Free Lor Mandela - Destruction from Twins by L Carroll

Jocelynne
questioned, when Cristoph suggested that the council convene the
following afternoon.
    “Ultara has already been called,” he
answered. “She needs to receive the powers as soon as possible. It
may be difficult, but I don't think we can put it off.”
    “But Ultara can go to the Caverns and get
the powers herself,” Gracielle argued. “The Council meeting is just
a formality. Couldn’t we hold the meeting after things have settled
down?”
    Cristoph leaned back in his chair. “Yes, my
dear, I suppose we could. But I think that making these changes
with minimal disruption to our traditions may help people feel more
secure; it’ll help them come to terms with this tragedy more
quickly. Familiarity is comforting, you know.”
    Jonathan and Jocelynne nodded in
agreement.
    “I suppose that's true,” Gracielle
concurred.
    “I'll make the arrangements and get the
message out tonight,” Jonathan offered.
    Cristoph patted him on the back. “Thank you,
son. I think we should go now. Your entrusted looks as though she
could use some rest.”
    Doctor Michelan stood from the green wing
chair in which he'd been sitting. “I believe you're right, Atoc,”
he agreed.
    They said their goodbyes and the doctor,
Cristoph, and Jocelynne all left.
    “Will you be okay while I prepare for the
council meeting, Graci?” Jonathan asked.
    “Of course I will,” she grimaced. “I'll
probably just go to bed.”
    Jonathan kissed her on the cheek and headed
toward the door. “Okay, Love. I'll be back in awhile.”
    Gracielle changed into her pajamas and got
ready for bed, but didn't feel much like sleep. She felt edgy and
restless. There was no way she was going to be able to sleep with
everything that was bouncing around in her head. She curled up in a
large, dark green chair, and tried to read for a while but finally
ended up just staring out the window at the reflection of the full
moon sparkling on the surface of Mystad Lake. “Goodbye, beloved
vritesse,” she mumbled as tears welled in her eyes, and then flowed
unchecked down her cheeks. “Goodbye, beloved mother,”
     
    In the meantime, Jonathan had dispatched
messengers to all of the chief council members telling them of the
next day's meeting. He was updating Cristoph in a small, simply
furnished sitting room, when there was a faint knock on the
door.
    A portly, young servant with a ruddy
complexion and dishwater blond hair poked his head around the door.
He cleared his throat and announced, “Atoc, Aton, Darian of
Brashnell to see you, sirs.”
    “Thank you, Phillip,” Cristoph replied.
“Tell him to come in.”
    Phillip bowed as a charismatic man with
strong, masculine features and long dark hair came through the door
and confidently strode toward them. He lowered to one knee and
humbly apologized for the intrusion.
    “Good Evening Atoc . . . Aton, I would have
never dreamed of disturbing you at this hour, but I have some very
alarming news.”
    He looked up at Cristoph with eyes of pure
black, except for the small orange, blue, and white fires that
crackled where most people's pupils were.
    Cristoph signaled for him to stand.
“Alarming, Darian?” he questioned.
    Darian rose from his knee. “Yes, Sire, I
don't even know where to begin. I'm sure that it must seem bold of
me to be bothering you in light of recent events, but I'm afraid
that this cannot wait.”
    “What is it, Darian?” Cristoph glanced over
at Jonathan who was glaring at their visitor. He had never gotten
along with Darian of Brashnell.
    Darian explained, “I'm sure that you know
that Ultara and I are not on—shall we say—the best of terms.”
    Cristoph raised an eyebrow and tilted his
head.
    “Because of this unfortunate fact, I've
found it helpful over these years to keep some close Trysta
friends.”
    “Friends? You mean spies,” Jonathan chimed
in cynically.
    “I suppose,” Darian smiled as the fires in
his eyes seemed to grow larger. “That would be one way of looking
at