Roan’s head kicks back as he frowns, and a sense of dread stomps me. He may be unmatched at mental voiding, but his face shows every emotion that passes through him. And I’ve seen this look before.
When he’s genuinely perplexed by the might of someone’s stupidity.
“With my greatest respect …” He pushes his hands forward to boast his shackles—iron etched in a band of runes. “Given the many beatings I’ve endured since being tossed in the Citadel’s dungeon, I would’ve used the book to find a way to free myself ofthese.”
I sigh. Everyone else gasps before the room erupts with bellows and gnashing chagrin.
“Broken free?”
“—go against the Council?”
“Did he expect to be coddled after he was caught stealing our most sacred artifact?”
The Grand Chancellor hushes the crowd with a sweep of his hand. “For the record, what was the reason you broke into the chamber?”
Roan frowns. “I’m certain the reason is quite obvious, given my many written requests to sight the Book of Voyd’s unrendered pages.”
“Ahh, yes.” The Grand Chancellor lifts a flattened lark from the plinth beside him. “We received your firmly worded requests. But our lack of response was because, simply put, any unrendered pages were damaged from a time before the book was discovered and safely stowed away. And therefore, undecipherable.”
Roan screws up his mouth and shifts on his feet. Enough that I can tell he’s trying to distract himself from embarking on one of his conspiratorial outbursts—his gaze bouncing from Chancellor to Chancellor.
Don’t do it.
Don’t do it.
Don’t—
“In that case, surely there was no problem with me sighting them as requested,” he responds, and I almost sigh with relief—“Unless, of course, the Tri-Council has been cloistering knowledge?”
Fuck.
“Blasphemy!” The Grand Chancellor’s hands bunch into fists. “We wouldnever.”
“Then what aboutthose?” Roan looks skyward, brow raised—a very pointed stare at the arches of stone that bridle the Citadel. He shrugs. “I try not to make a habit of believing everything that spills from a waif’s maw, but apparently there are new invisible runes on those arches that protect this place frommoonfalls.”
More gasps while I frown.
That’s a new one …
The Grand Chancellor pales, and my brows shoot up as the crowd blares with a torrent of whispers.
Fuck … It’s true.
Pyrok leans close. “This is not good.”
No. It’s not.
Many in this room will have family beyond the gates. Will pass this rumor on. And once word gets out about the impending falls, folk are going to swarm the Citadel in hopes of finding refuge behind its thick, iron-laced walls. There will be riots. Deaths. Roan will be blamed for it all.
He’ll be hunted for the rest of his existence … if he survives the trial. Something that’s growing more unlikely with every word that blurts from his unsocially adjusted mouth.
Another wave of the Chancellor’s hand silences the crowd, his upper lip trembling as he looks toward the red-faced Mindweft now weeping bloody tears. “Are you any closer to cracking his mental void?”
The Mindweft mutters a garbled “no,” then collapses sideways, falling off his chair into a heap on the ground.
The Grand Chancellor sighs. “Then we must initiate an inquiry with King Kaan Vaegor to ascertain whether he had a part to play in this malicious act,” he states, the words a heavy punch to my chest.
Pyrok swears, while I work to ensure the wall I constructed within mine and Rygun’s shared heartspace is solid, keeping him well the fuck out. The last thing I need is for him to sense danger and come blasting into Bothaim.
