you’re right. Yes.” Mildred pressed a palm to her forehead. Her mind had been fuzzier than usual lately. Whether it resulted from the intensity of planning the Resistance under total secrecy or the drain on her powers from such heavy use of the silenda now that all the members of the Resistance communicated so often through it, she didn’t know. “I forgot.”

Stella shoved the papers aside and dropped her forehead onto the desk with a careless thunk.

“Stella, you need a break. We’ve been doing this since early this morning and haven’t eaten. Why don’t you go get dinner and clear your mind? We’ll work something out, I promise.”

She didn’t respond right away, but eventually lifted her head. “Yes,” she said. “You’re right. I do need something to eat. Dale’s transporting in at eight tonight for a short visit. He’ll have to go right back, of course, but at least I’ll get to see him for an hour. Wait, no. We have the Council Meeting.”

Mildred rolled her eyes. “Nothing is ever said there that hasn’t been said at the Esbat. I’ll handle it on my own.”

Stella sighed in relief. “Thank you, Mildred. The break would be nice.”

Her quick agreement lifted some of Mildred’s concern. Stella had shown little life ever since Daniel died, even in the frantic work of organizing the Resistance. Adding the loss of Evelyn as their friend didn’t help her fragile state. “How are things in Newberry?” Mildred asked. “Does Dale report the same violence?”

“Yes. The poor are still rioting and setting fires. Evelyn just sent orders to the Guardians to kill anyone found rioting. She’s cursing everyone else.”

“I wish we could convince the rioters that their violence is worsening the situation,” Mildred murmured. “Jorden transported north and tried on my behalf, but they’re so desperate and angry they won’t listen.”

Stella rubbed a hand over her tired, sunken eyes. “Has Jorden had any luck figuring out a definite plan for the Resistance in Ashleigh City? We’ll need him to arrest at least thirty High Witches that night.”

Mildred opened her mouth to reply, but a loud groan from behind her prevented it. She turned around in surprise.

“Council Member, I have bad news,” called a familiar, shrill voice.

Lavinia popped through the wall behind a tapestry, dirt smudged across her cheek. She’d discovered the secret entrance into Mildred’s office while mapping each passage out and had been delighted at their good luck. Mildred, however, wasn’t so sure. The young maid appeared at all hours now, though her face rarely looked so grim as it did now.

“What’s wrong, Lavinia?”

“I’ve come from the upper floors,” she said, panting. Lavinia was inspecting and committing every hidden passageway to memory in preparation for the final fight, so cobwebs clung to her dress. “We just had orders to clean out Council Member Terry’s office. A Coven Leader from Ashleigh is moving in.”

“What?” Stella asked, standing. “What’s happened?”

Lavinia swallowed. “After we received the order, a servant came to me with the news.” Her voice trembled. “I-it’s terrible.”

“What is it?” Mildred demanded.

“Terry and Mrs. Quinten staged a peaceful protest outside the castle gate, and Evelyn set the Guardians on them.”

Stella let out a breath. “Don’t say it,” she whispered, a hand pressed to her face.

“Twenty are dead,” Lavinia cried. “Including Terry and Mrs. Quinten. Mrs. Quinten’s children are orphans now!”

Mildred leaned against her desk. “My goodness.”

“Guardians can’t use lethal force like that without permission, right?” Lavinia asked, her fists clenched and nostrils flaring. “They can’t just attack us without . . . without . . .”

“Evelyn’s command,” Mildred said. “No, they couldn’t have.”

“Oh, Evie, what have you done?” Stella whispered, tears in her eyes when she looked at Mildred. “She’s losing her mind, isn’t she? To kill so many innocent witches in cold blood.”

“I think it may already be gone,” Mildred replied. “Thank you, Lavinia. Let me know if you hear any more news. I have to attend the Council Meeting in twenty minutes. Perhaps I’ll hear more there, since Evelyn doesn’t attend. Be as careful as you can. Clearly none of us are safe anymore.”

Grant lounged back in his seat at the head of the Council Room, a cheroot dangling from his lips. He propped his legs on the tabletop and crossed his ankles, betraying a brand new pair of silk socks. He didn’t particularly like the feel of the material on his feet, but it represented a higher style of living that was far more important than comfort.

“You leading tonight, Grant?” Rand asked, slapping him on the shoulder.

“It would appear so,” he said, blowing a smoke circle. “Porter has taken a different seat now.”

The two shared a knowing smirk, and Rand moved away.

Porter sat across the room now, instead of in the seat of power Grant currently filled. Despite Porter’s seniority as Council Member—which meant that he led any Council Meetings that didn’t involve the High Priest or Priestess—Evelyn didn’t like Porter. At all. She’d demoted him to regular Council Member the very evening Donovan left. Whether she could do that was up for debate. Regardless, Porter allowed it to happen with only minimal protest, which left Grant to ease into the position with the prosperity and attractiveness it deserved.

And attractive he was.

He tugged at his jacket, straightened his collar—though neither needed the work—and realized that he hadn’t prepared for the meeting. The Council Members spoke idly amongst themselves, except for Mildred and Porter, who sat in their respective seats and didn’t look at anyone. Despite feeling too apathetic to separate the hum of voices and determine what they were talking about, the way Evelyn had commanded, he recognized a definite hum of excitement in the air.

Of course they were excited. This was an exciting time! For those on the right side, anyway.

“Call it to order,” commanded a quiet voice behind his shoulder. “Everyone is here. Keep an eye on Porter. I’ll watch Mildred. I don’t trust them. We’ll see just where their loyalties lie tonight.”

He rolled his eyes, but only because Evelyn couldn’t see him do it. If she had, she’d demote him to Porter’s chair in a flash and place Rand in his spot. Power was a fickle thing to have when Evelyn was near. Or to not have, really, considering she wouldn’t delegate this to him and was instead hiding with an invisibility incantation. He had tried to reassure her that her paranoia was misplaced, but it didn’t matter. Evelyn didn’t trust anybody and wanted to know what the Council said in her absence.

Grant took his time obeying her order, resenting the fact that he wanted so badly the currency and land she offered him, or else he wouldn’t do so much work at her beck and call.

“Remember,” she said, “only address the Terry situation in depth if they bring it up.”

“Yes, all right,” he called to the room, setting his feet on the floor. He rang a small desk bell with an incantation, and the tinkling sound drew the room to attention. They shuffled into their respective seats and sat down. “Let’s get started, shall we? First order of business: Let’s welcome our new Council Member. Darby Willshire will oversee the Western Covens in place of Terry.”

A low murmur of welcome moved through the room.

Grant’s eyes flickered over to Porter, who scowled. He looked at Mildred next, but her face hadn’t changed expression. A hard cat to read, that one. He didn’t like her a bit. Any witch that wore such outdated dresses couldn’t be trusted. Not to mention her razor-sharp eyes and severe hairstyle. He leaned back in his chair, gratified when all eyes remained on him. He could get used to all this attention.

“Keep going,” Evelyn hissed.

“Oh, right. Must keep going, eh?” he asked, chuckling at his own faux pas. Reveling in his new popularity wouldn’t get the work done. Not that he really cared whether the work was finished, anyway.

“The Highest Witch Evelyn would like me to make an announcement: To quell the recent uprisings, not to mention the fact that we’ve run out of room in the dungeons and those miserable criminals just aren’t dying of disease fast enough, our Highness has decided to institute another form of Network punishment, namely curses.”

Porter’s head lifted in shock. Rand snorted, then motioned for his Assistant to bring him a refill of dark ipsum. Gloria yawned.

“What do you mean by curses?” Wayne asked, his long fingers fiddling with a pocket watch. Grant rolled his eyes. Wayne’s anxiety manifested about everything. No wonder the Northern Covens were constantly on fire.

“It’s quite simple, Wayne,” Grant said with a long-suffering sigh. “Should we suspect anyone of opposition to our sweet High Priestess, they’ll be cursed for the rest of their lives. If not killed first, of course. It’s much more effective than the dungeons.”

No one responded, though no one seemed surprised.

“Tell them the curse options,” Evelyn muttered. Grant leaned forward.

“There will be two options, of course: an Inheritance curse or any other debilitating curse. The point is to make the witches suffer forever so they don’t want to revolt against us. Sure, she’s willing to use death. But we’ll need workers, won’t we?”

A low chuckle rose at this, and Grant lifted his wine glass to the room in tribute.

“And the Network schools,” Evelyn prompted with a quiet hiss. He could just picture her teeth clenched in frustration, and the thought gave him enough satisfaction to keep going.

“The Network Schools will adopt the same strategy. If any student is found not supporting our High Priest or High Priestess, or a teacher suspects disloyalty, they shall be struck with an Inheritance curse. Should the problem persist, they’ll be thrown in the dungeons.”

“Wouldn’t look right to kill the young ones until after they graduate,” Rand agreed, earning a chortle from a few others. Grant lifted an eyebrow in wry agreement.

“At any rate,” Grant continued in a bored droll, “like I said, due to full dungeons, we’ve started putting two or three witches to a cell. Who am I kidding? More like six or seven. If it gets much worse, Evelyn will start holding executions for the space.”

“They live like that at home in their dirt hovels,” said the newest addition, Darby, in a bitter voice. “Might as well give them the same treatment here.”

“Indeed,” Grant said. “If you have any solutions, well, it doesn’t matter, quite frankly, as the Highest Witch has it under control. As there’s no other real pressing business to attend to then we can—”

“Grant!” Evelyn muttered.

“Except for one more thing,” he said, lifting a finger with a sheepish smile. “I’ve just now recalled it. Her Highness Evelyn has instituted a mandatory requirement, effective immediately. Every Council Member must sign a binding of fidelity and allegiance to the current administration as a sign of continued goodwill. She’ll be asking for official signatures in the morning.”

Porter’s hand rose. Grant acknowledged it with a lazy nod.

“And if we don’t sign?” Porter asked. Grant smiled.

“Why wouldn’t you, old friend?”

Porter didn’t respond. Grant could feel Evelyn’s tension growing.

“You’ll lose your life,” Grant concluded with a shrug. “What traitor amongst us wouldn’t swear his allegiance to the Highest Witch?”

The room burst into a chorus of murmurs. Grant kept a careful eye on Mildred, but her inscrutable expression remained. She stared at the tabletop, an occasional blink the only sign of life from her. Did she understand what this meant? Surely she must . . . although she didn’t really appear to.

“That’s all,” Grant cried, rapping his open palm on the table. “You’re all dismissed. Now, someone get me a glass of wine!”