Symbology,I realized. That was the meaning for Zenaida giving Aflora the staff today.
Oh, I had no doubt it was also because of the cape and the source showing its favor by kissing Aflora with magic, but Zenaida strategically chose this moment to present the staff, knowing my father would see it for what it meant—Aflora is our queen.
Clever, Zen, I mused, relaying my knowledge to Aflora in a brief synopsis of the thoughts in my head.
Does that mean she agrees with my path forward?Aflora wondered.
Undoubtedly, I said. But I could have told her that without the staff. Hell, I hadn’t even known the thing existed until today, but clearly, my father recognized it.
“You never mentioned the staff to me before,” I said to him. “Why?”
“Because it was never relevant. Zen was the Midnight Fae Queen, the staff a gift presented to her by the source over a thousand years ago. She rarely uses it, and I never expected her to give it to another fae.” His focus went to Aflora. “But I’ll admit, it suits you.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “It does.”
A few others murmured positive remarks as well, the respect at the table seeming to increase with each passing second.
Finally, the other Quandary Bloods sat, their gazes reverently downcast rather than staring at Aflora head on.
Zephyrus broke the silence by reaching for one of the carafes first, filling Shade’s mug and then his own. My lips twitched in memory of breakfast where I’d done the same to Shade, treating him as the Omega of our circle.
His icy gaze slid to mine now, his lack of humor evident.
I made a show of distributing coffee on my side as well. First to Aflora, then Kolstov, and eventually to myself before passing the ceramic carafe to my father.
Everyone else began pouring their own, some of them taking eager sips after tasting the blood lacing the warm liquid.
Aflora only gingerly tasted hers before focusing on my father once more.
He relaxed into his chair, eyeing her with a mixture of admiration and wariness. “So I assume you’ve chosen the side of reformation then?” he guessed. It wasn’t a question for me, or he would have spoken in a harsher tone. This one was for Aflora, and I was genuinely curious to hear how she would reply.
“No.” She leaned forward, clasping her hands on the table beside her untouched pastry plate. “I’ve not chosen reformation or retribution. Because you’re both wrong.”
A few of the Quandary Bloods glanced at each other. My father merely lifted an eyebrow. “I see.” He studied her for a moment. “Then tell me what you believe is right. Detail your plan.”
She shook her head. “No,” she repeated. “First, I need you to understand why retribution isn’t the correct path.” Her gaze flickered to Kolstov apologetically, causing my brow to furrow.
Then I felt the energy shifting in the room as she brought up a memory spell to showcase what she observed at the village earlier.
I wasn’t even aware she knew this charm, but before I could ask how she learned it, the memory began to play before my eyes like a vivid picture.
I could not only see everything, I could feel the warmth of the crowd, hear their laughs and cheers, and sense the urgency coming from the Dark Source, just as Aflora had earlier.
Emelyn was already dead.
Then Dakota appeared, dragging an unwilling Ella onto the stage.
Constantine read out her conviction.
Ella screamed.
And Aflora focused on Trayton.
Which was where she froze the memory, her voice entering all our minds as she said, Do you see it? The compulsion wrapping around him like a thick rope, strangling the male beneath? She increased the clarity, ensuring we all could see and feel the malevolent energy.
Then she slowly pulled the memory from our minds, returning us all to the room on a shiver of cold air.
She picked up her coffee to take a sip, her stance perfectly composed, but I felt her aching for Trayton as well as Kolstov.