The Art of Imagination

Chapter 13

Everything was set in stone, Grayson could see it playing out before his eyes. The Lorcanians would win the war at last, prove their strength and deserving right to be called a Northern Power and at the same time, Orcon’s wretched leader and monarchy would fall, just as it should have so long ago. Tarrland would be an easier target to deal with in the aftermath.

But right now, in that office, all that stood in his way, his victory for Lorcania and for himself sat behind a circular desk with pursed lips.

Madam Matilda.

“Let me fully grasp just exactly what you – and the King – are expecting of me,” Matilda said slowly. The expression on her face was unreadable so Grayson couldn’t quite tell if she would agree to his plan or not. “You want me to handpick the finest of my students, mostly the youth, and sharpen them into the deadliest Imaginists possible? All within a day?”

“Oh no, Madam, most certainly not in a day,” Grayson corrected quickly and plastered on the charm. “Just a list of potentials. We both know it even took me a while to fully grasp my own training. However fast as possible is all the King is asking.”

“Grayson,” she sighed, frustrated. “This is what you are asking. I know what you’re planning and you are willing to put my best students in danger all for a personal revenge plan.”

“It benefits your students, the country, the King and myself,” he argued, hands grasping the armrests of his chair tightly. “Everybody wins.”

Her grey eyes softened with understanding. “I know the feeling of vengeance, Grayson. I know the feeling of great power that imagination gives you, how it makes you feel like you can accomplish anything. Like your revenge.”

He stiffened but made no comment as she continued on.

“But it is never the answer. Let the Almighty run life’s course.”

Grayson pursed his lips. He respected the Almighty, believed that his skills as an Imaginist were given to him as a blessing, not a tool for revenge.

But he couldn’t help the dark, churn of emotions raging within his veins. He couldn’t deny the fact that no matter how much he respected the Almighty, how much he knew revenge was never a mortal nor an Imaginist’s job, he needed to do this one thing.

“Madam. Please. I am asking not as a pupil but a friend, somebody close to you – somebody you know so well.” Grayson slid down onto the floor on his knees and placed his fists over them, head bowed. He knew he was reeking of desperation. Charm would not work on Matilda but appealing to her empathy might. “I am begging you. Let me do this.”

“The Almighty will not be pleased,” Matilda murmured, her grey eyes scrutinising the young man on his knees, begging her. “You have my permission, only if you can vow an oath before the Almighty that no harm will come to them whatsoever. You vow not to let death come near them. Understood?”

Grayson’s fists loosened as he tilted his head up to face the woman who stood by her desk, peering down at him. He didn’t know if he could promise such a thing. He barely got through his own missions unscathed.

But if this was the only way, then so be it. If all he had to do was ensure the safety of the other Imaginists, he would do it, all for the sake of his conscience, his goal, the sole reason for suggesting this idea to the King in the first place.

“I vow.” He held up a hand, rising to his feet then held it out towards Matilda.

“Do I need it in writing?” Matilda questioned his validity, whether or not he was vowing because he had to or because he could keep it. “Can you truly promise me it?”