The Cultivated Girl

Chapter 20 - Kensington, London

A balloon-shaped lead crystal glass sat pregnant with crimson fluid. The glass reflected the autumn leaves poised outside the Victorian windows. Amira watched as one after another lost its battle for life and swooned to the lawn below, like so many tiny bloody bodies.

She swirled the wine in her glass and took a sip. Delicious. Pinot noir; the black grapes so fragile and difficult to cultivate and harvest but well worth the effort if you succeeded. Just like Simone.

"Ungrateful, sloppy Simone," she said out loud, almost knocking the half-empty bottle over onto the white leather couch.

Amira felt a stab of anger. At the sound of Simone's name, Cloud, a dog-sized cat leapt onto the couch next to Amira. Her silver and black markings matched the decor perfectly.

She scratched under the cat's downy chin. It never failed to calm her. Amira remembered when Simone got her cats. The girl spent weeks looking up cat breeds in the library until she eventually announced she wanted a female American Shorthair and a male Norwegian Forest Cat. Amira had gone with her to collect them from the breeders. Maybe she shouldn't be too hard on the girl.

"Where's Skoggi?" she asked the cat. "Probably up to no good. He is a male after all. You know what, screw sentiment. Simone should be happy. Happy for the knowledge I've given her.

"She has everything; privileged, powerful parents; a magical bloodline, a naturally fast metabolism, good looks. And do you know what my spies tell me? The girl just whines and complains, barely paying attention in class."

The cat watched her curiously as Amira slid first one blue contact lens, then another out of her scratchy eyes, tinted an unusual smoky lavender. Amira tossed them in her empty sushi plate then expertly poured another glass of red. This was a celebration after all. Cloud purred contentedly next to her.

If she just focused Simone could be great, the most powerful warrior-priestess of all time and behind her every step of the way, Amira, her mentor, her saviour.

Amira gripped the stem of her glass so tightly it was in danger of snapping. Even that... where else would the girl learn the difference between a bordeaux glass and a burgundy glass and which red to drink from each.

She breathed rapidly, her cat induced calm gone. Cloud jumped off the couch and went to lick herself in the corner. It was cozy and warm in the apartment; sitting in Elizabeth's seat of power. Amira stroked the merino wool suit she was wearing, Elizabeth's. Exquisite. A pang of guilt or sorrow, something weak, twinged at her. Elizabeth had been there for her when no one else was. She had mentored her, taught her and eventually picked her to be the Diplomat's Deputy.

"No," she yelled. It must be the wine talking, making her soft. "This, it's all mine. Years of preparation, of picking up after her brat, it's all come to this. I am so close." Cloud gave her a disgusted look and walked off. Skoggi knew better than to poke his handsome orange beard round the corner.

"Mine," she muttered, finishing off the rest of the bottle.

The crystal at her neck glowed hot. Pink Rhodochrosite; she loathed its energy but it had picked her so what could she do? Just put up with those long forgotten memories that insisted on popping to the surface for healing. Pathetic. A message flashed.

Sarsaura moon flow. Sanctuary in uproar.

Amira took a celebratory sip of the wine. The ungrateful brat had finally come into her power. She could see her plan unfolding like a red carpet. Amira muttered to herself. "Earn Diplomat's trust, check. Make Simone rely on me, check. Turn Simone against Elizabeth, check."

She laughed. Now all that remained was to bring Simone into the Guild of Destroyers, destroy the Diplomat, take over her position and bring about the Age of the Dragon. Maybe she could become one of the Principal, or even the Empress.

The girl is a useful tool although the clutch is expendable. Except possibly for the weak Nada. She could come in handy.

Slowly the blaze ebbed from the leaves outside as the sun set. Amira didn't notice. She was lost in a dream world of conquest and destruction, the sunset like a splash of red spilling behind her head; an omen.

***When I first wrote this I abandoned my readers for a few weeks for a tropical island in the South Pacific. You can read my love letter to you at the end of this book. Lucky new readers can go straight on to the next chapter.
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