"Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt."
Claire Riesen took a deep breath as she approached the doors to the council chamber. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, the sharp sound underscored by the soft tread of booted feet – her archangel corps escort, now a pretty much permanent feature. No more could she decide on a whim to ditch her protection squad for a carefree stroll around the marketplace. No more sneaking into the barracks to talk to Alex. That part of her life, that small liberty, had ended along with her father's life. She was now officially Lady of the City, sworn in only hours after her father's death.
She barely remembered the hurried ceremony, the hours and days following her father's sudden death a blur of grief and overwhelming responsibility. She'd done her best to shed her tears in private, putting on a confident face in public, conscious always of her father's lectures on the city's need for a strong leader. Appearances were everything. There were those among the senate who would panic without a confident hand to guide them and there were those, like David Whele, who would seek to turn the slightest hint of weakness to their advantage.
There had been so much to take in, so much to learn about the senate, about its individual members and their responsibilities, about how the day to day business of running the city took place. Her father had always planned a gradual transition of power, she knew, slowly involving her more and more in the senate's activities. But his heart attack had robbed them of that opportunity, denied them the necessary time for him to pass on all his knowledge, to mentor her as she learned the ropes.
Thrown in at the deep end, she had relied heavily on both Consul Becca Thorn and the reassuring presence of the archangel Michael to support and guide her as she strove to stamp her authority on the senate, to master the daily bureaucracy of running the city, and to organise the state funeral for her father. Her days had been distractingly full, her nights hollow and grief-filled, her empty home a stark reminder of her father's absence.
And now the funeral was over and the reality of her future as Lady of the City was beginning to sink in. This was her life now. Senate meetings, committees, political manoeuvrings, and a permanent escort. She hesitated only a moment, a brief second to steel herself, lifting her chin defiantly, before pushing open the double doors and walking confidently to take her seat on the raised dais. She was her father's daughter and she would not let him, or Vega, down.
She took the time to share a brief smile with Consul Thorn, surprised to find Michael not in the room. Although he did not generally involve himself overly in the day to day running of the city, since her father's death the archangel had attended every senate meeting. Rarely speaking unless his input were specifically called for, he stayed in the background, merely watching the proceedings, his presence alone a silent show of support for the new Lady of the City. But not today, it seemed.
She cleared her throat and waited for the hubbub of conversation to die down.
"Let's get started, shall we?" she suggested. "Senator Merrin, I believe you have a proposal regarding..."
"Actually, if I may interrupt..."
Claire fought to hide her irritation at Consul Whele's interruption. He had made no overt move against her yet but she knew without a doubt that he would seek to find a way to turn her father's death to his own advantage. Whele was far too experienced a politician to openly challenge her, not with her father's death so fresh, the city still mourning with her, but he had a way of twisting things, of phrasing even his insincere condolences in such a way as to subtly undermine her, to plant nagging doubts amongst the senate members as to her ability to lead. She was rapidly learning to hate the sound of his voice.
"My apologies, Lady Riesen, Senator Merrin, but I'm afraid I have some distressing news which I fear must take precedence over the tabled proposals today."
Whele had risen from his seat and, as he spoke, he walked carefully, still leaning a little on his cane, to the centre of the room. "Always has to be the centre of attention," Claire thought, uncharitably.
Standing straight – Claire had noticed that he could manage quite fine without the cane when it suited him to – Whele made the most of his moment in the spotlight, turning in a slow circle to make eye contact with each member of the senate, his face grave, his posture that of a man with portentous news to share.
"My fellow senators... my friends," Whele turned finally to face the dais, his attention squarely on Claire as he intoned, "It saddens me to have to announce that... that the archangel Michael has made the decision to leave Vega."
There was a brief moment of stunned silence before the room erupted in chaos, senate members talking over each other to express disbelief, to demand an explanation, to prophesy doom. And in the midst of the chaos, facing David Whele across the panicked senate room, Claire Riesen suddenly knew that this was the moment she had known would come – Whele was making his move against her.
"What do you mean leave? You mean permanently?"
"But why?"
"Is he coming back?"
"Leave? For how long?"
"But what about the defences?"
"If Gabriel attacks..."
"But without Michael we don't stand a chance..."
"Why would he leave us?"
The babble of voices was rising, the sense of panic in the room growing. Claire looked around at Becca Thorne, seated beside her, and saw on her face a mirror of her own shock and disbelief. Michael wouldn't just leave like this. Not now, not when the Chosen One...
But, of course, no-one else on the senate knew that the Chosen One had been found. No-one in the room, other than Claire, Becca and David, knew how impossible it was that Michael should choose to leave Vega right now.
Meanwhile Whele, his expression one of carefully schooled regret, stood back and watched panic engulf the senate. Claire didn't know what Whele's greater plan was, or what the truth behind Michael's apparent departure might be, but she was certain that her losing control of the panicked senate only played right into David Whele's hands. She put aside her own concern, and suspicions, at Michael's absence; she would find out the truth of this... but first she had to deal with Whele's machinations.
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you please!" She raised her voice above the hubbub, calling the room to order. The clamour of voices slowly died down, senators who had risen to their feet settling uncertainly back into their seats.
Claire kept her focus on David Whele. "Consul Whele," she demanded, "Please explain."
Whele shrugged his shoulders helplessly, his expression artfully guileless. "I'm not sure I can," he admitted. "Michael came to me yesterday and told me he was leaving. I asked him why, how long for, but he wouldn't explain. He simply said that things had changed and he needed to leave."
Whele looked around the room with a show of concern. "I'm afraid I simply don't know if he ever plans to return."
"Why would he come to you?" Claire was a little shocked at the bitterness in Becca's voice. She knew that the two did not get along, that Consul Thorn shared her – and her father's – feelings on Whele's self-serving motivations, but Becca was a better politician than to let her feelings show like this.
"I'm sorry?" Whele expression showed only polite confusion but there was a glint of steel in his eye as he turned to address Becca Thorn.
"No offense, Consul, but it's no secret that you and Michael don't exactly get along," Becca pressed. "Why would he choose to inform you, and only you, of his sudden departure?"
Whele spread his hands in chagrin.
"I can't pretend to fathom the intentions of archangels, Consul. Perhaps in the... forgive me..." Whele cast a condescending look in Claire's direction, "... in the General's absence, he felt it appropriate to speak to me, as second Consul, rather than further burdening the Lady Riesen at such a difficult and... overwhelming time."
Claire's jaw clenched at the further, sly inference that running the city was too much for her to cope with. But Whele wasn't finished.
"Let's be honest," he asked, his gaze fixed firmly on Becca Thorn, "other than General Riesen, none of us were really particularly close to Michael, were we?"
There was something about the deliberate way he spoke that made Claire turn again to her First Consul, surprised to see Becca's face tight with ill-concealed anger... and grief. She turned back to Whele as he drove his point home, his words clearly intended to wound.
"How well do any of us really know him? He is a mystery to me as much as he is to you, Consul Thorn."
The look Becca Thorn levelled at David Whele spoke volumes to Claire. Clearly there was some subtext here that she was not privy to, something to do with Becca and Michael... and Whele. But beneath the hurt and the anger in Becca's eyes, there was something else, a sudden realisation, a dreadful suspicion. As though feeling Claire's gaze upon her, Becca turned to face her and the look on her face sent a chill through the Lady of the City.
Michael would never leave Vega - leave Alex - and he certainly wouldn't choose David Whele as the man to confide in before leaving. Claire knew it, Becca knew it and David Whele knew they knew it. But they couldn't explain that to the senate, not without exposing Alex as the Chosen One and throwing the entire city into chaos.
Consul Whele was lying through his teeth, in front of the entire senate, smug in the knowledge that there was nothing they could do to challenge him on it.
And if Whele was lying about Michael leaving Vega... then where was Michael?