Sebastien was true to his word, and he gave me the rest of the morning to get acquainted with my surroundings. He led me to what were to be my personal quarters. They were on the third floor of the vast castle in what had been zoned for governmental residences. Although there were senators and other officials who had housing elsewhere, some housing had been set aside for members who kept their residences at the castle. Sebastien informed me that since they had been expecting me and acknowledging that I would probably be arriving with nothing, he was able to send a couple of his assistants out to purchase everything I might need until I could start feeling comfortable enough to do my own shopping. My quarters were ready for occupancy. His assistants had decorated it, but if I didn't like it, or when I acquired my own belongings down the road, I could change it. Sebastien departed with the promise he would send a stylist in the afternoon to help me prepare for the dinner. I would have a couple of hours to rest.

Compared to my jail cell, and the prison cell I had expected to find myself in, the castle's new quarters were an upgrade. There was a front room equipped with two cream-colored loveseats facing each other. Built-in shelving contained decorative vases with artificial roses and orchids, glass paperweights, and a bronze statue of a female inscribed with flowers. There was a small rectangular table on the other side of the room; its four cushioned chairs were pushed underneath the table. On the table, there appeared to be a tablet put there for my later use and entertainment. A cabinet occupied space against the wall.

Two French doors separated the drawing room from the bedroom. I was rather surprised to see a king-sized bed separating two nightstands. The headboard had been upholstered with a cream-colored material that matched the duvet. On the other side of the room, a large black dresser sat in between two doors. One led to a bathroom that had been fully furnished with towels and hygiene products. The second one went to a walk-in closet containing clothing and shoes. The sizes were appropriate; all of it had been curated for me. Intrigued, I opened one of the dresser drawers and noticed that several undergarments of different varieties had been provided. They were an upgrade from the recycled cotton underwear the jail rotated on a weekly basis.

The apartment contained two massive windows: one next to the loveseats and the other in the bedroom. Both, I noticed, overlooked a courtyard contained by the castle's interior walls. Gardeners had accepted the challenge of making the courtyard aesthetically pleasing by using different flower combinations to produce art. Benches were placed throughout the cobblestone square. There was no one enjoying the courtyard garden at the moment. Beyond, I could see just the edge of the island, where a rocky coastline yielded to the ocean.

I laid down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. I had left all my belongings behind in my jail cell, expecting that returning was inevitable. There were Jay's letters and the pictures Skye had sent me—perhaps the only sentimental items I had. It saddened me they would be lost forever. However, I most yearned for the pills I had secreted away in the wall. I needed time in the sanctuary. I needed its grounding effects and to talk to Hawk about all of this, because right now, I was wrapped up in a swarm of chaos.

Yet, by myself, I could not access the sanctuary. I had never relaxed enough to do so and needed the pills. I tried to relax for ten minutes until I got up from the bed and left my apartment. There was one task I had to do before I met with Sebastien's stylist.

The chancellor's stylist's knock on my apartment door arrived when Sebastien had said it would. I had spent the late morning and early afternoon exploring the castle and finding a way to write a letter to Skye and had arrived back in my apartment only twenty minutes earlier. I spent the remaining time waiting by perusing the books on the bookshelves. Keeping myself distracted helped the nerves. Hearing the knock only unraveled all the progress I had made. My nerves were in tangles in my gut due to the anticipation of sharing a meal with the very people who governed magic. I had been raised to be anonymous. I always had some sort of alias to hide behind, some sort of objective to fulfill. Now, I had nothing.

I swallowed against my anticipation and anxiety; it only made that weight in my stomach heavier. I opened the door to let the stylist in. A very put-together woman in a tailored blouse and skirt with flame-red hair forming a bob around her chin darted in through the doorframe. She was followed by a shorter, freckled woman with square-framed glasses and a feminine-looking male whose eyelash extensions were the longest I'd ever seen on a person. Her assistants carried a garment bag, a cosmetic trolley cart, and several boxes. They immediately walked to the bedroom to get set up. The stylist introduced herself as Ashlyn, one of the leading seamstresses in Astraera, and her assistants were Chiara and Soren. According to her, she specialized in supplying costumes and styling for the yearly masquerade, and Sebastien had employed her services to help me dress for the night's dinner.

After four years of being locked up in a jail cell, the amount of attention I got that afternoon differed greatly from my normal routine. While the other inmates could make eyeshadow and blush out of colored pencils and food, curl their hair using torn up blankets, and cut their hair with nail clippers, I never gave that much energy to my appearance. There was no reason to. I had maintained good hygiene and health, and that was the extent of it. Even when I was with Evangeline, I had just focused on hygiene and getting out of that uniform.

Ashlyn, Chiara, and Soren made it seem like I was swept out of my cell and up into a fairytale. They cleaned up my bushy eyebrows, plucking all the strays that had formed during those four years. Soren gave my hair a much-needed trim and ashy highlights before styling it in waves and two barrettes. Chiara concentrated on my face and used the tools in her cosmetic trolley to accentuate my eyes and cheekbones. For the formal dinner, Ashlyn had chosen a cream-colored dress that hit mid-thigh. Two large black buttons accented the shoulders and made it seem like they were holding the straps together.

The effect was astonishing after years of seeing myself in only whites and reds. The Mary Jane platforms were uncomfortable after years of the plastic sandals, while I had to resist fidgeting with the gold bangle and earrings I was suddenly adorned with. Still, there was a bit of nostalgia in dressing up, and I remembered how to calm the twisted nerves while displaying the image of confidence and aplomb. Looking at my reflection in the mirror, my chin lifted a little higher, my shoulders pushed back further, and my face became void of any expression. My reddened lips were parted partly. My loosely curled hair draped in front of my shoulders and stretched down towards my naval.

I had a moment of silence to appreciate the work Ashlyn and her team had done before Sebastien's assistant arrived to take me to the dinner.

He was a younger male with short, dark hair and pale skin. He was lanky, as if his muscles had not yet been developed. Youth and innocence still dominated his face, and although I couldn't have been that many years older than he was, I felt like an old hag because of everything I'd been through. The assistant introduced himself as Milo. He was quite introverted and thus hardly said anything as he escorted me to the dinner. I tried to remember all the turns and different hallways during our journey so I could return to my apartment without getting lost afterwards. By the time we had reached the fifth floor, I had to admit premature defeat and accept that learning the castle's layout would take time.

Sebastien was waiting for me outside of the dining room. Two elegant doors formed the entryway to the area. They were partly shut to conceal what waited beyond. The murmur of many conversations drifted out in between the doors. "Thank you, Milo," Sebastien said with an accompanying nod acting as a greeting and dismissal. Milo nodded quickly in response before pivoting and disappearing down the hallway. Apparently, he was not invited. Sebastien turned to me. His eyes surveyed my form. "You look very nice," he complimented. I muttered something, feeling my cheeks warm. "Are you ready to go in and meet the peacocks—Er, sorry, I meant the Senate?" His tone was joking, meant to help me relax. However, I got the sense that this was not the first time he had called them as such.

I gave Sebastien a small smile and said, "If I turn around now, do I miss dinner?"

"Absolutely not. There's a cafeteria on the first floor," Sebastien said. "I can't be absolutely sure the quality of food will be comparable to what you will receive tonight. No one would hold it against you if you wanted to postpone this dinner."

"No, I'm ready.” I appreciated his offer of retreat.

"I promise they won't attack.” Sebastien pushed one door open, revealing a stately dining room. His bold ruby ring glinted against the light for a moment. He leaned against the door, allowing me to step through first. With a deep breath to calm the anxiety hijacking my gut, I took my first step into the dining room.

Like Sebastien's office, one entire wall was dedicated to floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked one side of the circular city. The sun was completing its descent and darkness was consuming the twilight. My desire to survey the city was prevented by the mass of senators waiting for me in the dining room. The conversations I had heard beyond the door vanished as everyone turned towards the entrance upon my arrival. I saw both females and males standing in groups no larger than seven people. Most of them had either a wineglass or a cocktail glass clutched in one hand. For a few seconds, everything stopped.

Interest aroused their expressions as I came under their scrutinization, which I exchanged. The women were in knee-length dresses or full pantsuits. What boldness the men got with their colored ties, the women gained through their colored jackets. They looked older than thirty, while the eldest appeared to be in his eighties. I saw a man with a full head of pure white hair. Another man, this one of a Hispanic origin, had a mustache and towered over his peers. A black woman appeared to have bold reddish highlights to her dark shoulder length hair. The last two carried a tension that could only be generated from being engaged in an intense political debate.

I analyzed every single one of them, searching for differences in between them and the mortals. I couldn’t find any. If they were walking down a busy New York City street as a group, I wouldn't be able to identify them as mages. There wasn't any clear indication that any of them could manipulate the elements. I tried to find something different. There was absolutely nothing: no tails, unusual irises, pointed ears, gills on their forearms—they were completely normal. I almost didn't believe they could control the universe's elements.

I nearly jumped when a hand settled on my shoulder. Sebastien had followed me into the dining room.

"Is this her?" inquired a smaller woman, who stepped forward and out of the crowd. Her skin had a leathery look to it and her nose was one of the most prominent features on her face. Her expression was formed with a mixture of curiosity and kindness. Despite her size, she held herself with confidence and authority. Both came across in her bold voice.

I glanced at Sebastien again, catching his small smile. "Senators, this is Briara Disraeli. Briara, these are the women and men who make up the Senate," Sebastien introduced. "It looks like the chief senator would like to speak to you while I get us some refreshments. Do you have a preference?" Eyeing the cart that had been pushed to the side of the room and featured a variety of glasses and bottles, I murmured my choice. Sebastien disappeared, leaving me to face the senators alone.

The first one to approach and introduce herself was the smaller woman who had initially stepped out of the crowd of her peers. Most of her graying hair had been captured into a chignon, though there were some fly-aways framing the curve of her circular face. The bold red dress she was wearing covered her full figure and made her seem younger, more vibrant. As she approached me, her eyes sparkled with genuine cheerfulness. Her left hand landed over her heart, with her right-hand laying over it, mimicking the greeting Sebastien had given me when I had first met him.

"Briara, it's a pleasure,” she said. "I’m Katharine Kolst, the chief senator. I'm overjoyed that we could bring you into our world. If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask. I want to ensure your transition goes well. If everything we've seen is still true, you have quite the potential! I knew your mother well. She went to the Academia with my son, and then shadowed me when she developed an interest in politics. It is truly an honor to have met you, her daughter!" Katharine's exuberance flooded over into her words.

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Although Katharine had more to say, and questions lurking in her eyes, our meeting was cut short by the others who were now surrounding us, waiting for their turns. I was surrounded by strangers and a storm of names. The smile permanently plastered to my face seemed like it was all a hoax. My neck became strained from the number of times I nodded in response to the flood of words that accompanied the introductions. My mouth became parched, and I was lucky I rarely had to speak. My tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. Although I tried to keep track of the senators' names, there were just too many.

Those with unusual characteristics stood out. I quickly learned that the Hispanic man with the mustache and loud, blooming voice was Ramiro Chavarria. Another man armed with a charming, flirtatious attitude, dark brown hair, and blue eyes caused my cheeks to heat and turn red when he said his name was Damian Travers. He set a bold hand on my upper arm as he greeted me.

I recognized the four who had been at the meeting in Elysium. The preachiness and arrogance Senator Alistair had displayed then seemed to be an element of his personality. The man knew he was handsome and used it as a weapon. When he introduced himself, he bowed several times with his hands over his heart and proclaimed how honored he was I could be here with them at such a monumental time. He also reached out to shake my hand. Astounded, I allowed him to possess it. His skin was warm against mine, and I wondered if that had to do with his fire abilities.

Senator Alistair's female companion, the one with all the piercings, was more approachable and friendly now than she had been at the meeting. Her smile seemed genuine. I learned her name was Meira Bhun. Dmitry Valens accompanied her as he had at the meeting, hovering behind her right shoulder and barely saying anything.

It was the last man present at that meeting from whom I got a sense of foreboding. When he approached me, he never tried to smile past the prominent scowl on his face, and his greeting was robotic, forced. It was his eyes, however, that caused me alarm. There was not any genuine emotion behind them. They were filled with superficial emptiness right up to the barricade that kept his real thoughts concealed. They were lacking soul. He introduced himself with a grumble: Ciaran Wyn, before taking a sip of his cocktail. There was an obsidian ring mounted on his middle finger. Its starburst design was intricate.

I was grateful when Sebastien returned with two wineglasses; one was filled with red, and the other with white. As soon as he handed me the white wine, I took a sip. My focus deteriorated a little when I recognized he had gotten me a Riesling, one of my favorites. With it clutched in my hand as a lifeline, I continued the introductions. I felt myself relax a little with the familiar taste in my mouth.

The wine assisted when the Senate's public information officer introduced himself at the trail end of introductions. The man was awkward as he asked Sebastien if he wanted a photograph to submit to the media. Sebastien was enthusiastic about the idea and pulled me over to stand before the windows. "I was going to do a media release to alert the public we have you here with us. After all, your story is amazing," Sebastien informed me as he settled into his pose. He set another hand on my shoulder and grinned at the officer. I forced a smile onto my face. The officer had a holographic screen pulled up in front of him. His face scrunched into concentration; his fingers darted across the screen to change several settings. I could see my reflection in the hologram. I was analyzing the contraption he was using right when the flash erupted, momentarily blinding me.

"I'll have the photo to the media by the morning for the front page." The PIO promised before vanishing into the crowd.

I frowned after him. "I didn't think my arrival here was so newsworthy," I muttered. Yet, I shouldn't have been so surprised. Not after everything else.

Sebastien pushed his hand through the air. "Here, you're known as the mage who escaped detection, and as Madeleine Konstantinos's daughter. As beloved as she was, they will be happy to see that she still lives on in you. You'll be news for a couple of days, and then something else will take your place. It always does." I offered him a small grimace of a smile, although I was distracted by my mother's real surname. Konstantinos. Out of all the aliases she had used during those eight years on the run, she had never returned to her original name.

I bit my bottom lip. "Who was she to the mages that she was so widely well-known?" I wondered while wishing that the something else Sebastien had mentioned would happen quickly and remove me from the spotlight.

Sebastien shook his head. "She touched many people's lives, Briara.” We were interrupted by a man of Asian descent, preventing Sebastien from elaborating further. If I had to guess from his features and name, he was Korean. Dae-Seong was quite gregarious and pulled Sebastien into a discussion about the Academia and whether enrollment would be expanded to daemeyri students once the unification occurred. Although Sebastien engaged in the conversation politely, I could tell from his countenance that he was adversed to the idea, and he wanted mage education to remain segregated.

When it came time to sit down at the table, which was a long rectangular one that occupied over two-thirds of the room and had been decorated with blue linens and gold silverware, I had already finished the wine. Sebastien removed the glass from my hands, and thrusting it towards a waiting server, assured me, "We'll get you more at dinner." A bit flabbergasted, I followed him towards the far end of the table. He took the seat at the head and motioned for me to sit down in the first seat on his left. The senators slowly followed suit. I was happy to see that Katharine Kolst took the seat to Sebastien's right; she had shown genuine enthusiasm, and I knew she wouldn't allow too many awkward silences at the table. I was also relieved to see that Ciaran Wyn had been seated further down the table.

Dinner started with a toast celebrating my presence in Astraera and a round of different varieties of bruschetta. One was a watermelon and feta variety, and the unsuspecting combination of ingredients almost made the four years of jail food worth it. Minestrone soup and arancini followed the bruschetta. A fresh green salad counteracted the heaviness of the soup and arancini. Although my hunger was satiated, I politely accepted the main course, which was gnocchi in a creamy pesto sauce. The pasta fell to the bottom of my stomach and weighed it down. After mediocre meals cooked by the inmate population for four years and created to only meet our nutritional needs, the seven-course meal was outstanding, and I couldn't stop myself from gluttony and clearing every plate.

To my relief, conversation during the dinner was constant, and I wasn't expected to maintain it. On the other hand, I was often the focal point of discussion. "If you don't mind me asking, and if this isn't too prying, what was it like being in a mortal jail?" Katharine inquired before she took a bite of her salad. From the way the others perked up, I could tell that this was a question several people had.

"I was in administrative segregation," I admitted, "so it was boring."

Katharine nodded, as if she could understand that.

"Why were you segregated?" The man sitting next to Katharine asked, frowning. I tried to remember his name and thought it was Cael. With his symmetrical face and piercing blue eyes, he was another that I wondered how far his appearance had carried him into influence.

Using my fork, I fidgeted with my salad. "My crime enraged many people, including inmates. The jail chief did not want to risk me getting stabbed with a shank. I don't think he really cared about my welfare in the end, but he also had the responsibility to see that I remained safe."

"Interesting. At Caligo, everyone is in solitary," Cael clarified. "The thought is that if you screwed up that horribly to earn you a place in Caligo, you deserve it and the punishment that comes along with it. Most people go mad within a decade of incarceration."

"The mage prison," Sebastien commented quietly upon seeing my inquisitive expression.

"It's somewhat hard not to when you barely have anything else to do and no one to talk to,” Katharine said.

Cael grunted as he considered one of the table centerpieces. The gears in his mind were twisting as he wondered if he should say what was on his mind. Gauging the situation as appropriate, Cael said, "Zane Konstantinos was in the deep pits of Caligo for seven years. The reports said that he was as of sound mind during his sentencing as when he first went in." Next to me, Sebastien froze. His stare lingered on Cael.

Several people at the table gave him intrigued glances. "Yes, but Zane Konstantinos was engrossed in books all the time. He was always checking materials out from the library leading up to his trial. His motivation to prove his rationale distracted him from the insanity," Ramiro claimed from several seats down. He positioned his elbows on the table and set his chin on his folded hands. From where I was sitting, I could see that he had his own obsidian starburst ring on his left middle finger. Curious, my gaze roamed around the table and inspected the senators' fingers. More than two-thirds were wearing the rings. Dae-Seong, Katharine, and Cael were the exceptions.

"He was probably figuring out how to escape from his cell," asserted Dae-Seong beside me. He pushed his glasses further back on his nose as we waited for the next comment. It was silent for a moment as the servers suddenly approached the table and collected our salad bowls. The noises of the bowls clanking together in the servers' buckets disturbed the different discussions occurring across the table. Within thirty seconds, the servers disappeared from the dining room with dirty dishes. The servers who remained behind attended to people's drinking glasses and topped them off. Mere seconds passed before the rest of the servers reappeared with the main course.

Momentarily forgetting her gnocchi, Katharine leaned forward in her seat as she gave Sebastien a speculative look. He had remained quiet throughout the conversation, although his gaze had bounced from one person to the next as they had contributed. "We are certain that Bria's mother was Madeleine Konstantinos... do you know who her father was?"

I perked up with Katharine's question. It was one that had plagued me ever since I could comprehend the concept of a nuclear family. Unfortunately, the chancellor shook his head. "That remains a mystery that only Madeleine can reveal, and she certainly isn't speaking from the grave."

"Madeleine was seen with several guys before her departure," Cael mused. His eyes flickered to me. "Did she ever say anything about who your father was?"

"Never." I speared a single pesto-covered gnocchi and brought it up to my mouth.

Katharine's fingertip tapped the table. The speculative expression had expanded across her face; I was a puzzle she wanted to solve in more ways than one. "What about her affinity? Has that been determined yet?"

"She just got into Astraera today, Katharine," Sebastien advised with a tight smile.

"Maybe it will give insight into who her father was." Katharine shrugged in return. "What was Madeleine's affinity again?"

There was a pause before a gruff voice down the table answered. "Aerie." It was Ciaran who spoke. More than halfway down the table, he had been tracking our conversation. His assertion effectively silenced the different side conversations occurring in between us and him. His expression and eyes were still shuttered against any type of emotion.

Katharine straightened, partly turning towards him, and leaning forward again to speak to him down the length of the table. "What about Zane Konstantinos?"

"You can't be serious."

"Well, they were friends for a very long time before getting married. It's also rather interesting that both Konstantinos and Briara defeated the fate of a lifelong prison sentence," Katharine debated. I stopped chewing my dinner as I focused on the conversation at hand, trying to gain as much information as possible.

"Madeleine despised him after everything was revealed on the courtroom floor. She would have never returned to him again—especially since she had just returned to her family and was attempting to make amends with the court. Besides, unless she snuck into Caligo, there wasn't even a chance for a remembrance fuck. The timeline of when Madeleine disappeared, Konstantinos's escape, and Briara’s birth doesn't add up. Briara was born in December. Madeleine left that previous June, and Konstantinos escaped July," lectured Ciaran. I blinked partially from shock over how he knew my birthday.

Katharine didn't take his haughtiness very well. She blinked at him before addressing the rest of the table. "All I wanted to know was what Zane Konstantinos's affinity was."

"His was hali," Sebastien advised from the head of the table. He stared at everyone who had been involved in the conversation. In the effort to change the conversation, he nodded at Ramiro. "The first caelsphaera game is in a couple of weeks. How do you think your team will do this year after performing poorly in last year's playoffs?" His redirection was successful, and it resulted in a new debate to consume our side of the table while the different side conversations resumed. Sebastien sat back in his chair and didn't contribute anything else as several people, including Katharine, discussed each team's merits, contemplating everything from off season trades to drafted rookies' potential. The chancellor had circumvented the Senate's attention off me and my possible birth relation to a mage criminal, and I was allowed to consume the rest of my meal in peace.

The conversation remained focused elsewhere well into dessert. I was nibbling at a bowl of crème brûlée when the dining room's doors creaked at being pushed open. Surprised, I glanced up just in time to see a man in a military uniform stride in. His entrance disturbed the discussions happening at the table, and the room descended into a quick silence.

At first, his bulging vest garnered my attention. The man was wearing an external carrier bulletproof vest. He had enough real estate on his vest to hold three extra magazines, a miniature radio, an unrecognizable weapon created out of blue metal, a dagger with an antique-looking hilt, an asp, and two pairs of handcuffs. He had a gun holstered on his right hip and more knives strapped to his left thigh. Two swords were holstered across his back. The man was decked out in an astonishing amount of weaponry that I counted on the fact he had more hidden on his person. The Velcro tape on his left side reflected what I assumed was his rank: M-25. He was carrying an envelope in his right hand.

My eyes shifted upwards from the gear he had on. As soon as they did, my heart skipped a beat.

Jay.