From the Ashes of Victory: The Complete Series, page 194
part #0 of From the Ashes of Victory Series
But to the credit of the character of the students, many of them stayed around the lounge with the seniority to soak in what they intrinsically understood to be a historic moment to ask questions, the first of which was invariably, "What happens now?"
"If Helga's majority holds, she will try to form a government with one or several of the other parties," Katya explained.
"Is it like it works here?" Clara asked. "Does that mean she's going to be the next leader of Germany?"
To hear the question put so innocently by someone who truly didn't know and was only seeking to understand nearly took the wind out of Katya. For all she, Millie and Selene had seen in Germany, it would have been an unconscionable act of hubris to even contemplate the idea. Now it was just the way things were.
Vita found the ability to speak the answer aloud first. "Very likely. And a swift decision is in everyone's best interest, especially given the importance, and imminence, of the Geneva summit. With a slimmer majority there may have been more jockeying and compromise, but with what she has now, not making her chancellor could lead to… complications."
Complications that, in Germany's bruised state, it could ill afford. A staunch, vocal, broad swathe of the population sick of the status quo had propelled Helga so high and so fast—the status quo denying them would get ugly quickly. As Sveta had said, those in charge now may not have been terribly smart, but Katya had to believe they weren't suicidal.
Until the decision was official, however, there was little Katya could do but celebrate, which she did until she could no longer see straight. By the time she made it to bed, she had been emotionally rung inside out, and she collapsed onto the sheets with her vision smeared by drink and tears.
"Vityusha… Vityusha, my shadow… we did it…"
Vita perched on the edge of the bed, dabbing at Katya's tears. "Yes. My pride in you is second only to my love, darling Kiska."
At such soft words, spoken by the voice of Katya's dreams, weeks of tension fled her all at once and she went mercifully slack. No longer able to hold up even her eyelids, what she saw on the other side flowed breath across her lips for a final time. "She can rest now. They all can."
"Yes, my light." Vita leaned in and kissed Katya on the forehead. "And so can you."
She was right.
Though Kat might have declared the next day a holiday for EVE, life at LAC went on as always, which meant Elise was still expected to show up at the infirmary no matter how much Millie tried to cajole her into calling in sick with an overdose of celebration.
It had been only wine shared amongst the seniority, and Millie's had mostly gone to keeping her throat moist. After the initial exultation and the explosion of relief, what she'd really needed was a quiet early retirement and a chance to talk. She had Elise, her wife, to support her, as Selene had Ivy, her oldest and closest friend. Being able to reminisce instead of grieve had proven as therapeutic as Helga's triumph had been cathartic, and they'd all gone to bed halfway to dawn much lighter than when they'd awoken.
In the initial burst of shock following the announcement, Millie had called Selene 'sister' without even realising it. She had always been above them—mentor, matron and true founder of EVE. But as the night had deepened, she had truly felt like a sister. An older sister, but still someone who had similar experiences and was as interested in listening as sharing.
Back in Millie's first days at ADAM, Selene had been so imposing, even outright intimidating. Always in her dark cloak, with colourless eyes and the faint scars on her hands and face that could have come from anything, as far as any of the younger would-be witches knew at the time.
But now Millie did know: they came from the same place as Millie's armour and Kat's fire.
After so many years away, having Selene home again felt right, like she was where she belonged. The difference it made to Ivy had been noticeable, but never more than last night. The two of them had nurtured Millie, Elise and Vickie through ADAM, taught them magic, saw them through the war that had killed their entire biological families as surrogate mothers to a house full of orphans.
Last night, they had just been people.
Now Millie understood why neither of them could remember how old they were, why they didn't have surnames anymore. It was all too much.
Fifteen years had passed since the war started, but she felt like she'd lived fifty. Everything was already starting to blur together, even her relationship to Elise. Their first kiss could have been yesterday as easily as 10 years ago. Now they were married, living in each other's minds and connecting their magics over hundreds of miles—how could all of that fit into so short a time?
Maybe it was for the best. By the time Elise could legally become Doctor Brown (or Millie Mrs. Cotillard), they would probably only be Millie and Elise anyway. None of it would matter then. Or, that was the hope. There was still a hell of a fight ahead if they really wanted it, but Millie had only just begun to enjoy a life free from fighting.
After talking things out with Vickie, she'd realised that staying bald to blend in was as good as giving up—something Millie had never done in her life. She would grow her great mane out again and walk proudly with her wife on her arm.
They deserved no less.
And neither would the person who said anything when Millie splattered their teeth against the back of their throat. She was done fighting, but as a teacher, still very much open to sudden, emphatic re-education.
One of the great advantages of getting older was how little you cared what others thought anymore.
It was the purview of the young to care very much about what others thought, as Sophia plainly did when she caught Millie as she returned from seeing Elise off at the infirmary.
"Good morning, Miss Kensington. You have the day free, shouldn't you be spending it hungover or something?"
"I paced myself," Sophia said. She turned and looked up at the dormitory. "Clara and Emma… well…"
In fairness, most of the curtains were still closed, not only theirs.
"I see. You still seem well put together for a Monday morning, let alone a holiday," Millie said. The young woman was dressed to go into town, with sensible walking shoes and a shoulder strap on her bag long enough to cross over her torso to help keep it from being snatched. "Are you off somewhere?"
"I'd thought to do some reading by the river, Mistress, but I'm glad I found you first. I know today should be for rest, but… do you have a moment to talk?" Sophia's dark brown eyes gave away nothing of what the topic might be, but her tone hoped very much the answer was yes.
"As long as you don't mind taking your walk around the campus," Millie said, pointing along the perimeter fence. "Still some work to be done today." She could hardly mind, it was shaping up to be a lovely start to October. Good to enjoy it before the dreary gloom set in until July.
"No, Mistress, I don't mind. I can take the bus into town," Sophia said happily, and fell into step beside Millie.
It only took a few yards for Millie to determine that Sophia didn't actually know how to talk about what she'd wanted to talk about. Or at least, how to start. "So what made you pull me aside this morning? You're a little behind where I'd like you to be in self-defence, but you know that already."
"Yes, Mistress. That's… one reason I came to you. You've always been completely honest, and I'd like a direct answer about something." Sophia was looking straight ahead.
Another few paces went by. "You're going to have to ask the question if you want me to answer it, you know."
"Yes, Mistress. Sorry, Mistress. One of the things I wanted to do at the river was decide how to word my concern."
Millie slowed their pace. If it was important enough Sophia had planned to spend an entire day figuring out how to ask a single question, then Millie wasn't going to rush her.
"Mistress," Sophia began eventually, "I think… I think I feel things happening in me. Magic things. Maybe. It feels… strange, but… good?"
"Is that a real question?" Millie asked.
"No, Mistress. It does feel good, I just… I just don't know what I'm feeling. I can make witchfog now, but it looks more like smoke most of the time. It's so dim, I can only see it at night, under my covers," Sophia said with considerable disappointment.
"It's only been three months! Three months after I started, I still hadn't completely accepted that magic was real, let alone done anything with it. You should be proud. I certainly am," Millie said.
"Thank you, Mistress. But I feel the magic in me. I'm… aware of it."
"That's good. Means you're getting stronger."
"Yes, Mistress. But…" Sophia began to fidget with the bag strap, and no longer seemed to really be looking where she was going. "I know… I know I'm not a witch yet, and maybe I don't deserve to ask, but could you tell me about Manifests? If witchfog makes me feel funny, the idea of a Manifest… well, it scares me, Mistress."
"As it bloody well should," Millie spat before thinking. It was not at all what she'd been expecting, and caught her flat-footed the way she was always reminding students they should never be. The frustrated breath she blew out was only for herself. "Why come to me of all people about this? Don't you have Crow lessons with Mistress Victoria for this kind of thing?"
"Mistress Victoria always becomes guarded when I bring up the subject. As I said before, you're more open about… everything, Mistress. On top of which, you saved the next chancellor of Germany with yours. You're a hero to an entire country. Who better to ask? Mistress."
One thing witchscale was extremely good at was deflecting. "A witch running Germany will remain a fantasy until it isn't anymore. And you can butter me up all you like, I'm still going to plant you on your arse in your next lesson if I need to, Miss Kensington."
"I know, I'm not trying to ingratiate myself, Mistress. When I ask Mistress Pretoria, she just says that we'll cover Manifests 'later' or 'when the time comes'. I thought you would give me an honest answer. I think I've earned as much. I hope," Sophia added.
This time Millie was the one looking ahead, but she wasn't seeing the grass or the airfield. Sophia wasn't wrong, and too smart for her own good. Out of all the students, she took the most after Vickie, and for that reason alone it was impossible for Millie to back out of the conversation. Sophia did deserve a straight answer, Millie just dreaded the wording of the question that would force it from her. "You have. Ask, then."
Whatever rise Sophia got from Millie's praise was smashed flat when she realised she had to actually go through with finding out what she wanted to know. "Will I Manifest some day?"
"I hope to God you don't," Millie answered immediately.
"Why? Am I… not worthy of it?"
The conversation was always inevitable, but like most expected surprises, Millie had thought she was going to have more time to prepare for it.
"Because Manifests only happen when someone is in grave danger, Sophia." The topic was too important for Millie to give a toss about proper address. Sophia needed to know, to her face and personally. "It is a last-second miracle, not something to be desired or pursued. The story of every single Manifest is one of horror and nightmares. It's not grandiose or noble, they aren't delivered in the hands of an angel. It's blood and screaming. Betrayal. Pain. The very deepest despair I pray you never experience."
"Worse than when my brother died?"
Forget Vickie, the girl took after Niamh for how easily she could slip a knife between your ribs. "That isn't for me to say."
Millie stopped and looked down at her charge, and the countless thoughts whizzing behind her eyes. What could be made out was familiar, the same things Millie thought when the topic of her own brothers came up. "Sophia."
The young woman's attention snapped-to immediately. "Mistress?"
"You only know how Helga Manifested because it was splashed across every newspaper in the world. For my sisters here? It's deeply personal, not something to be shared lightly. Or asked about carelessly. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"We care about you and will support and encourage you however we can, but there is a reason we save Manifests for the right time. I know those stories, and every single one of them brings me to tears. Grief, Sophia. That is the word most witches who know associate with a Manifest. Not power. Not prestige. My sisters have their gifts because if they didn't they would be dead. Or someone they loved is."
The thoughts behind Sophia's eyes slowed and grew much heavier.
"You see Headmistress Yekaterina and her elegance, her fire sculptures, the butterflies. You see Mistress Victoria and her intelligence, her dogged pursuit of learning through magic. Successful, on the covers of magazines… you don't see the broken ones. The ones who are afraid of magic now, who feel betrayed by it, or themselves."
Like Pretoria was, Millie couldn't say, but oh, how she wanted to. A perfectly-fitting bucket of cold water that would make Sophia not even want to think the word 'Manifest' again. But was that really fair to her? She would be a witch, probably soon.
"A Manifest is a transformation. It changes you forever, and not always in good ways. Us, here, provide a very narrow window into what it is to be a witch, but there are signs if you look. You've spoken to Mistress Selene." Millie didn't make it a question because she knew the answer already.
"Yes, Mistress. Why?"
"Next time, look at her hands. Her left cheek. Look, Sophia. And ask yourself what happened."
Sophia gave a shaking nod. "Yes, Mistress. I'm… I'm sorry, Mistress. I didn't know. I didn't deserve—"
"Sophia, look at me."
She did.
"You didn't know, so you asked. That's what you're supposed to do. I'm sure Mistress Victoria has very strongly emphasised that's the case, aye?"
"Yes, Mistress."
"She's right. It was very brave of you to ask, and I will in no way discourage it. You keep asking when you don't know something, all right? There's no shame in it. You're here to learn, after all," Millie said.
"Y… yes, Mistress. Thank you, Mistress!"
"And another thing," Millie said, flatlining Sophia's nascent smile. She helped to raise it again with one of her own. "You take after her, you know. Mistress Victoria."
"Wh… surely not. That's very flattering, Mistress, but I don't think—"
"I do. You've made as much difference to her as she has to you," Millie said honestly. Maybe a little too honestly, but Sophia deserved to walk away from the conversation with her chin up. "She's proud of you. We all are."
Sophia's chin was definitely up. It was also quivering. "I don't know what to say, Mistress. Forgive me."
"No need. I have every faith you'll prove it soon enough."
Lessons may have been cancelled, but for Katya there was even more work than there had been before last night, and she was in her office earlier than she would have been on a normal weekday.
Whatever 'normal' meant anymore.
A night's sleep, Ivy's hangover cure and seeing the election results printed in black-and-white in the morning edition had let the reality of what Helga had done soak in, and now the task of living with it began. Being the leader of the party that had won the plurality may have made her the odds-on favourite to become the next chancellor, but parliamentary wrangling often resulted in knots, and Katya wasn't about to count on the line between those two things remaining straight or taut. The ramifications were too big, the change too great.
Still, political alignments in Germany were such that the only way to form a government without her would be for every other party to band together in a coalition that would last all of five minutes before it imploded, and that was in no-one's best interests. The Nazis had shaken the German people to their core and the election turnout reflected just how well they understood the bullet they had dodged. Helga had woken them from their complacency, given their frustrations an outlet and a figure to rally around.
It was exactly what she had wanted, and what Katya and the APP had wanted.
Which left the same question from the night before: now what?
To get started on an answer, Katya penned her first letter of the day to Helga, offering congratulations and any help EVE could provide. It was not lost on Katya that the papers repeatedly referred to Helga as 'witch' first, and the solidarity that drew from Katya was palpable.
Next came Angelique. If Helga was going to be the next chancellor, and if she could form a government that could actually get anything done, the APP was going to be even more important than it already was to the peace negotiations. They were the grease between governments and had been on the ground in Baden-Baden, the entire peace enterprise could now ride on their performance.
Sveta followed, since she was in the middle of all of it, and would know sooner than anyone what the next steps were.
Last came Josephine. As the de facto leader of the Council, such as it was when it wasn't actually in session, the ramifications of a Manifested witch leading the biggest country in Europe included who got sent to join EVE's first Manifested class in the new year. The more hopeful might choose to stay in Germany now, while it might motivate others to take a risk. Choosing who came was one task Katya had little choice but to delegate, and she couldn't help the feeling that the world was changing so fast that the list might never settle.
But what to write for the magazine? The next issue wouldn't be out until the end of the month, and even more could change—if such a thing were possible—between now and the deadline.
