Chapter 23: Weight of Age

  Selene had made her way straight to Morgan's study. She had not stopped to greet any guests. Even the longing gazes of her young uncles from afar were ignored. Morgan's study was hidden away deep in the halls of the Clock Hand Tower. The room was circular and vast; the domed ceiling was filled with cluttered lights, reminiscent of the starry night sky. There were various pieces of arcane laboratory equipment—alchemical beakers bubbling with impossibly bright liquids. Boards held Vaylora equations that would take a mortal lifetime to decipher.

  At the center of this workshop, Morgan LeFaye sat at a desk created from a single piece of dark, fossilized wood. Her chair was more of a throne, made of polished, black quartz.

  Selene stood just inside the doorway, motionless. Silent. She had been standing there for several minutes, watching her grandmother pretend to not notice her presence.

  Morgan traced a complicated glyph, though the faint tremor in her wrist betrayed her distraction. Finally, she sighed. A long, weary sound that echoed through the room.

  She looked up at Selene.

  "You clearly have something important to say, child. It's not like you to be… silent for so long."

  Selene exhaled.

  "I'm just trying to find the words to say to you without being too disrespectful, Grandmother."

  A flicker of amusement crossed Morgan's lips.

  "Oh, is that right?" Morgan raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, the motion slow and deliberate, and gestured with an elegant hand. "Just say what is on your mind."

  Selene's control snapped. The pressure she had been holding back since the conversation with Lord Zaltus Veykaroth finally burst free.

  "What the hell are you doing?!" Selene shouted, the sound echoing sharply off the walls.

  Morgan chuckled, a low rumble in her chest that sounded more like satisfaction than malice. "Hmm. I expected worse. Considering the situation."

  Selene groaned. "You knew. You knew about the traitors."

  "I see," Morgan said, her expression softening into a look of contemplative seriousness. "Zaltus told you more than I thought he would. Perhaps he's bored."

  "So you did know?" Selene pressed, her voice laced with accusation.

  Morgan lifted her hand and waved dismissively at the entire city outside her study. "Of course, I knew. There is very little in Alleve's Hallow, or the world for that matter, that I don't know about. We built this place as a shield against the chaos of the outside world, Selene. Nothing penetrates the shield without my knowledge, and nothing of import happens within it without my notice."

  Selene struggled to process that. "Then why do you let it happen? Why allow the corruption to fester, to spread to the Accords?"

  Morgan sighed again, heavier this time, rippling her fine robes. "Because it didn't affect the Hallows. Or, at least, it didn't directly affect us."

  "It doesn't… but so many innocent people are caught up in this madness—caused by demon blood." Selene pleaded, trying to appeal to the part of her grandmother she remembered—the one who had taught her to respect life, however short.

  "'Innocent people'?" Morgan's voice was flat, hollow, and utterly callous. "Perhaps. Those people are not of the Hallows. I have neither the desire nor obligation to care about them."

  "I don't understand this! You did so much to rid the world of the rogue demons! You were the driving force behind ending the Great Demon War. And yet you don't care about the destruction wrought by this Apostate Circle?"

  Morgan's eyes darkened.

  "I didn't do it alone, child. I had a coven of trusted brothers and sisters, the finest minds and strongest hearts in a generation, who fought with me to stabilize this world. Where are they now? What happened to them, Selene?" Morgan asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

  Selene lowered her head. The unspoken tragedy of the First Coven's history hung between them.

  "They can deal with their own problems now—that's my stance." Morgan continued, her gaze fixed on the shimmering stars above, as if talking to the dead. "At least that's what I'd like to say. However…"

  "However, now it affects us?" Selene asked, seizing on the opening.

  "Yes," Morgan confirmed, her voice regaining its crisp, commanding tone. "The Pale Seer being named as a co-conspirator... complicates things. The traitor's involvement also calls into question our ability to manage our people, which could make things more difficult than needed for you in the future."

  Selene shook her head in frustration. "You can end all this if you want to. Very easily. A single thought, a single gesture, and you could expose the traitors, shatter the Apostate Circle."

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  Morgan's expression softened, taking on a look of profound sorrow. "It's not that easy, Selene. The last time I exerted my full will and power on mortal affairs… I lost a son, your father. My interference, my pride, led to his fall. I will not repeat that mistake. You must fight your own battles, even if they begin on my doorstep."

  Selene's mouth opened to form the word, but the sound caught in her throat. She understood. Morgan was not just protecting the future; she was protecting her own heart from further devastating loss.

  "I'm tired, Selene. If not for you, I would have left this world already, passing the last of my knowledge and essence into the city itself. I fully intend to, once you're ready to handle things on your own."

  "Grandma…" Selene called after her weakly, the fire of her anger replaced by a chilling fear of abandonment.

  Morgan gave a genuine, if fleeting, smile. "Don't worry about me, child. You're nowhere near ready to set out on your own. So I'll be here for a while still, a jaded and grumpy protector."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence," Selene muttered, forcing a dry sarcasm.

  "Does this entire situation not prove it?" Morgan countered, her smile sharpening. "You knew nothing about the corruption going on in your own city until a few hours ago."

  "You knew, and did nothing!" Selene shot back, her anger reigniting.

  "True." Morgan conceded, fixing her eyes on Selene. "So what will you do about it? If my inaction is corrupt, and my presence is a hindrance to the vision you have for the Hallows, then what is your recourse?"

  "I—I…" Selene faltered, the sheer scope of the task overwhelming her.

  "Exactly. You have no move—or perhaps you simply refuse to make one." Morgan said, her voice flat. "But your principles deem me corrupt. Your sense of justice demands I be vanquished. So vanquish me, Selene. Dethrone the corrupted elder." Morgan punctuated her words with a sharp chuckle.

  "You know that's not possible," Selene said, the admission a bitter pill. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't."

  "And that's why you are not ready," Morgan affirmed, a sense of tragic finality in her tone. "You have neither the power nor the absolute, unshakeable resolve to enact your vision of justice. Which is precisely why you still need me here." Morgan's smile faded into a look of profound insight.

  Selene took a deep breath, and a subtle shift occurred in her stance. Her posture lost its accusatory tension. "I am fully ready to enact my justice, Grandmother. I just… I don't think you're entirely wrong for not caring what happens to the Kingdoms or humanity. If anyone is justified to have that feeling, it's you. You sacrificed too much."

  Morgan chuckled, a warm, soft sound this time. "Sentimentality doesn't suit you. But I accept your understanding. I am too powerful and jaded to remain in my position indefinitely, Selene. So you need to hurry and dethrone me before I become a liability to the peace I helped create."

  Selene shook her head, trying to absorb the sheer scale of what her grandmother went through over the centuries... and failed. "I still don't understand something crucial. If you hate humanity—or at least most of it—then why agree to the Accords? Why invest your energy?"

  Morgan's silver eyes twinkled with a secret knowledge. "Because YOU need it, child. You need political stability and the freedom to get what you want. And also," she paused, leaning forward conspiratorially, her voice dropping, "I find the Emperor to be rather cute."

  "The Emperor… cute?" Selene scoffed at the idea.

  "Yes."

  "Him?"

  Morgan nodded.

  Selene sputtered, "He's—he's a despot. A terrifying man with the emotional warmth of a glacier."

  "And cute," Morgan insisted.

  Selene planted her hands on her hips. "Your standards are... fascinating."

  "So I have been told. I would have loved for you to meet your grandfather." Morgan murmured.

  "Is there anything else you wish to ask me?" Morgan continued, neatly sidestepping the topic of the Emperor.

  Selene straightened, regaining the focused intensity she usually displayed. "Will you tell me who the two demons working for the Apostate Circle are?"

  "I will not."

  "Will you tell me which Archbishop is under demonic influence?"

  "I cannot," Morgan said, her smile unwavering.

  "Not won't? But can't?" Selene clarified.

  "If Pale Seer is involved, I will not be able to help; her ability is too... odd," Morgan confirmed.

  "Right. Then we'll handle it ourselves." Selene's voice was firm, resolute.

  "We?" Morgan smiled, a small, knowing upturn of her lips. "Is it 'we' now?"

  Selene blinked, caught off guard. For the first time, when faced with an impossible task, she hadn't immediately thought of taking everything on alone. The moment she realized her grandmother wouldn't help, images flashed through her mind: Cassian, Lucen, Isolde, and the others.

  Darius's stoic, resolute image shone the brightest. She struggled, fought, and failed to keep herself from smiling.

  "I'm glad to see you're finally growing up," Morgan said, her voice warm with pride. She waved a hand toward the door. "Now get out. You have traitors to find."

  Selene bowed her head in obedience and turned. She moved swiftly towards the exit, feeling lighter than when she had entered.

  Once the door slid shut, Morgan sighed and slumped in her throne. She didn't turn her head, but looked over her shoulder toward the darkest corner of the vast laboratory.

  Valerion stepped out from behind a colossal pillar of bubbling blue light. He was dressed in plain, charcoal-grey traveling clothes rather than his usual elaborate gold armor, and he looked smaller, more approachable. He had his arms folded over his chest, his terrifyingly intelligent eyes fixed on Morgan.

  "Is everything you told her true?" he asked, his voice low and utterly devoid of emotion.

  "I'd never lie to that child," Morgan responded, her voice suddenly sounding far more human. "She is the one thing I value without question. Her path must be her own, or she will break, just as I did."

  "I see," Valerion said, taking a slow step toward the center of the room. "So you find me cute, do you?"

  "Is that what you choose to grasp from that entire exchange?" Morgan huffed, genuine irritation flickering across her face.

  "It was the only thing of consequence," Valerion replied, reaching the desk and leaning a hand on the cool, dark wood. "The Accord will happen regardless of a few Archbishops. How you run your kingdom is ultimately up to you. But giving you a reason to carry on, after your granddaughter no longer needs you—after she dethrones you—was always my task, was it not?"

  Morgan chuckled softly, running a hand over the edge of the ancient desk. "I suppose so. You are a surprisingly thoughtful glacier, Valerion." She stood up from the throne, finally facing him. "Come. Leave the politics for a few hours. Let me treat you to a meal in the Hallows. We can watch the stars, and you can tell me about the future you are planning."

  Valerion gave a small, rare smile that held no political malice, only quiet agreement. "I accept. But I'd rather watch blood paint the sands."

  "Of course you would."