Page 46 of Rogue Familiar

Clutching the sheaf of intimidating documents, she strode through the arcade, deliberately ignoring its graceful airy lines, the gorgeous spring sunshine glittering off the lake, and the scent of blossoms on the gentle breeze. Those things were illusions, distractions. Out here in the peaceful beauty of remote Meresin, it was easy to drift from day to day and forget the giant wheels of the Convocation endlessly turning. Growing up in House Elal, attending Convocation Academy, she’d been constantly immersed in politics. In that milieu, she’d have heard the rumor about this summons being drafted long before the Ratsiel courier was summoned.

She’d been unforgivably careless, disgustingly soft—and that was going to change. Gabriel had applied for her in part because she knew the Convocation. She’d been trained to be a warrior for House Elal and she’d use that to fight for House Phel.

At the end of the arcade, the doors stood open to the vast ballroom. As with the rest of the manse, it had been cleaned and largely repaired through human efforts, but the magic had taken over from there, embellishing and polishing with loving detail. The dance floor seemed to glow, attractively beckoning, the strains of absent music almost audible in the warm air. Tempting as it was to linger, she had no time to admire the changes—she never did—so she turned the corner to take the hallway to the larger feast hall that they’d converted into a dining and study hall for the minions, students, and apprentices. If they ever did host a ball, like everyone kept imagining they’d do for Nic and Gabriel’s wedding—fat chance of that—they’d have the feast in there.

Dreams and illusions. There would be no wedding, no balls, no dancing and feasting by elemental light. What killed her was that she’d come to believe it would happen.

She nearly collided with Alise, coming the other direction. Alise grasped Nic’s arms, steadying them both—ironic as Nic’s little sister was both smaller and slighter than she. Nic was supposed to be the rock.

“What lit your ass on fire?” Alise snapped, then reeled back her attitude as she studied Nic’s face. “The baby—is everything all right?”

Nic blew out a breath and some of her wild fury with it. She hadn’t given her pregnancy a thought in the last little while, though everyone else seemed to have it at the tops of their minds. The baby had begun to feel less theoretical to her, and yet their future seemed so uncertain that it was difficult to imagine this unknown life inside her ever entering the world. It actually made her sick to contemplate the child’s fate, should House Phel lose everything.

“Maybe you should sit,” Alise said gently, urging Nic toward a window seat overlooking the back lawn. “You look pale and flushed.”

Nic resisted, tugging out of Alise’s hands. The last thing she needed right now was compassion, as she’d likely burst into tears, which wouldn’t be helpful to anyone. “How can I possibly look both pale and flushed?” she asked tartly.

“You’re practically white except for the flags of red on your cheeks,” Alise replied evenly. “Your eyes are glittering like a snake’s and your magic is blazing hot, too. What made you so angry?” Her gaze fell to the sheaf of documents. “Papa?”

“Among others,” Nic answered grimly. “Nothing for you to be concerned with. How is Maman?”

“No change,” Alise answered shortly. “Do I have to point out that, as a wizard of House Phel and as a daughter of House Elal, this absolutely does concern me?”

“No, because you’re a minor still and not a full-fledged wizard.”

“Nic.” Alise caught her arm. “Let me help, please.”

About to shake her sister off again, Nic met Alise’s earnest black gaze, then peeled off one of the documents and handed it to her. “Among other things, you are ordered to report to Convocation Academy and to House Elal. On pain of expulsion from the academy—with no recourse to continue your education—for the former and on pain of disinheritance for the latter.”

Alise read the document, quickly and with a wrinkled nose, as well-trained by their father in understanding legal language as Nic had been. Say what you would about Lord Elal—and Nic had plenty to say—but he’d never shirked training his progeny in critical skills for surviving Convocation society. Alise handed the document back to Nic, expression impassive. “It goes without saying that I’ll do neither.”

“Does it?” Nic asked with considerable impatience. “This is your opportunity to wipe the slate clean. You can go back and be forgiven, finish your education, be reinstated as our father’s heir.”

Alise made a rude noise. “I don’t care about any of those things.”

“You should,” Nic insisted. “This is your future we’re talking about.”

“Our future,” Alise corrected crisply, their mother’s regal poise in her bearing, the insistence on partnership all learned from Gabriel. “House Phel is my house now. Your family is my family.” She reached out a hand, then hesitated, wizard-black eyes flashing up to Nic’s for permission. With a sigh of resignation, for more than just the gesture, Nic moved the documents aside for Alise to lay a hand on her gently rounding belly. “I’ll be an aunt to this new person,” Alise breathed. “My family, too, right here.”

“There’s nothing to feel yet.”

“Not true,” Alise said, stepping back and rubbing her hands together. “There’s everything to feel. Don’t ask me not to feel it, Nic.” She clearly meant far more than Nic’s pregnant belly, something that Nic supposed she understood.

“Then use your head and not your heart,” Nic advised, reminding herself of that advice at the same time. “If you don’t graduate from the academy, your professional options outside of House Phel will be severely limited. If you don’t go back to House Elal, our father will name Nander heir.”

Alise blew out a pfft of disgust that fluttered her bangs. “Our little brother couldn’t head House Elal with our father’s hand up his ass working his mouth for him like a puppet.”

“Younger siblings grow up,” Nic observed, though she had to laugh at Alise’s colorful metaphor. At least this conversation had bled off some of her edgier anger. “Nander could be a formidable enemy of House Phel someday. I’d far rather have you as Lady Elal, and our ally.”

“And how many years in the future might that be?” Alise countered. “Papa could live decades more and what if House Phel is destroyed before then, while I stood by and did nothing but ensure—what?—a prosperous career for myself? I’d much rather focus on the present and near future, thank you very much. And,” she added archly, “need I remind you that you personally already gave me permission to stay. Even if you regret it, you can’t renege on your word.”

“I know.” If only she could regret it. Things would only get uglier from here. Selfishly, however, Nic was profoundly glad of her sister’s company. With their mother perhaps permanently comatose, and her father and brother probably permanently estranged, Alise was the only Elal family she had left. “I don’t regret it.”

“Good,” Alise added impishly, “because no way am I missing the wedding.”

Nic groaned. “There is no way we are spending time, energy, and coin on planning a completely unnecessary wedding.”

“Completely necessary wedding,” Quinn corrected, joining them with a cheerful smile and a bounce in her step. “Everyone is looking forward to it. Once Seliah drags her reluctant wizard back here, we’ll set the date in stone and send out invitations.” Her happy blue gaze fell to the sheaf of legal documents, dimming with canny understanding. “Ah, now I know why you summoned me. At last the other legal shoe has dropped.”

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