Rooming with the Wicked

45 | sick of it

Chancellor Rivera strode past me, slate gray cloak flowing behind her. Her chocolate brown hair, pulled into a perfectly circular bun today, bounced slightly with every step.

Deep breath. Get your thoughts together.

With one hand on the door, she beckoned me inside. The brief flow of air as she shut it caused goosebumps to erupt on the back of my neck. The room suddenly felt smaller, and darker, with everything drowning in the orange lux crystal glow.

Chancellor Riviera motioned at the chair in front of her desk and said, "Have a seat." She walked over to the window and opened the blinds. The feeling of unease passed.

The cushioned chair wasn't as comfortable as it looked. Unsure of what to do with my hands, I laced them together in my lap. When I noticed my foot tapping rhythmically on the soft carpet, I shifted in my seat and locked both ankles around the front legs of the chair.

Calm down, Ariel.

The chancellor walked around her desk, red-polished fingernails trailing along the sleek edges of the wood. She stopped, her brows creased ever so slightly as she stared at something in front of her.

The drawer. Crap. I'd closed it, right? Or had it been open before I'd hit my head?

I swallowed audibly, hands clasped tightly.

Her expression softened and she sat down without a word. I felt myself relax. With one elbow leaning on the armrest, she turned to me with a smile. "What can I do for you?" she asked.

Good question. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea. What was I thinking? Exactly. I hadn't been thinking. My feet had just carried me over here on some gut instinct.

Well, too late to back out now.

I cleared my throat. "I wanted to ask you about my father."

She nodded, still smiling. "Go on."

Here we go.

"Was... Was he ever in the Vanguard?"

Her eyes widened by a fraction, and, for a second, that calmness she displayed wavered. "No." She paused, one red nail tapping the end of the armrest. "Not that I know. Why would you think that?"

"I..." Great. How was I supposed to explain that? Showing her the patch was out of the question. "I found an old picture of the mark in Dad's things."

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Maybe one day I wouldn't run into conversations like these entirely unprepared.

"The ambassadors have been keeping a close eye on the Vanguard for decades. During my time as well. They keep resurfacing, but so far there hasn't been anything major enough to take action against them. At least not that I know. It wouldn't surprise me, however, if the ambassadors know more."

It wouldn't surprise me either. Too bad I couldn't go straight up and ask them.

"This is a serious accusation," she continued. "Tell me, what prompted this—this idea?"

Hands clammy, I sat up straighter. This was it. Either I told her where this was going and risked—risked what exactly? Exposing Dad? Maybe he should be exposed.

But...I could be wrong.

"Ariel," she added, voice quiet, reassuring, "your father is many things. A traitor is not one of them."

Traitor? A strange way to word it, but okay.

Everything about her screamed confidant—screamed trustworthy. But then why couldn't I bring myself to inquire about my mother? If anyone had known her, it was Chancellor Riviera.