Brave the Tempest (Cassie Palme) - Karen Chance Page 0,212

it brutalizes the hell out of them—”

I stopped talking, my throat tight, but kept pacing.

“Some of the Corps’ training techniques would likely shock you as well,” Pritkin told me quietly. “Not to the degree of killing living, physical bodies—although I strongly suspect that has more to do with not having them to spare than with squeamishness. But, of course, the men and women who take part volunteer—”

“And they are men and women,” I said savagely. “They’re not children!”

“The concern is that if powerful clairvoyants are left with their families, they may come under the influence of those who would misuse their gifts. As that vampire did yours.”

I nodded miserably, because he had a point. Tony had used what he learned from my visions to profit off of all kinds of things, from natural disasters to stock market drops to underworld wars. And he’d hurt plenty of people along the way.

I wouldn’t wish that on the girls, either, and the court did keep them safe from that kind of thing until they grew up. And a mature clairvoyant in charge of her skills is a damned hard person to manipulate. It also gave them training on how to control their gift, so that it didn’t torment them the way it had me, with visions coming hard and fast, sometimes one after the other, until there were days when I’d crawled under my bed, trying to get away from them, biting my lip to keep from screaming myself hoarse, because I knew that would alert Tony to the fact that I’d Seen something.

“Before the current rules, powerful magical families used their clairvoyants against each other,” Pritkin told me. “The court existed, but until the high middle ages, there was no requirement for families to surrender their daughters to it. Most felt that it was an honor, but some held them back, hoping to give their clan an advantage.”

Like the covens still did, I thought.

“The court does some good,” I admitted, although that was hard to do today. “I just wish—”

I cut myself off. It didn’t matter what I wished. And I didn’t even know what that was, anyway!

But Pritkin, who had been reclining on the bed, sat up. “What do you wish?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter now. We’re at war. They’re not going to change anything just because I want it.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

I’d gone back to pacing and was facing away from him, over by the door, but at that I turned around. “What?”

“Who is ‘they’?” he repeated.

“I—the Circle, for one—”

“The Circle doesn’t control the Pythia.”

“Well, Jonas thinks he does! At least, he acts that way most of the time.”

Pritkin shrugged. “He can act however he likes. As can anyone else. But the fact remains that there is no ‘they’ when it comes to the Pythian Court. There is only you. So, what do you want, Cassie?”

I stopped pacing, and for the first time, I thought about it. Not about what I had, which was a mess, but what I’d like. “Girls would still come to the court,” I said slowly. “To protect them and give them basic instruction in how to control their gifts. Doing anything else would leave them open to predators of all kinds.”

“And?” Pritkin prompted, after a moment.

But I shook my head. “There is no ‘and.’ That’s it. That’s all I want.”

He frowned. “They have to be able to protect themselves—”

“I have to protect them! That’s my job! Their job is running and playing and learning and just being.”

“Ideally, yes. But you know that’s not how the world works, especially now.”

“That’s how the Corps works,” I pointed out. “You just said so. Magically gifted children don’t join the Corps. They grow up, then make that decision. The initiates should have the same chance. And when they’re older, it would be their choice if they took advanced training or not. Not their parents’, not the Circle’s, not anybody else’s. Theirs.

“That’s what I want.”

And it was. I just hadn’t realized it until now.

“All right,” Pritkin said. “How do you get there?”

I almost laughed, although not with humor. “Good question.”

“You do have an acolyte, though, do you not?” Pritkin asked, his forehead wrinkling. “Ms. von Brandt?”

“She’s also almost two hundred years old,” I reminded him. “Every time you use the Pythian power, it takes a toll. It’s not so bad when you’re young, but she’s not, whether she realizes it or not. Every time she shifts, I’m afraid she’s going to have a heart attack—”

“But