113. Getting heated

The promised bonus chapter is here!

***

Q’Shar’s tail twitched as he considered whether he should stop Sam. He knew where the priest was going with this and didn’t like the direction. So after a quick calculation, the cat decided to take the gamble. He could see the priest’s façade start to crumble slightly as Sam let the magic materialize at the end of the staff.

A second-tier spell slowly came into existence, one that would easily tear through the cheap wall next to them.

When it came to magic, Q’Shar had complete trust in Sam’s senses, so if he said there was someone behind it, then there was.

Now, just to give the man an easy way out. Out of the danger and right into a trap.

“Please, Sam, there is no need for violence,” Q’Shar spoke up. “I’m sure it’s just the personal curiosity of the waiter. Our host must have told him about you, and the man got curious—not every day he sees the head of a main clan.”

“Exactly, just a misunderstanding,” the priest said, jumping at the lifeline.

The cat stilled the twitch of his tail.

Sam looked at him with raised eyebrows, then shrugged and put the staff down. Q’Shar noticed that Ophelia also lowered her hand from the rapier’s handle. Good reaction. He had been hesitant about bringing her as a possible weakness, but she showed no hesitation in standing behind Sam, at least in this case.

“Ahem.” The priest coughed, trying to break the awkward silence. “All I was trying to say—and please forgive the misunderstanding—is that the new distribution of voting rights and power needs to be reconsidered. I was merely concerned about the fairness of it.”

“Well, then I’m glad your doubts were dispelled.”

“Well… I wouldn’t say—” the priest began, but Q’Shar interrupted.

“What?” He smiled lightly. The effects of Sam’s aura were still lingering. It was the cat’s cue to go for the throat. “I’m pretty sure your man was informed you would be meeting someone from the main clans. That’s why he acted out, was it not?”

The man opened his mouth, choking on the words. “Well, yes, but what I meant was… more like a… celebrity.”

“A celebrity. Does the Church have so little control over its people that they act up seeing a celebrity?”

“Well…” The man looked at the door of the room.

Q’Shar’s smile deepened. ‘What, wishing for another convenient interruption—would they bring the food this time? Good luck,’ he thought.

Sam was many things, but when it came to the ability to intimidate, he was second to none, and part of it was simple: he meant every threat. If he threatened to kill the person behind the wall, he must have disabled whatever they used to listen in. No waiter would be coming to save the priest.

“Well?” Q’Shar repeated the question. “You are here as an envoy of the Church, so I imagine you have the right to negotiate the voting positions. So here is our offer: the Alhazred clan will keep its position as a main clan with five votes, as it has always been.”

“What if the noble families—” the priest started, finally breaking his gaze from the door.

“Since when is the Church representing noble families?”

“We aren’t! We merely care about fairness.”

“Oh? And how fair is it that my backer is being amateurishly spied on during peace talks just because one of your men couldn’t control his curiosity? Curiosity about a celebrity, no less. Like a child.”

“I apologize for the incident, and we will make sure to punish him, but that doesn’t change the fact that bigger families can have a claim to more voting rights.”

“Well, then, if any noble families have a problem with the vote distribution, they can voice it to a Justiciar during the initial days of the sabbath, as is the law. Or do the noble clans not have to abide by it these days? Is your ability to control them just as bad as your ability to control your man?”

Silence descended. The priest was clearly looking for a way out, but the only option was to leave it to the initial phases of the sabbath, and they both knew what that would mean. Someone would have to be dumb enough to fight Sam.

“Fine,” the man relented. “Let us enjoy our meal.”

Sam just smiled, and after a few seconds, the doors opened, and clearly distressed waiters carrying trays walked in. The priest went for the glass, taking a slow sip, which seemed to relax the men.

Q’Shar looked at the oven-baked salmon. As a cat, he was a fish expert, and he had to give his compliments to the chef. He then looked to the side and sighed, seeing Sam’s massive steak with another glass of wine as he happily ate, seemingly without a care about the whole scene. Ophelia was slightly more affected, as she was clearly tense throughout the dinner, but she was holding up well.

They ate in silence for some time. Finally, once the dinner was coming to an end, the priest spoke up, looking at Ophelia this time. “So, how do you find the world of magic?”

She was clearly surprised by the sudden question, but she gathered herself quickly.

“Well. It’s been… interesting.”

“I imagine. New people have rarely joined us in the past few years, though I imagine that will change. Your world must have been turned upside down.” She nodded. “And how did your parents take it, if I might ask?”

A grimace crossed Ophelia’s face, but she relaxed it back to a neutral expression quickly. “They aren’t really aware. It would be against the law to inform them, from what I understand.”

A slight twitch crossed his face before the priest smiled. “Of course, but that law will have to change anyway—nothing bad about telling one’s family.”

“I’ll consider it then.”

“You should. Family is our greatest support. And I imagine many people who will be joining the magic community will be looking to you as a role model of sorts.”

“Role model? Me?” she repeated, doubt clear in her voice.

“Well, yes. It’s quite a story: a girl from a mundane house finds out about her own power and ends up an apprentice to one of the best mages in existence. I’m sure there will be many eyes turned toward you—the entire Third Chamber, most likely.”

“Third Chamber?” Ophelia asked, at which Q’Shar winced.

‘Did this moron really not tell her about the political divide within the Vatican?’ he thought, sending a hateful gaze towards Sam, who promptly ignored it.

“Well, yes. A part of the council, initially created by our war hero, Clementus Abiola, and given its current power by Samuel’s grandfather as thanks for his help in finishing the war. But there will be many other factions with eyes on you. Many are recruiting and will look to your story as inspiration of sorts, I’m sure.”

Thankfully, if the pressure got to her, she wasn’t showing it, as she simply nodded to the words, although she went back to twirling the wine in her glass, a nervous tic the cat would have to talk with her about.

Before Q’Shar could counter the recruitment offer, it was Sam who spoke.

“Granted power as thanks? Is that how they teach you? I’m pretty sure it was along the lines of your forces getting their asses kicked and then my family making a tough choice,” he spoke the last part with apparent mockery in his voice, “and ending the war. The power was won, not given.”

“That’s a rather harsh description.”

“Description? You lost due to your inability to control your subordinates. I’m simply giving my apprentice a life lesson about history repeating itself.” He finished with a quick glance toward the point in the wall where he had threatened to blow a hole through.

“Our control of our subordinates, while sometimes lacking, has greatly improved, I guarantee you.”

“You sure? I could do you a favor for this stunning food. I could turn the waiter into someone more… obedient. Just for you.”

“No need,” the priest answered with a smile, not letting his façade crack despite the blatant threat.

He did turn from Ophelia’s direction, though, and back to the cat, who had also finished his food.

“Shall we order dessert?”

“Yes.”

After that, the waiters took orders, with Sam once again zeroing in on a horribly expensive cake, to the point Q’Shar was starting to wonder if he was trying to bankrupt the Church that way.

The desserts arrived relatively fast, accompanied by coffee and tea.

The cat was sure that this was the end of the meeting, with the date of the sabbath decided, but to his surprise, the priest glanced at him. He’d kept his face in excellent control over the meeting, all things considered, but this time the cat could see a bit of hesitation clear in his expression as a shadow passed over his face.

“So,” he started, slowly, as if gathering his thoughts over the duration of the word. “We heard about trouble in Brazil some time ago.”

Now even Sam looked up from his dessert at the priest.

“Yes. I believe Samuel helped the Church quite a bit.”

“He did,” the priest agreed. “Very much so, although we never reclaimed the missing artifacts. We are very thankful for the help in the investigation.”

‘Why say that?’ Q’Shar wondered, ‘unable to recover the artifacts—it made them look weak. What for? Unless he was throwing them a bone for…’ The cat looked to Sam, who also put on a more professional expression. As their eyes met, Sam nodded slightly.

“We also looked into the incident from our side but didn’t find anything,” said Q’Shar.

The priest winced a bit.

“Well, we will have to increase the security measures. We can’t have another theft like that,” the priest said to himself, but loudly enough for both of them to hear.

They went back to their desserts, but Q’Shar saw that Sam—much like him—was deep in thought.

The talk came to a close. They said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

Ethan sat in the now-empty dining room. His eyes had lost focus as his thoughts sped inside his head.

“Father?” One of the waiters tried to get his attention, but to Ethan, his voice was distant, barely noticeable, as if coming from behind a thick curtain.

After a few seconds of silence, the waiter repeated the question, this time slightly louder. His voice finally brought the priest out of his thoughts and back to the waking world.

“Yes?”

“How did it go?” asked the man, his waiter’s mannerisms gone as he dropped the tray to the table.

Ethan took a deep breath and slowly exhaled before answering. “Not good, but not terrible either.”

“Do you think lowering their number of votes is possible?”

“No, not as long as Samuel lives.” Ethan shook his head.

“More than one person can represent a house—he shouldn’t be able to stand against the entire assault team of a noble clan.”

Ethan hesitated. He did hear the stories and got a report from Brazil. But would he fall to just a few second-tier mages? He was certainly second-tier, that was common knowledge, but…

Ethan gritted his teeth at the memory. “Did Simon at least manage to gauge his strength?”

“About Simon…” The man playing the waiter hesitated and nodded at a woman at the entrance. She carried another man into the room. The moment she dropped him to the ground, Ethan’s brow shot up.

“Eyes… so many eyes. Why were there so many eyes?” the man whispered to himself, hugging his own legs.

“What happened to him?” asked the older man.

“We don’t know. He said he got in, and then this happened immediately after. We think he suffered some sort of mental attack. It shouldn’t be permanent, but I doubt he got any info.”

Ethan sighed and got up to pour himself a glass of wine, only to discover the bottle was empty, as he swore at the Alhazred clan.

“Do we really need to do all that?” asked the waiter. “The Riswalt family is sure it can get rid of him…” He said and let the words hang in the air.

“You’re too quick to trust noble clans. They still pretend to be the same families whose members could level buildings and wipe out armies. They can have trouble gauging the opponent’s strength. Their pride gets in the way.”

“Then why?”

“The Third Chamber is unpredictable. Nobles aren’t. That’s why.”

“Still, they insist that his level won’t matter.”

Ethan looked out the window at the blue sky, noticing a cover of dark clouds moving in from the distance, flashes of lightning barely visible from afar.

“Let’s hope they are right.”