Witches Steeped in Gold by Ciannon Smart

Author:Ciannon Smart
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperTeen
Published: 2021-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

29

JAZMYNE

“Your doyenne, devoted protector of this island, first wishes me to extend her apologies that she couldn’t be with you this morning.” I do my best to smile, even though I avoid looking directly at the crowd gathered in the town square in Port Airam, the capital city of St. Jayne Parish. Not only is this the opening stop, it’s presided over by the doyenne’s first. Westira Magmire stands close at my shoulder, enough that each time she exhales, I feel her hot breath against my left ear. “She remains hard at work on the Yielding in Cwenburg, ensuring our immediate and future safety.”

“And do we have a future?” someone calls. “Or will there be further attacks?”

There are approving murmurs, demands for answers. Xanthippe jostle along the periphery ready to subdue the crowd if need be. My fingers curl around the wood of the pulpit, digging in to steady their shake.

“Answer them,” Presider Magmire hisses through her teeth.

“I—that is to say—” My tongue trips as I make the mistake of looking at the faces gathered, far more than there have been when I’ve visited the city in the past. There are many Alumbrar, Obeah too, those who are conscripted and the free alike.

They’ll all be my sole responsibility soon.

“Emissary.”

Do I want to begin my rule by telling the doyenne’s lies?

“It would be foolish not to prepare for further attacks.”

Magmire pinches the underside of my arm; one glance at Anya and the presider’s pulled back, whether by magic or physical force I don’t know, or care. Turning Doyenne Cariot’s directions over, I begin my speech anew.

“You are afraid, and I . . . I won’t stand here and tell you your feelings are not justified. What I will say is that these are times to turn to sources of light.” My throat bobs as I think of the resistance leader. “Find the beacons of hope in your communities, for they are ready and waiting to share these safe spaces with you, these oases of comfort.” In the crowd, there’s a Nameless member to every ten parishioners, at least. They might not be ready to seek out the resistance now, given what happened at the Yielding Assembly, but my people will be waiting for them when they do go looking. Because they will.

“Will there be war?” someone else calls.

I hesitate. I don’t want to loop the Yielding into my discourse.

“There are . . . forces at work on this island, allies of those in the palace, and they’re laboring to prevent further attacks. Know this, Aiycans”—I emphasize the island-wide title, not wishing to isolate the secular who too have gathered this morning, not when I am about to irritate the Order of Obeah members who stand stalwart at the edges of the crowd—“and I say it with absolute certainty: we will not capitulate to the insurgents’ threat. Something they would do good to remember after ten years—something you shouldn’t forget either.” Several Obeah turn away, mouths twisting. I hesitate, falter, uncertain of my next words.

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