The Nine Bishops
Chapter 49: Family

The king appeared in remarkable robes of red and white linen, with golden threads woven into the fabric, and an outer garment of leather, made from the skin of an animal Mika couldn’t identify. The pelt was shaped like a wolf, but covered in scales like those of a snake. The head of the pelt was like a cobra that rested on the king’s shoulder. It was both impressive and intimidating.

His features looked remarkably like her father’s, behind a full black beard. A glistening crystal crown sat upon his black hair. But it was his soft brown eyes that most gave him away.

Mika rose immediately at the Archbishop’s command. The others rose, too, though Bishop Flame took his time about it even more than Bishop Tempest, who had just woken up.

Mika watched the king intently as he walked in and fell, more than sat, in his throne, which was apparently the cue for everyone else to sit down.

The Archbishop closed the door, which disappeared as soon as it was shut, and walked briskly to the king to whisper in his ear. After a short-whispered conversation, the king looked forward and the Archbishop made an announcement.

“The king thanks all of you for joining him on this festive occasion. Today, we were able to accept a new member into our ranks. Would Bishop Frost please come before the king, and introduce herself?” It was more of an order than a suggestion.

Mika felt the weight of all the eyes in the room on her. Nervous, she avoided eye contact with anyone. She trembled at the thought of being identified at this moment, when she was so close to completing her plan. All those long months of training would be wasted if she were found out now.

Mika walked slowly and stiffly towards the center of the room, maintaining her composure as well as she could and keeping her eyes down. She wished her friends were there to support her. She was all alone except for Nik, and even he couldn’t do anything to help her now.

Facing the king, her eyes down, Mika could tell he was studying her intently. She wished she could read his thoughts. She calmed herself with the thought that he surely wouldn’t recognize her after all these years. She had grown from a girl into a woman; he must have forgotten what she looked like.

Mika stood for a minute in silence. Then, the Archbishop spoke.

“Bishop Frost, the king would like to know your name. If you would, please,” the Archbishop asked.

Mika felt cotton in her mouth after she heard the question. She swallowed heavily, thinking of something to say. She had no idea how she could fabricate a new identity on the spot without stuttering. She hadn’t had time to prepare herself mentally for this meeting, and now she had to act in the moment.

“I have no name. In your service, I will be known simply as Bishop Frost,” Mika said.

It was a rash move. She had no idea if it would work, but it was worth a shot.

“An excellent answer, don’t you think, sire?” the Archbishop said, with a smile. The king squinted at Mika for a moment before he gave a small nod and waved a finger.

“You may have a seat, Bishop Frost,” the Archbishop said.

Mika’s relief was huge. As she turned around, she quietly exhaled all of the immediate pressure. The rest, she thought, would be easy if the focus was off her. But before she had made it back to her throne of ice, her peace was interrupted.

“Mikaela, it is nice that you have finally returned,” said a man’s voice, one she hadn’t yet heard.

Mika’s heart stopped. She knew the statement was directed at her, but the name felt foreign to her. The only thing to do now was acknowledge what had been said.

She turned around cautiously, her heart pounding—and made direct eye contact with the king. From what she saw in his eyes, Mika could tell he knew exactly who she was. Her cover had been compromised. She felt stupid now for thinking it could have been otherwise. Panicking, she impulsively formed a precise icicle in her hand—small, but extremely dense.

She had practiced creating this particular type of icicle for months, one designed to kill. Mika had had no intention of killing anyone in the Selection of Sixteen, or while working on contracts. She was now looking at the only person she had intended to use this weapon on.

The icicle had the capacity to travel so fast it was almost impossible to react to. Mika had practiced forming and throwing the icicle at trees in the forest, before her sparring sessions with Manard. She had become so efficient with it that she could pierce a whole column of trees.

After everything Mika had heard about her uncle, she had decided that he had to be overthrown. He had her family executed. He had sent Bishops to hunt down and kill her and Sam. The king was responsible for how the Filth were treated, and the consequences of them being branded.

This was not a man to negotiate with. He was a man Mika felt obligated to remove. She was the rightful heir to the throne, so she had to be the one to do it.

Mika knew this might be her only chance to accomplish it, while she still had the element of surprise in her favor. If she failed, she could expect to be locked up or killed. She had one shot, and she was going to make it count.

Mika threw the icicle in the blink of an eye. It traveled at such speed no one had time to react. But to Mika, time seemed to slow. She watched the projectile hurtle directly at King Fallon’s heart, pass through his body and through the throne. The Archbishop fell to the side as the golden throne was demolished by the velocity of the throw. Even the wall behind the throne was pierced through.

The king merely sat there, looking at Mika, and then, as time seemed to return to normal, disappeared.

Mika couldn’t believe her eyes. The king, it seemed, was never there in the first place. He was merely a projection.

She stood dumbfounded. When she thought to look to Nik, he was still wearing a grim look. But everyone else in the room seemed frozen.

“Mikaela, is that really what you thought of our Uncle Ven?” the voice asked again, but now from behind her.

Mika turned around to see a young man her age standing there, calmly. He was dressed in simple clothes but wore King Fallon’s crystal crown. When Mika looked at the stranger, she saw her own features staring back; he was like a male version of herself, with short, brown curly hair. His eyes, though, were different, unlike anything she’d ever seen in a human being.

There was a pattern in them she’d seen before, during the fight against Jazmine Ado. She’d seen it when she glimpsed her own reflection in Jazmine’s ice sculpture, but only for a moment. Mika suddenly realized what the pattern was: the series of lines that formed the royal seal. The lines were different and the colors seemed to change constantly.

“Why are you calling me Mikaela?” Mika asked, guardedly, though the stranger with changing eyes appeared completely relaxed.

“What else would I call my twin sister?” the stranger responded.

Mika’s head was spinning.

“Come now? You don’t remember your brother Micah?” the stranger asked. Nothing he was saying made any sense to her. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FɪndNøvel.ɴᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Mika then began to recall what Sam had told her about her family. Sam had talked about her brother, and that he’d been killed, but her focus had always been on what happened to her parents. Everything she had thought she knew was being turned upside-down.

Her supposedly dead brother was standing before her. Moments ago, she’d tried to kill King Fallon, who was supposed to be the one alive. She was finally getting answers to her questions, but they were completely different from what she’d envisioned. Her mind was reeling.

“I was told you were killed!” she gasped.

“As you can see, I am very much alive, dear sister.”

“And Ven?”

“I’m afraid our uncle is not with us anymore,” Micah said with a shrug.

“I don’t understand,” Mika said, still trying to process how everything she thought to be true had been revealed as a lie.

“I don’t expect you to, right at this moment. I have a lot to explain. I’ve been waiting for you for years now,” Micah responded.

“If Ven is not alive, what could you possibly want from me?”

“For one thing, I wanted my sister. Mikaela, I had no idea what had happened to you. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Mika thought he sounded sincere, at least about that part.

“Is that why you sent the Flame to find me?” she said, warily.

“I heard what Axel did. I am sorry that your Filth friends were killed. I neglected to tell him to refrain from that kind of thing. So I understand why you’re not ready to trust me. But I assure you, Mikaela, we are on the same side.”

He’s hiding something, she thought. Something about his demeanor and speech roused her suspicions.

“Just tell me what you want from me.”

Mika was feeling impatient and considering how she might escape. But she had no idea what magic she was dealing with. The others around her were still frozen; not in ice, but time. The only ones that were not frozen were Mika and Micah.

“Mikaela, we are meant to rule together. The Arcane were always meant to rule together.”

That answered one question. If what he’s saying is true, Micah has the ability to control multiple strains, too. He’s exactly my age. I wonder how much he has mastered? And how did he end up being Arcane? Ven was supposed to be the other one.

“What happened to our uncle?” Mika asked.

“Our uncle was a fool. He thought I would eventually forgive him for killing our parents. But I never forgot—and I loathed him. I still don’t know why he chose to spare me and not you, but fortunately it doesn’t matter, because you are alive after all. After years of his mentoring, he finally gave me his power and taught me how to use it. Once I had learned everything about the magic and its secrets, I had my revenge. I thought you would be happy to hear this, Mikaela.”

Mika didn’t know how to interpret all this. It just didn’t line up. If Ven is dead, why are things still the way they are?

“If our uncle is dead, then why does it seem like he’s still alive?” She hoped an indirect question might reveal the truth.

“You know, I never forgave our uncle for killing our parents. But I understand why he did it. Our father was a feeble ruler who wanted nothing but equality. It’s ridiculous. If everyone thought they were equal to everyone else, how could society function? Our uncle at least had the foresight to know that it would lead to the destruction of our way of life. That’s why he imposed harder sanctions on the Filth and gave authority to the better part of our kingdom’s population.”

Mika felt her heart sink as Micah went on, but kept silent.

“Uncle Ven pleaded with our father, but Father was stubborn. He let his emotions govern the kingdom. Ven saw only one way to save the kingdom, and that was by ruling it himself. He was right about that, but he was still wrong to kill our father.

“You see, Mikaela, there is a reason why there are only two Arcanes. It is because of our respective unique powers,” Micah continued.

Mika was repulsed by everything Micah was advocating, but she desperately needed to know more about their powers, so she continued to hold her tongue. She’d thought what was unique about being an Arcane was the ability to use multiple strains, a gift that could be passed down through the generations. But apparently there was more.

“Each of us has the power to control magic itself. I have the power to give anyone magic, and you have the power to take away anyone’s magic,” he said.

That left Mika truly speechless. She had the power to take away anyone’s magic! It was a power she had no idea what to do with; nor did she know how to control it. But it had saved her. Thinking back, she realized it was that ability that broke Jazmine’s magic spell, and perhaps Lancel’s yet she did not know what actually became of him.

Mika had to know why that power seemed useful to Micah, especially after he had proven he was no fan of Filth.

“So what do you want with my Arcane power?” she asked.

“I’m glad you are getting straight to the point. I believe there are too many mages and not enough Filth.”

“Doesn’t that contradict what we want?” Mika said, playing along.

“You see, I thought that, too. I could have simply given magic to everyone in Seemos if that were the case. However, that would lead to the society our father wanted. A kingdom with nothing but mages is just as bad as one that treats the Filth as equals.

“I realized that the solution was having fewer mages altogether. By having a more balanced population, we could truly distinguish the weak from the strong. Our society will properly reward the elite,” Micah said with a triumphant smile.

Mika couldn’t hold her tongue anymore.

“But what would happen to the people at the bottom?” she replied, realizing too late that she’d said it with too much emotion.

Micah’s excitement turned sour.

“So, you aren’t in favor of my plan?”

“How could anyone be in favor of such a cruel idea as that?” she responded, her voice rising. “I can’t believe you even claim to grieve for our family!”

“I was really hoping that this conversation would end with you agreeing. Unfortunately, my Arcane power is useless without you,” Micah replied, his jaws clenched.

He shook his head, and time resumed.

“Joker, while I’m glad you brought her to me, it appears Mikaela is going to need more time to think about her decision,” Micah said.

The way Micah said it stunned Mika. So this was their plan all along? Nik has been playing me for a fool.

Rather than wait for what would happen next, Mika launched an attack—a combination of ice and fire—at Micah.

But both elements evaporated in front of him. How is that possible? she wondered.

“Remember, you swore an oath to protect and serve me. It wouldn’t make much sense if you could hurt me, would it?” Micah said.

Mika felt something clamp around her neck from behind, something so heavy she couldn’t move.

“Take some time to think this over, Mikaela. I’ll teach you how to master your magic when you come to your senses,” Micah said.

Her view of him became distorted and, before she could respond, she was back in a small, dark, stone room, with no light, furniture, or escape.

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