Free Flameseeker (Book 3) by R.M. Prioleau

several tomes crashing to the floor. Percival
squeaked, startled, and fled to a new shelf.
    Saris lunged at Omari and seized him by the collar.
He leaned his face in close to Omari’s until their noses almost touched. “I’ve
just about had it with you and your detestable ass-kissing to the Council,” he
said in a low tone.
    Omari’s anger rose, bringing with it a sensation
of brief crackles of electrical energy in his eyes. “Whose dagger was it that
they pulled from Master Faulk’s chest?”
    Saris took a breath, about to reply when the trampling
sounds of approaching footsteps stopped him.
    Omari turned his head and spied two administrators,
a middle-aged man and woman, standing in the aisle.
    “Omari! Saris!” the man exclaimed, hustling over
to them. He shoved them apart and looked at each of them. “What is the meaning
of this?”
    Saris, now free, firmly brushed and smoothed out
the wrinkles in his robes from where Omari had grabbed him. “Omari has gone
mad, Master Rhaun. He accuses me of murder.”
     
    * * *
     
    Jarial stroked his chin as he listened to the
Council’s final amendments to the symposium’s schedule. He stayed quiet and
didn’t speak unless spoken to. He felt unworthy of offering any input, as he
was no longer one of the Nine, although the majority of the Councilmembers seemed
to treat him as if he were one of them.
    “Master Glace,” Burke said, drawing Jarial’s attention.
“How do you feel about hosting and speaking in Master Faulk’s stead?”
    Jarial blinked and felt all eyes turn to him. He
can’t be serious! I am not even officially a Citadel mage anymore. “Elder,
with all due respect, why not let Omari or one of Faulk’s other students do
this?”
    Maira nudged Jarial’s side, and he looked at her.
Pursing her lips, she shook her head.
    Burke gave a weak smile. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten
the protocol of the Council, but Omari must spend time shadowing the Councilmember
of Illusion first—which would’ve been Na’val—before he can possibly be vested
his title and the transition take place.”
    Jarial took a deep breath. Bunch of useless
politics. It took all his willpower to hold back his initial retort. “Forgive
me, Elder. I simply thought it would be more appropriate for one of Master
Faulk’s students to do this in his honor, is all.”
    “A thoughtful gesture, Jarial, but this time tomorrow
we are going to have guests from all over the world gathered here, and things
must run as smoothly as possible.”
    Jarial gave a sour glance around the table, then looked
down at his hands, clasped in his lap. They are trying to make me come back.
I will not concede. I do not belong in this chair. Omari does. He looked
back up and at the elder. “The only requirement left is for Omari to simply
shadow a master of Illusion for a month or so, correct?”
    “Yes, that is correct. He must learn the duties of
a Councilmember.”
    Jarial nodded and stood. “Very well. He will
shadow me. I will teach him everything he needs to know.”
    The Councilmembers turned to each other, murmuring
and exchanging glances.
    The elder sat back in his chair, his smile
broadening. “Well that is wonderful, Master Glace! Does this mean you—”
    “I’m not returning to the Council,” Jarial broke
in. “But I feel I have the experience to groom him properly. I do, however,
have a request.”
    The Elder’s smile fell. The attention of the other
Councilmembers fixed on Jarial as silence returned to the room.
    “Speak,” Burke said.
    “I want to borrow Omari for a while,” Jarial said.
“There is some business I need to take care of, away from Ghaeldorund, and I
require his ... assistance.”
    Heads turned to the elder, who looked thoughtful.
    “You can’t possibly let him do this,
Uncle!” Virgil sprang up from his chair and slammed his hands on the table,
startling Garmin and Yates to either side of him.
    Lars pensively scratched his chin. “I must agree
with Master