Relations between the Falgor Main and Minor Houses escalated by the day. Outside Houses picked sides, divided by their positions as Main Houses affirmed their superiority over their Minor counterparts.
Kaliope moved her paperwork and books to the conference room. Unlike the others who were familiar with the perimeters of the case, she had to multitask with learning as she went. The longstanding conflict between the groups spanned centuries since the branching of bloodlines was institutionalized. And according to the Witcher House constitution—if the Falgor Minor House broke the non-contestation rule about attacking or impeding the affairs of the Main House, they’ll be struck from the record and shamed out of proper witch society.
For a witch, those were the highest stakes possible.
No name.
No House.
No social position.
Greed and stupidity often go hand in hand.
Although Kaliope wasn’t risk averse, the fallout of losing such a gamble outweighed the benefits. Unless, as it was now, the culprit managed to cover their tracks. Kaliope rubbed the ache in her temple and scrolled Zohar’s profile on her tablet.
Zohar Falgor. Minor House Patriarch and all-around troublemaker.
Beady eyes notwithstanding, there was nothing on him. Is he covering his tracks with magic? How? Zohar was a pyro mage.
Kaliope rested her head back and closed her eyes. The Minor House had the most to gain from the heir not siring a successor, which made them the main suspect, almost by default. Zohar’s public displays of contempt bolstered suspicion. But the question remained…was he the kind of man to risk it all?
No name.
No House.
No social position.
Minor House eliminated. The Main House stands unopposed. Dying Patriarch. Son without a successor.
Something clicked.
Kaliope dashed from the room. Overcome by a sudden wave of dizziness, Kaliope staggered. Gideon crossed from where he was consulting with Gale in a blink, catching her by the elbow. She leaned on the desk and cupped her forehead.
“Kaliope, are you alright?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine.”
Ronin strode from his office, a crease between his brows. “Ms. Barnes, are you still not well?”
Kaliope bristled at the accusation in his voice. Damn it. She didn’t want him to see her like this. What now? If he thought she wasn’t up for it, Ronin wouldn’t hesitate to banish her from the office for another three days. Then she won’t be able to work the case. Prove herself a worthwhile addition to the team instead of a human liability.
“Humans are so frail.”
Kaliope shot Gale with a withering glare. He was on his feet, his fingers tapping his leg as if he couldn’t shake the reflex. She pulled away from Gideon. “Sorry. Low blood sugar. Haven’t eaten lunch yet.” She went cross-eyed, examining the chocolate bar Inola shover under her nose. “Thanks.” Kaliope bit the proffered offering. An explosion of salty, nutty, chocolatey goodness shocked her taste buds. She covered her mouth, eyes wide. “Hmm. What is that?” The taste bordered on sin.
Inola beamed. “Homemade fudge. My mom baked it.”
Kaliope snagged the rest of the snack.
Ronin’s gaze bore into Kaliope as he studied her. Did he suspect her of lying? The wrinkle between his brow smoothed.
“Eat, Ms. Barnes. We can’t have you fainting away in the office because you skipped a meal.” Ronin turned after issuing his order.
“Wait.” Kaliope lunged for Ronin’s arm before common sense dispelled the idea. He regarded the two fingers pinching the tail of his jacket. Her brilliant plan to show off her skills was all in tatters. Might as well sacrifice her pride on the altar of her ambitions. Kaliope released her hold and cleared her throat, her gaze lowered. “I have a question, sir.”
Her eyes flicked up in time to see Ronin’s eyes narrow at her show of deference. Inola sniggered behind Kaliope. Was it too much? Again, it was too late to reconsider.
Ronin permitted her to ask her question, and Kaliope plowed on, ignoring the pressure in her skull.
“Is the theft of the gems serious enough to be viewed as succession sabotage? Or a direct attack against the Main House?”
Ronin’s brows bunched at her question. “That’s what some of the Main Houses are saying, but it’s a bit of a stretch. Falgor Main House is not under any immediate threat.”
“Disparity of power often leads to a disparity of justice.” Kaliope quoted one of Eli’s many anecdotes. Ronin wouldn’t miss the connection.
“Your point, Ms. Barnes?”
“The Witcher Constitution.” Kaliope angled her body so she could see Gale as she spoke. “No matter how loosely interpreted, it usually favors the Main Houses, correct?” Gale’s posture stiffened at her implication calling out the Main Houses’ practice of unfairness and inequality. Nathaniel Gale clearly belonged to a Main House. Not a Great House, but one of prominence, perhaps. Bullies didn’t like to be called bullies. “I have a third suspect. Well, the motives of a third suspect.”
Kaliope explained her working theory. It wasn’t her best presentation; perhaps she should have worked out some of the kinks beforehand. All the same, she grew more convinced they were confronting a situation beyond a mere dispute over family inheritance.
“Zohar has four children; two grandchildren. His branch of the family is secure for another couple of generations. Unless they all drop dead of the plague or something. But, If Zohar’s framed for breaching House laws, his entire line will lose their position, then Falgor becomes a single-branch succession. If the patriarch dies, and the son, let’s say, meets an unfortunate accident, the line ends. Franziska Falgor married into the House. She can’t inherit it. Her son would be the last, and the House will die with him.”
Gale’s pompous posturing faded with the color of his skin.
“Don’t tell me it never crossed your mind.” Ronin angled away from Kaliope’s question. It had crossed his mind. Was that the cause of his unease? Why withhold it? “The Constitution held the peace for the past one hundred years. For the most part. But it solved nothing. All it’ll take is a single lit match, and boom.” The social hierarchy goes up in a proverbial flame. “This case might be that match.”
Inola whistled. “A Great House wiped out of existence.”
Gale resembled a man whose entire world was coming undone. Gideon studied the witch as if to catch and gather the pieces if they splintered. Ronin’s usually serious demeanor was grim.
“Boss, you don’t think—?”
“That theory never leaves this room, understood?” Ronin’s response cut across Gale’s question.
They all nodded at Ronin’s instruction. He returned to his office, and the glass partition frosted as he shrugged off his jacket, mounting the landing for his desk. Kaliope retook her seat. Clarity on her theory’s stark implications dawned with the mental image of a sinking city.
Ronin was right to be cautious. If a Main House were under direct attack for socio-political reasons, the tension between the Falgor Houses would be secondary to another crisis. One with far-reaching effects beyond in-house succession.
Clock’s ticking. We need to wrap up this case before things escalate into full-scale riots.
Kaliope grimaced. She was trying to one-up her boss, and he was attempting to prevent social unrest.
Crap.
Kaliope lost her appetite but needed to eat before taking the strange iridescent orb-shaped pills Dr. Joriah prescribed for her magic overdose. Inola joined her pity party in the Sky Park oasis of Sage Tower. Kaliope accepted another slice of chocolate fudge. It rivaled chunky monkey ice cream for the coveted title of her new comfort food.
“How hard will the Main Houses retaliate if they believe the Minor Houses are conspiring against them? Gale looked about to stroke out?”
“Don’t mind him. Gale’s family is part of the High-Witch Society. He’s stupid rich. His family runs a tech firm, and he’s engaged to the daughter of another House.”
“A House Merger?” Kaliope read about those in Gideon’s file. Witches spread their influence through marriage mergers, consolidating power.
“Look at you. Someone’s been reading. And Ronin was afraid you wouldn’t fit in.”
Kaliope bit into her fudge. “Early days yet.”
“Ah. Boo. Anyways. The Witcher Constitution is a flawed contract. It outlived its time.” Inola nibbled a fudge. “They’re always teetering on the brink of war because witches are notoriously averse to change. Lycans, too, because they require structure to function. Witches love labels.” Inola rolled her eyes as she said this. “It makes it easier for them to understand where everything fits. It’s a compulsion for both of them. Demons, on the other hand,” she relaxed with her elbows propped on the table, “we live in the moment. We need change, or we’ll lose our minds.”
But it wasn’t a simple change. The conspiracy threatened the social construct of the Witcher Society. Kaliope savored her creamy fudge for a moment.
“If tunnelers sink cities, what happens when witches fight?”
“Hmm.” Inola thought about it. “Depends on the talent. Ever heard of the Great Fire?”
“You mean the one in Timber Hyde? Who hasn’t? The fire burned through the city for three days—” Kaliope recoiled, wide-eyed. “No. Don’t tell me…”
“Pyro mages.” Inola finished her fudge. “Razed the entire city to the ground over a divorce settlement.”
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