Page 71 of Angel in Absentia
“I’m not denying that,” Iris said firmly, “but you knew that when you met him. I am following your lead here, and I am saying, I think you made the right choice then, and I think cooperating with him could be the right choice now.”
Ryson returned, catching her eyes as he walked through the door. He slowed his pace as he approached them, inspecting them as if he could see their conversation floating through the air.
“Yes?” he asked, prodding at Clea’s determined expression.
She would put this ruse to the test.
“We need a new council,” she said. “Immediately.”
“Of course, Your Highness,” he replied with a smile and without hesitation.
†††
Within the hour, Clea had a councilroom of new council members for review, each having relative familiarity with the role. They eased down tensely into their seats, and Ryson strolled to the back of the room and the additional chairs. The clip of metallic steps echoed in the council chamber, everyone watching as he sat into one of the additional seats, leaned back, and crossed his legs in a relaxed fashion. With a subtle smile, he offered his hand, his elbow propped up on the armrest, “Please continue,” he said. “I will remain here to represent Insednian interests.”
The council members all looked at Clea who offered a permissive nod and then discussions began in earnest. Ryson watched her guide the room as she facilitated the tentative workings of a new council.
It felt like a performance, and Clea could tell the council members were being careful with their words. So was she. In a strange way, everything seemed scripted.
The first day ended tensely, but with significant progress in Loda’s interest.
The council members returned early the second day in a similar fashion, now clothed in council robes that reflected their status.
She was dressed in a simple white garb, the fabric thin to give the illusion that her movements rippled the light and air around her. It had been a fabric of Felipe and Ignat’s choosing. With gold adornments on her ears and in her hair, she’d done all but paint her chest and fingers to embody her people’s light.
It was an intentional move in the days since the attack. It seemed to quell the council, and in walking the streets early before the meeting, she knew it had quelled her people to see their light so effortlessly unfettered.
It seemed to have the opposite effect on Ryson.
When she entered the councilroom the second day, the council fell into a natural, though still reserved rhythm. Ryson continued to observe, but she could almost sense the tension of cien in the air. She wondered if her new appearance somehow irked him, and that pleased her. He didn’t speak or acknowledge it, however, and so she became determined to paint her skin and fingers the following day, if only to drive her point forward.
In his silence, there were even times on the second day where some of the council members, in moments of heated debate, seemed to forget he was there at all.
Within three days, the new council was operating again with tentative independence, and discussions of the city’s operations were no longer pressing, while discussion of the impending Ashanas attack began to take precedence.
The topic had loomed consistently. Clea knew that the discussion would invite the input of their Insednian representative. When at last, one council member presented the issue, Clea glanced to the back of the room when none of the others would.
She and Ryson’s eyes met instantly, a sign that he’d already been watching her.
“In this case, I suppose I would be remiss to not invite the input of the party who now secures our walls,” she said, and remained calm and collected, retaining control of the room. “Another attack is imminent,” she presented the issue to Ryson as if delegating it, as if she had the power to do so. She found herself testing his control in subtle, careful ways.
The others at the table turned slowly to face him. He scanned them over, and then eased to his feet. “The Ashanas are changing their strategy. We have at the very least a week before they attack again,” he explained as he crossed the chamber.
To her surprise, he took the empty seat beside her, the room growing tense as he sat down next to her, uncomfortably close. Knowing her behavior would reflect on the council members’ sense of their own safety, Clea remained completely relaxed on the exterior, though her heart skipped nervously. She took a breath.
Ryson took control of the room, and she sat back and watched in tense reserve. In matters of warfare, Ryson was clearly knowledgeable and articulate.
He invited questions. Slowly, carefully, the novice council members asked them. A dialogue began, until they seemed eager at every word. Clea felt oddly unnerved by how well he sat besideher in gathering their respect. She helped elicit opinions and interpret feedback, but when Ryson spoke, the room was silent, and it was not a discussion but some form of fearful reverence that screened his every action for an underlying motive.
Meanwhile, Clea did not think of the impending battle. Instead, she resisted all awe and admiration she witnessed, watching the surrounding council members surrender their allegiances in slow and seemingly harmless ways.
She’d resolved that as long as she kept a measured distance from Ryson, she could not be lulled into any frame of mind but the one that regarded her city above all else. She thought through all of the ways her city could be deceived or tricked. She moved through all of its vulnerabilities.
As Ryson explored the war with the Ashana, she explored her people’s secret war with his.
She evaluated all of the risks.
Her people might too readily embrace him; her guards and soldiers, allowed to roam free, might too readily attack him. Her council members might too readily digest his words and knowledge, and it could turn to poison in their minds. She thought through every vulnerability that might cost her people everything.
