"I would never do that, Daddy," Allie said very primly, still grinning, and then brought his hand up so she could nestle her head against it like it was the pillow.
"Home," she murmured, and the smile never left. "I'd like to go home again. I love you, Daddy."
She was already half asleep, entirely secure in the knowledge that everything would be okay, because the angels said so.
~~~
Corrival had a headache. He had a headache and he was blaming Solomon Wreath entirely. This was all his idea. If he hadn't seen into the Cleavers, if he had given more forewarning, if if if--
If Corrival wanted to be honest, this was really the only way any of this could have gone. Most of the people right now in the council room, arguing and trying to drown each other out and mostly just being pests, would have been there much earlier if they'd known what the Elders planned. Sure, the Elders might have been the leaders, but that didn't mean the rest of the prominent sorcerers couldn't make their feelings known. The Cleavers had won them the war. Destroying them, two days after this Council had been elected?
Most people said they'd gone too far, too fast.
Which was why Corrival had a headache. He had, some time ago, managed to direct attention away from him and into the petty arguments, and was now sitting and waiting for their energy to run out or his wayward Elders to arrive.
Which they did. Quite suddenly, and with the doors swinging wide and dramatically, Wreath came in with all that sort of dignified self-possession his sort of man had in spades, even being led by Dexter as he was. It wasn't the sight of him who made everyone fall silent, however.
It was the sight of Bliss, behind him, still in the tunic and breeches he'd worn the day the reflections had been made.
"Bliss?" someone gasped. Wreath lifted an eyebrow at Corrival.
"You didn't warn them?"
"Figured they wouldn't listen," Corrival said with a shrug, "even if I could manage to shout them down. Bliss." He nodded at the man. Bliss nodded back.
"Deuce. I've been told congratulations are in order. Or sympathies, perhaps."
"I'll go with the sympathies. I can use all the sympathies I can get. Now are you lot ready to shut up and listen?" This last was directed at the quietly stunned crowd who'd accosted him. Tipstaff, in the corner and equally quiet, was also staring in Bliss's direction, but he looked oddly vindicated. Corrival wondered how many people had pestered him for the details before they finally got past him to pester Corrival himself.
"What's going on?"
"Oh, it's quite simple," Wreath said, letting Dexter guide him to the table, find him a chair, and sitting down as if he'd been blind all his life. His gaze, however, had found the speaker easily, and there was a not-quite-smile lurking around the corners of his mouth. Corrival knew mischief when he saw it. "The Cleavers were reflections of Mr Bliss. When he was killed, he was trapped inside them. We simply freed him."
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"Home," she murmured, and the smile never left. "I'd like to go home again. I love you, Daddy."
She was already half asleep, entirely secure in the knowledge that everything would be okay, because the angels said so.
~~~
Corrival had a headache. He had a headache and he was blaming Solomon Wreath entirely. This was all his idea. If he hadn't seen into the Cleavers, if he had given more forewarning, if if if--
If Corrival wanted to be honest, this was really the only way any of this could have gone. Most of the people right now in the council room, arguing and trying to drown each other out and mostly just being pests, would have been there much earlier if they'd known what the Elders planned. Sure, the Elders might have been the leaders, but that didn't mean the rest of the prominent sorcerers couldn't make their feelings known. The Cleavers had won them the war. Destroying them, two days after this Council had been elected?
Most people said they'd gone too far, too fast.
Which was why Corrival had a headache. He had, some time ago, managed to direct attention away from him and into the petty arguments, and was now sitting and waiting for their energy to run out or his wayward Elders to arrive.
Which they did. Quite suddenly, and with the doors swinging wide and dramatically, Wreath came in with all that sort of dignified self-possession his sort of man had in spades, even being led by Dexter as he was. It wasn't the sight of him who made everyone fall silent, however.
It was the sight of Bliss, behind him, still in the tunic and breeches he'd worn the day the reflections had been made.
"Bliss?" someone gasped. Wreath lifted an eyebrow at Corrival.
"You didn't warn them?"
"Figured they wouldn't listen," Corrival said with a shrug, "even if I could manage to shout them down. Bliss." He nodded at the man. Bliss nodded back.
"Deuce. I've been told congratulations are in order. Or sympathies, perhaps."
"I'll go with the sympathies. I can use all the sympathies I can get. Now are you lot ready to shut up and listen?" This last was directed at the quietly stunned crowd who'd accosted him. Tipstaff, in the corner and equally quiet, was also staring in Bliss's direction, but he looked oddly vindicated. Corrival wondered how many people had pestered him for the details before they finally got past him to pester Corrival himself.
"What's going on?"
"Oh, it's quite simple," Wreath said, letting Dexter guide him to the table, find him a chair, and sitting down as if he'd been blind all his life. His gaze, however, had found the speaker easily, and there was a not-quite-smile lurking around the corners of his mouth. Corrival knew mischief when he saw it. "The Cleavers were reflections of Mr Bliss. When he was killed, he was trapped inside them. We simply freed him."
"Simply?!" someone else growled. Corrival wordlessly marked them. "You've destroyed our defence force!"