the stairs to my office. In those daydreams, I never allowed myself to admire the artwork or notice any of the details. But now that I’m here, nothing escapes me. The rotunda is a riot of color and people: bright green wraps designating the Western society and red hats favored by Eastern diplomats are everywhere. A few flashes of yellow and blue mingle in, but the group is overwhelmingly East and West. Perhaps the other societies don’t report until later in the day.
I tilt my head back until my shoulders nearly touch my ears. The pale green flourishes and gilded flowers of the ornate dome soar overhead. Along the curving walls, busts of past leaders fill individual niches, and the statues of Caitlin Greene and Charles Channing stand side-by-side. The warrior and the diplomat. Brother and sister. Dark and Light.
What would happen if our entire society, not just the witches, knew our government was founded and run by Sensitives—the very people we’re taught to fear. Would the humans revolt? Would our Society crumble?
Next to the statues, hangs a massive map colored to show the corresponding societies Small points of light dot its surface.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Conflict map,” Oliver answers. “It details where fighting has occurred. It’s updated every ten minutes.”
At least fifty dots cover the map and not one is in our Society. Not even at Summer Hill. How odd. Everyone knows Mother rescued me, so why isn’t it on the map?
“I wasn’t aware of fighting abroad.” I learned at Summer Hill, my school lessons were inadequate and revisionist, but the extent of what I don’t know still astounds me. “Are the conflicts local or between societies? Human? Or just between Light and Dark?”
As I speak, about thirty Eastern society members file through the foyer. It’s strange how representatives from the East outnumber the others four-to-one.
“That information is confidential,” Annalise says from behind me.
Well, that makes no sense. I face her. “There’s a map showing fights around the world, but I can’t know who’s fighting?”
“You’re allowed to know.” She gestures to herself and the rest of my bodyguards. “We’re not.”
“Oh. Then why is it here?”
Annalise huffs “To show the peacefulness of our Society. We want our foreign guests know they are safe within our borders.”
“Are they?”
She scowls. “What do you think?”
I spin slowly, taking it all in. The foreign dignitaries, the humans, the ornate décor. The feeling of power.
It’s all a sham. How many of these people know what’s really going on?
“It’s…” I say, searching for a word that encompasses how I feel about the cover-up and being in the States offices. “Amazing?”
Annalise nods approvingly.
“This way, Miss Lark.” Dawson leads us up a flight of wide, curving stairs to the second floor. An excited shiver climbs my back when we stop before an elaborately carved wooden door. I run my hands over my soft cotton dress and fear I look like a child wearing tights and a sweater.
“Kyra,” I whisper. “Do I look ridiculous?”
She rolls her eyes. “Not any more than normal.”
“Fantastic.”
The heavy door creaks open, revealing a long table. Mother sits at the far end, dwarfed by the tall back of a chair, with her arms folded. Two rows of men and women line the sides, but no one sits at the end closest me.
All eyes are on us. Or rather, me.
My stomach can’t decide if it wants to stay where it belongs or move into my throat. I’ve imagined sitting in on a State meeting, but now that the moment is here, I feel woefully underprepared.
My eyes run over the group, memorizing each face. Annalise nudges me forward and my stomach rolls . As I walk closer to the table, the corners of Mother’s eyes crinkle. If she is still angry with me, she’s hiding it well.
When she stands, all heads pivot away from me, toward her. “Ladies and Gentlemen of the State.” She pauses and nods to me. My heart pounds. “My beloved witches. Let me present my daughter, Lark.”
She stretches out her arms, and without thinking, I cross the room and step into them. My short frame and shyness is amplified by Mother’s elegant posture and the respect she draws.
Whistles ring out across the room and my cheeks flush hot. Mother beams at me for a moment before addressing the gathered dignitaries. “As you know, Lark will turn eighteen in twelve days. Under normal circumstances, I’d mark the day with festivities, but given the current situation…” She stops speaking for a moment to look at me