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The Hierarch's chair felt too big as Rosethorn wriggled in it, trying to get used to her new spot. She grimaced a little, hands falling to rest automatically on the arms
"Wonder if I can get a cushion for this thing..."
The Council room was silent and empty but for the echoes of her musings. The five chairs of the Councillors spread out before her, looking like spectres, grim promises of a future to come if she failed. She shivered anxiously, dismissing the thought quickly. She would not fail her people, not when they needed her.
The decision by the Counsilium had taken Rosethorn by surprise. She had intended to stand for the Hierarch chair, sure enough, but only to remind the Orderfolk that she would not stand to be left in the dark, her screams unheard, as so many other Apostates had been in the past. She had never expected the daffy bastards to let her sit, unopposed, in the highest chair in the room.
She smiled wryly as she considered what Fiacre would have said, if he had been there. He would have been proud, for sure, but would he have shook his head in despair at the capering of the Order mages, or crowed in triumph for his sprout? She wasn't sure anymore, but she knew he would smile at the thought of his Rosie, Hierarch of Sydney
It wasn't much of a position under the new Lex. A voice amongst the council and abroad, a tiebreaker, a figurehead and a target for the Seers that had done what a year of urging and fighting couldn't, and made the disparate mages of Sydney stand together, for once since the War. Her lip curled in anger as she recalled her opposite, the Seer called Dice. Smooth as paint poured on, he had laid open people's secrets and fears, he had taunted and threatened and jeered. She remembered falling back into the strengthened pool of calm that Kain had granted her, not letting her fury get the best of her and destroy everything her people had worked for. She remembered the coin that escaped her grasp, and heaving as her body rejected the Hermium within her, cleansing the heavy-metal poisoning. Last of all, she remembered Puck, body bruised and tender, his reputation teetering on the edge of ruin at the hands of those they hated.
They were her people now, no matter how ceremonial her role. Her Consilium. Her responsibility. She knew with absolute certainty, that while she didn't want to die for them, she would- and worse- if Fate asked it of her, for anyone of her bastards.
Alone in the Council room, Rosethorn buried her face in her hands, and moaned.
"Shit, what have I done?"
"Wonder if I can get a cushion for this thing..."
The Council room was silent and empty but for the echoes of her musings. The five chairs of the Councillors spread out before her, looking like spectres, grim promises of a future to come if she failed. She shivered anxiously, dismissing the thought quickly. She would not fail her people, not when they needed her.
The decision by the Counsilium had taken Rosethorn by surprise. She had intended to stand for the Hierarch chair, sure enough, but only to remind the Orderfolk that she would not stand to be left in the dark, her screams unheard, as so many other Apostates had been in the past. She had never expected the daffy bastards to let her sit, unopposed, in the highest chair in the room.
She smiled wryly as she considered what Fiacre would have said, if he had been there. He would have been proud, for sure, but would he have shook his head in despair at the capering of the Order mages, or crowed in triumph for his sprout? She wasn't sure anymore, but she knew he would smile at the thought of his Rosie, Hierarch of Sydney
It wasn't much of a position under the new Lex. A voice amongst the council and abroad, a tiebreaker, a figurehead and a target for the Seers that had done what a year of urging and fighting couldn't, and made the disparate mages of Sydney stand together, for once since the War. Her lip curled in anger as she recalled her opposite, the Seer called Dice. Smooth as paint poured on, he had laid open people's secrets and fears, he had taunted and threatened and jeered. She remembered falling back into the strengthened pool of calm that Kain had granted her, not letting her fury get the best of her and destroy everything her people had worked for. She remembered the coin that escaped her grasp, and heaving as her body rejected the Hermium within her, cleansing the heavy-metal poisoning. Last of all, she remembered Puck, body bruised and tender, his reputation teetering on the edge of ruin at the hands of those they hated.
They were her people now, no matter how ceremonial her role. Her Consilium. Her responsibility. She knew with absolute certainty, that while she didn't want to die for them, she would- and worse- if Fate asked it of her, for anyone of her bastards.
Alone in the Council room, Rosethorn buried her face in her hands, and moaned.
"Shit, what have I done?"
