A Fate Foretold (formerly: A World Gone Mad)

A Fate Foretold 22

        Ally paced around the office like a woman possessed. Christian sat very still, watching her mutter to herself, occasionally gesturing with her hands and running her fingers through her hair. It was the most agitated he had ever seen her, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t unsettle him. Ally’s unnatural control over herself could be exasperating and even a little off-putting, but Christian had gotten used to it, and seeing her like this let him know just how much she was usually keeping back.

        Ally had stormed into the office and demanded to see the memorandum that the Lycan Council had sent around. After Christian produced the fax that Californian headquarters had forwarded to them, she had sat in silence pouring over the paper and analyzing its wording for fifteen minutes before beginning to pace. She had ignored his questions about what this news meant and what she was going to do, until she had finally snapped, “Just let me think!” at him. Christian had sat down and kept quiet since then, just watching her.

        It is with great sorrow and regret that we announce the death of the last living First Descendent. We have been informed of the passing of HRH Princess Alianora of the First Pack in India last week, where her body was discovered after drowning in Bay of Bengal. Emergency succession talks will be held in the coming weeks to discuss the inheritance of the Romolo throne, currently under the reign of regent Queen Lydia Bubant, the late wife of King Frederick Romolo.

        Ally repeated the words to herself again and again, until each syllable was burned into her memory, scalding her as she furiously paced back and forth. ‘We have been informed’ sounded too casual for the final word; surely the Council would undertake a serious investigation and not just take anybody at their word. A body would have to be produced and officially identified by two members of the Council. It would be hard to fake, but within the realm of possibility.

        “Lydia’s no fool, unfortunately,” she finally said clearly. “It’s a brilliant tactical move. She’s trying to draw me out. If I take the bait she’ll have me actually killed; if I don’t, she’ll declare Leonard her heir. Either way, the Council thinks I’m dead.”

        She paced the length of the room again. “But it also means that she’s desperate. My trail’s gone so cold that she doesn’t know what to do, and she doesn’t have the time to wait for me to slip up. I bet she’s ill.”

        Ally’s mind raced. With their regent ill, perhaps fatally so, and their only legitimate successor missing in action, presumed dead, the Council would be scrambling to find a solution. She had to do something to address this crisis, but she also needed to buy herself some time to really think her counter move through. She couldn’t afford sloppiness. Ally stopped her pacing and looked at Christian. “I need to get into contact with someone.”

        “Cornelius?” Christian suggested. He felt helpless. It was obvious she had the knowledge and insight into how to deal with this. He did not.

        “No, not Cornelius. He’s too close, anyway. No, someone in Geneva.”

        “Sir Walter? Ralph?”

        Ally shook her head. “No, neither of them. Again, they really know where I am. And they’re known to be supporters of mine, or at least they won’t be able to ward off serious suspicions. Someone else on the Council, or close to the Council.”

        She paced a few more lengths before she stopped short again and threw her head back, laughing loudly at the idea that had suddenly formed. “Oh, it’s perfect! It’s almost evil, it’s so perfect!” Ally continued laughing.

        “What? What is it?” Christian demanded.

        She wiped her eyes and looked at him, still grinning. “Philippe.”