On-Grid
Haven City
“Denied!” Aunt Avryal repeated, staring at Aunt Zandir. “For what reason?”
“Precedent.”
Aunt Zandir all but spat the word—in quite the rage was Aunt Zandir—and whirled to stalk down the length of the room.
“Well, the City Council is made up of fools, and always has been,” Aunt Avryal said. “We’ll appeal to the Upper Council.”
“No, we will not! That favor has already been done for us. Finding itself unable to appropriately rule on our petitions, the City Council sent them on to the Council of the Civilized for resolution.”
Aunt Zandir spun on her heel, stalking back up the room, anger boiling off of her.
When she reached the top of the room, where Aunt Avryal lounged, she stopped and glared down at her.
“The Council for the Civilized refused to rule xinRood a failed Line. There are two members still hale, and healthy, and living among the Haosa, thus the Line is no failure.”
Aunt Avryal frowned.
“They’re still alive?”
“So the judgment against us states. It seems that no one less illustrious and meddlesome than the Warden saw them only recently, spoke with them, and found them healthy and thriving.”
Aunt Avryal said nothing. Aunt Zandir took a deep breath.
“The transfer of fortune was denied because the brats are still alive, and will need their assets to support them.”
“Ridiculous,” said Aunt Avryal. “How many trees can they possibly want to buy?”
“There wouldn’t be any problem with the transfer if the brats were extinct,” Jorey said from his lean against the wall.
Zandir spun.
“You! You are the author of this disaster, you and your too-willingness to create extinction! First Pel, then Zatorvia—there was no reason either needed to die. It never occurred to you that I had a plan! I could have put Pel to very good use. I planned on putting him to use! But you found it far more amusing to kill him.
“Gods know, Zatorvia was a weak instrument, but she was well in hand. We could have used her to our advantage, but once again I found my plans shattered by—you!”
She had stalked closer to the place where he leaned, her rage burning white-hot against Jorey’s Gift.
“You are no longer an asset to this family. While I might support a fribble, I will not tolerate an active liability. It is inconvenient that the Council has ruled against us. However! If the brats are still alive, they may yet be of use to us.”
“How can they possibly be of use to us,” Aunt Avryal demanded, “off-Grid, savage, and unschool—”
“Let them settle,” Aunt Zandir said, walking back toward the center of the room. “Let them form links and associations among the Haosa. Then, we’ll see where our advantage lies.”
She paused, her eyes narrowed in thought.
“I can almost See it,” she murmured, and suddenly came back to herself, spinning on her heel and striding back to Jorey. He felt her Talent claw against his insides, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from crying out.
“If you create one more difficulty for me or fail to follow your instructions in any way, I will see that you are not only Deafened again, but burnt, as well. You will be nothing, do you understand me?”
Her touch was white-hot; she would shrivel his lungs with her heat.
He gasped in a breath of cool air. He was not, he reminded himself, afraid of Aunt Zandir.
He was only afraid of what she could do.
“I understand,” he croaked.
She stared at him for a long moment, then with a final slash of her Talent, she spun and strode away, leaving Jorey wilting against the wall, bleeding from the wounds she had inflicted.