A full Council of Elders was far more intimidating than one member. They sat on chairs that were only not called thrones because these people weren’t kings, and they regarded Sophie and Celia with quiet scrutiny.
“As you can see, the girl is far too powerful to live,” Rutha Peer droned. “The powers displayed when battling in that mortal environment are clearly too dangerous to be allowed out of confinement.”
“And absolutely impossible to confine,” the young Linguist added, quietly.
“My companion, you misunderstand me,” Peer said, hastily. “Her powers could overturn everything we have built. The chances of her remaining calm and quiet are unlikely. She is explosive! Dangerous! She will know nothing of what she is doing.”
“Then train me,” Sophie spread her arms wide. “Train me and let me learn. Let me have some sort of control.”
“You will speak when spoken to,” Peer snapped.
“Let her talk,” interrupted Monica Butterfly, the graceful Sensitive who had been watching Sophie intently the entire time. “It is her life, after all. Let her speak for herself. She is a girl, not an infant.”
Sophie decided that she liked Butterfly a lot.
“Listen,” she said, carefully. “I know you’re scared. You don’t want things to change.”
“Scared!” Peer roared. “Scared!”
“Guard your tongue, child,” the Warrior said, coldly.
Sophie bit her tongue hard and forced herself to continue.
“Listen, you don’t want me putting your systems and your world in danger. But I will be, so long as I don’t know what’s going on. I need to be trained. I need to understand what I can do with my power. If you kill me, you’re just going to be waiting for the next Night Princess. If I beat the prophecy, it’ll be over.”
“She’s right,” Butterfly said, firmly. “The future is never clear. She can beat what she has been told she will be.”
“Teach her,” Peer said, scornfully. “Teach her what? Black magic!”
“Forgive me, but you know nothing about necromancy,” Sophie said, carefully. “It is not all evil, and not all necromancers belong to the cult. There are some – Outsiders – who you can grant Tolerance.”
“You understand what Tolerance is, child?” Butterfly looked worried.
“Celia’s been telling me some things,” Sophie shrugged.
Celia looked awkward.
“Child, Tolerance is granted only to people too clever, too unique, too important or too necessary for us to obliterate,” Butterfly said, frowning on the last word. “It is granted to geniuses like Max Melamine, to people like Chrysanthemum Bone. It is not granted to just about anybody.”
YOU ARE READING
The Necromancer Trilogy: Prophecy
FantasySince the Dark Ages, the world of magic has been carefully concealed from mortal eyes. Yet that careful world is about to be overturned. The Necromancers, a dangerous cult exiled from the magical community, have a prophecy. It tells of the Night Pr...
