Phoenix Page 16

  I stare at my guards, none of whom seem happy. Even Ryker is scowling.

  Henry has a point. I can't do this alone. A normal Ag Center has at least a hundred witches working around the clock. The ten of us may have grown enough food for one meal for one smaller city.

  I haven't solved anything long-term.

  But I can't let my guards see me disheartened. Instead, I walk the line and offer encouragement. "Great work, Tal," I say to one of the guards who, using magic is scatter spreading the seeds. He can't make them grow faster, but he's figured out how to plant more quickly. "Everyone, watch Tal, then do the same. Henry and I will come by and grow the seeds."

  Within minutes, every row is planted with corn and wheat.

  "Henry," I say, "Stand near me and let me touch your hand. It seems to work so much more powerfully when I'm touching the person."

  "Are you talking about being an amplifier again?" my uncle asks.

  "Just watch." I grab his hand and focus on drawing his energy into my core. It bubbles inside me, and I savor the sensation, like hundreds of soda bubbles tickling away at me. Light magic feels so different than Dark magic, almost airy. When I can't take any more of the tickling, I unfurl my hand toward the field. Within seconds seedlings poke through the dirt of every row planted. A few more seconds, and the crop is near knee high. I smile broadly as stalks of corn shoot up over my head.

  With a smile stretching from ear-to-ear, I ask my crew, "Ready to harvest?"

  This time I draw on my own destructive energy and level the field within minutes. More bins are filled. In fact nearly all of them are filled.

  "Landon," I order. "Call the food distribution center in Ottawa. Only deal with Dark witches. Make sure they know we have food for them and get instructions on where to send it.

  My guard walks briskly toward the office.

  I turn and smile at Henry. I may not be able to plant like this every day when I have responsibilities, but I can do it today, and I will.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  We stay three days at the Ag Centers, planting, growing, and harvesting. In the end, we've grown enough food to feed Ottawa, Calgary, and Austin. San Francisco has plenty, even with the influx of evacuees pouring in daily, and can wait.

  During those three days, I've only had sporadic communication with Beck. First, a ping to say he had arrived. Next, to say the first day of negotiations didn't go well, and finally, to say he was on his way home with some news.

  I hate the way that sounds. Some news. It could be good or bad.

  It could be anything. How maddening that Beck wasn't more specific.

  One glance at my legs and I know that after a long day of harvesting crops and ensuring they get to the intended recipients, I'm a filthy mess. Not at all in any shape to greet Beck.

  "Landon," I say to my head guard. "We're done here. It's time to go home."

  He immediately presses the button behind his ear and begins speaking in some sort of coded language. The rest of my guards jump to attention. They look like a motley crew – dirt covers their normally pristine clothes, and earth cakes every inch of their exposed skin.

  I chuckle to myself. I'm sure I look just as nice.

  Ryker slides up to me. "Hey, did you get the message from Beck saying he's coming home?"

  "Yes, that's why were leaving."

  "Ah. Gotchya."

  I turn to my friend and study him. It's such a Beck thing to say that I almost wonder if Beck is masking as Ryker again to play a trick on me.

  But I know he isn't. Just wishful thinking on my part.

  "Lark?" Landon calls out. "We're all ready."

  "Thank you," I say. "On your count."

  Landon counts down and when he hits three, I transport back to my house. I land in the foyer along with the rest of my guards. Kyra waits for us on the stairs with her elbows on her knees and a pout on her lips. I sent her home with Eloise after our Summer Hill visit to assist Annalise.

  "Hiya," I say. She flicks her gaze from me to Landon and deepens her pout.

  "What?" I ask.

  "Why am I being assigned to administrative duties while Ryker gets to run around and have fun?"

  I try not to laugh. Ryker would hardly call the past three days of hard manual labor fun.

  "Next time I force everyone to go dig around in the dirt, I'll make sure you're included," I say, walking toward the stairs. She stands, as if to follow me, but I shake my head no. "I have to get ready," I say.

  "Let me help you. You have no sense of fashion."

  "Fine, but once Beck arrives you have to leave."

  She grins at me. "Oh la la."

  Heat colors my cheeks, and I race past her toward the shower. Once I'm stripped of my clothes, I let the steam wash away the days of grime embedded in my skin, hair, and nails. Don't get me wrong, I love the hard work of farming, but I barely had a minute to even brush my hair.

  I get out of the shower, wrap a heated robe around my body and a towel around my head, and open the bathroom door.

  To my horror, Ryker sits before the fireplace...and with him is Beck. No Kyra anywhere.

  Both boys gape at me, and I slam the door shut.

  A gentle knock on the door. "Hey, Birdie. Open up."

  I crack the door a little bit. "You weren't supposed to see me like this. Kyra was supposed to help me get dressed. Where is she?"

  "She said you told her to leave once I arrived." Beck's husky voice envelops me. "Let me get rid of Ryker, so you can change. Then, the three of us need to talk."

  "That sounds ominous."

  He knits his brows together. "We'll talk in a minute."

  When he rids the room of Ryker, Beck knocks again. "All clear," he says.

  I scramble from the bathroom to my closet and select the first dress I see. Then I walk over to my dresser, choose my underthings, and drop my robe.

  Beck gasps.

  "What?" I ask, turning around as I finish putting on my bralette.

  "It's just every time I see you, you look more stunning." His cheeks flush crimson. Despite being embarrassed, there's an easiness to him that I haven't seen in ages. It's in his clear eyes and wide grin. As much as I hate to admit it, perhaps being away from me did do him some good. Maybe all we needed is a break from each other.

  I shimmy into my emerald, lace dress. "Do you like?"

  "Very much," he responds and grabs me around the waist. I lean my head back and he deposits a quick kiss on my mouth. "As much as I'd like to stay here, we have work to do."

  "Work that includes Ryker?"

  Beck bobs his head. "You'll see why."

  I don't like the sound of this one bit.

  #

  When the three of us are assembled, Beck says to me, "Callum is still in the Eastern Society."

  "Doing what?" I exclaim. "Why did you leave him? He's not skilled in diplomacy. What's the point?"

  Beck rubs the back of his head. "Do you want the good news or bad news first?"

  "The bad," I say, wanting to have it done and out of the way.

  "Callum is staying as a promissory of sorts."

  "You mean a prisoner."

  "Yes," Beck clips the word, but there's no anger in his voice.

  "Why," I ask, "is my brother a prisoner of the Eastern Society when we returned some of their highest officials?"

  "Well, that leads to the good news," Beck says. "By leaving Callum - and he volunteered in my place - we secured a new treaty. The Eastern Society will send one hundred Light witches to our Ag Centers. In return, they get Callum and our word we won't enslave or conscript their witches."

  "So Callum is their bargaining chip." I laugh at my good fortune. "They can keep him!"

  "Lark, this is serious. Our food shortage issues are going to be over. We have Light witches coming this afternoon to the Ag Centers."

  I pause. "But there is no one to oversee them. Crispin and the other Ag heads are missing." I tap my wristlet to check the date. "Tomorrow is the Founders'
Ball. Otherwise, we could have your parents, Henry, and me oversee the production."

  Beck frowns. "Can we spare a few guards for now? Just until we know who's trustworthy and can oversee the other workers?"

  It's the only plan that makes sense. "Tal, Maria, and Katrina could do it. We're over staffed guard-wise as it is."

  "We're not overstaffed. Have you forgotten that someone set off a bomb near us the other day?"

  I shake my head. "I haven't. But I think ten guards are ten too many. They get in each other's way."

  My eyes land on Ryker standing in the doorway of the sitting room. "Yes," I say, acknowledging him.

  "You didn't tell her phase three," he says.

  My stomach drops.

  "Right." Beck pauses for a long moment as if trying to decide the best way to explain "phase three" to me. I tense, preparing myself for the worst news. Beck avoids my gaze, and says, "Ryker is going to try to extract Callum."

  "Why?"

  "Because he's your brother; he's a Founder's descendant; and it looks bad for us. Like we're weak."

  Part of me wishes we could leave him there, but I know Beck and Ryker are right. We have to get him back. The question is how? "Can we do it without creating an incident and violating our treaties?"

  Beck scratches his head. "That I don't know."

  I give Beck a hard stare. "The Founders' Ball is tomorrow, you need to figure it out fast."

  "Birdie," Beck says in his honey-toned voice. "I'll do my best, but I can't promise anything."

  Mother's words ring in my ears "Rule by fear," she had said.

  "Tell them I'll come negotiate if they won't give him back. Tell them I'll spare no mercy."

  #

  My threats fall on deaf ears. Neither Ryker nor Beck will hear of me getting mixed up in the diplomatic negotiations. So for the past twelve hours, I've had to sit on my hands and wait.

  I'm not a very patient person.

  There is an upside to this new drama: the Ag Centers have quadrupled production. Food has been pouring out of them and into the hands of the Society's hungriest members. The food riots have all but ceased overnight. If this keeps up, the Splinter group's hold over my Society may be broken.

  "Do you love it?" Dani, my make-up artist, asks touching my shoulder and positioning me so I can better see my reflection.

  I'm sitting in a chair being prepped by my beauty team for the Founders' Ball. Dani rings my eyes with dark liner and finishes it off with some sort of gel over top. She fans my face with her hand. "It needs to set for two minutes." She waves her hand around some more. I close my eyes and wait for her to stop.

  "Now look at yourself! You look glamorous, just like your mother always did." Part of me loves the compliment, but the other part wonders when people will stop comparing us. Am I to always live under Mother's long shadow? And if I'm not, what will be my defining moment as leader? Caitlyn ended the wars and founded our Society while Mother, if in appearance only, kept the peace and the people happy.

  Me? I have a crumbling society, and so far my biggest contribution has been nearly crushing Minister Sun-Wei's throat and terrifying the Council.

  At least Beck has a treaty.

  I turn my face first to the left, then to the right, admiring Dani's work. My skin looks as porcelain as Annalise's and my lips a deep, vibrant red. I do look glamorous, almost adult like.

  "Now for hair!" Mira squeals. Since she's taken to giving me elaborate up-do's for the morning announcements, they've been all the rage, and I expect her to take my hair to new heights for such an important event.

  But instead of padding and ratting combs, her tray has serums and potions on it.

  "What's that?" I ask.

  "Where going sleek and sexy for tonight. You're wearing your hair down with fine streaks of blue sprinkled through out."

  "Blue?"

  "To match your dress, silly."

  She begins rubbing some sort of oil through my hair, root to ends. Next, she plucks a paintbrush from her tool kit and lifts a fine section of hair from around my face. Mira swipes the brush over the hair, and it instantly turns robin egg blue.

  "I...I don't know--"

  "Shhh...tomorrow it will be all the rage. Just wait."

  So far, Mira hasn't been wrong once about my hair-starting trends. Just yesterday, I saw a group of older women holding their elaborate hairstyles up - ribbons blowing in the wind and glitter flying everywhere.

  "May I come in?" Beck stands in the doorway, framed like a picture. His fitted tuxedo hugs his bulging biceps, making his already broad shoulders appear more so. Since returning last night, he appears calmer and even keeled. Being away from me did him some good. There's no denying it, even though my heart sinks at the thought.

  I'm afraid to turn my head while Mira works on me, so I motion him in with my index and middle finger. "This isn't a binding. You're allowed to see me."

  Beck cocks his head to the side, studying the pale blue streaks in my hair. "It's certainly different," he says after analyzing them for a long moment.

  "You don't like it?" I pout playfully.

  "I like the girl wearing it, and that's all that matters," He winks at me in the mirror, and my heart suddenly changes course and begins pitter-pattering against my ribcage. Beck tilts his head, and an appreciative smile spreads across his lips. "I like your reaction more."

  "I assume you're here for a reason?" I say, trying to prevent the heat rushing into my cheeks.

  "It's about Ryker."

  My heart stops its acrobatics and dives into my stomach. "Dani, Mira, leave us for a moment."

  My stylists hurry from the room.

  "What?" I say, preparing for the worst.

  "He's back."

  "And?"

  "And he could find no sign of Callum anywhere. It's like he vanished."

  I suck in my breath. This isn't good. As much as I dislike my brother, I want him back here, where he belongs. "So what do we do now? The ball is in an hour."

  Beck shrugs. "Have Annalise walk alone. Pretend Callum is ill."

  "Too ill to attend the festivities? No one will believe that – we never get sick."

  "Then, I don't know."

  I spin the chair around so I'm talking to Beck and not mirror Beck. "We have to find him. He may not be the greatest guy, or even a nice guy, but he is my brother, Beck. Not to mention, he's a Founder's descendant."

  "We'll find him, Birdie. Just not tonight."

  I sigh, knowing he's right. "I guess he'll have to be ill." I stare up at Beck and pout out my crimson painted lips. "How about a little kiss?"

  "How about a little more?" He says, bending down to me and cupping my face in his hands.

  "Maybe we should skip the ball," I mutter.

  Beck laughs and scoops me up, but I protest too much and he sets me back down.

  "Girls," he says. "You look beautiful, but we can't touch you. It's really quite unfair."

  I kiss the palm of his hand, leaving behind a bright red mark. "We do it to drive you wild."

  "Well, it works," he says, walking toward to the door.

  "Send my team back in, please."

  Beck gives me one last hungry glance before striding through the door.

  I clasp my hand over my thundering heart. How will I make it through the ball if he keeps acting like that? Even worse, how will I send him away, if that's what he truly needs?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The Grand Ballroom is a vision of green and gold, with a smattering of violet, cobalt, and lemon whirling around in the form of masked dancers. Banners emblazoned with the insignia of the Society hang from the high ceiling, and a plush green rug delineates the dance floor from the seating area.

  Before me, Annalise and Mr. and Mrs. Channing walk the long path lined with masked, cheering Statespeople. Beck and I wait behind, until the Channings are near the middle of the room. Then, with my arm laced through his, we step forward.

  The cheers stop, and gasps erupt
- no doubt over my see-through dress. My scars are prominently on display, as are my nipples. Not exactly the girly, subtle dresses I usually wear.

  Beck tightens his grasp on my arm slightly - almost as if we are children again, and he's protecting me from the curious horde pressing in on all sides.

  "Smile," he says under his breath. A newscasting camera whirls before us zooming in and out on our faces.

  Stupid things, I respond.

  The crowd flanking each side of the walkway claps politely as we pass. I should be used to prancing before audiences by now, but this time, everything feels different, almost like they're waiting for me to do something.

  So I wave.

  And the crowd gasps again.

  "Shy Lark Greene engaged the crowd," Beck says, a laugh dancing in the back of his throat. "Imagine that."

  "I can imagine a lot of things that would have them gasping even more."

  He chuckles, and even behind his gold mask, I can still make out his teasing eyes. They sparkle with happiness. This is the Beck I know and love. How could I possibly distance myself from him?

  "Mind yourself," I say. "The cameras are watching."

  We approach the stage where Mr. and Mrs. Channing wait along with Annalise. In comparison to Beck and me, they all look miserable and uncomfortable.

  Typical Founders' Ball. Except Mother usually made sure everyone smiled and presented a unified front.

  An idea nibbles at me.

  You all are happy, I suggest, allowing the emotions of the Channings to fill me. You love the Founders' Ball.

  Immediately, both Channings beam and wave to the crowd before them, but Annalise raises her eyebrows at me. I keep forgetting that power doesn't work on her.

  Beck and I snake through the crowd and join the rest of our party on the stage. Through the narrow eye holes of my mask, the room appears in small slices. In order to see everything, I have to keep turning my head this way and that. It's not the most comfortable thing to wear – and that includes my crazy up-dos.

  "Well done," Mr. Channing says, clapping Beck on the back. "I heard you were successful in the Eastern Society."