Flashing a slimy grin, he took to the dais. “Well, Brethren. What a joyous day! It has been some time since the Emperor sent us new citizens.” He snickered, and the warriors—the Brethren—laughed along with him. “The ledgers confirmed there were more. May their eternal souls find peace within the Tartaran mists.”
Cassandra’s chest ached. She hadn’t spied Reena anywhere within the city walls. She was losing hope that her friend had made it here.
Wormwood continued, “But these two fine specimens have survived! And I’m sure you’re all as anxious as I am to reveal their sentences and see what the Koenig has in store for them.”
The males roared, stomping their feet and pounding their chests.
Footsteps sounded from the entrance and the frenzied shouting was replaced by creaking leather as, to a one, every male in the hall swept to their knees and bowed their heads.
Next to the throne, Wormwood genuflected as well, snapping at Cassandra and Ronin. She dropped down, draping her wings along her back, then tugged Ronin’s wrist, forcing him to reluctantly follow.
Keeping her head tucked, she dared a side-long glance at the hulking, shirtless Windrider male who stalked up onto thedais. Well, she assumed he was a Windrider. He certainly wasn’t a Deathstalker—no tell-tale serpentine features—and he didn’t have the musky, animal scent of a Beastrunner. But where his wings should have been, two long scars snaked down his shoulder blades.
He turned in front of the throne, then raised his palms to signal the kneeling crowd to rise. Wheat-colored hair fell past his broad shoulders and his sapphire eyes were ringed with smudged kohl. He was strikingly handsome, even with the vicious scars marring the bottom half of his face. As if the flesh there had been burned away. Above his leather pants, a baldric of knives crossed his chest and, from a strap on his back, he pulled a colossal obsidian warhammer. Markings in some ancient language were etched down the handle, and inlaid into the head was a heart-shaped gem of crimson polemite.
Despite the scars and missing wings, immense power flowed from the piercing gaze he swept across the crowd. It snagged on Cassandra’s wings, and confusion twisted his ruined features as he leaned his hammer against the throne.
Cassandra swallowed, willing her heart to stop pounding. Could he tell what she was? What she’d been?
Wormwood spoke up. “As you may have guessed, I serve the Koenig. I act as a sort of…translator.”
Cassandra didn’t dare ask why the Koenig needed a translator, but Ronin had no such qualms.
“Oh, yeah?” Ronin crossed his own massive, tattooed arms and held the Koenig’s flinty gaze. “He can’t speak for himself?”
The Koenig’s wide lips pulled back to expose a row of pearly white teeth. A shark’s grin. Cassandra shuddered as a mangled lump of gray flesh rolled out between parted lips.
Someone had cut out his tongue.
Wormwood slithered down from the dais, his murky brown eyes drinking up Ronin’s broad chest. “They took his tongueat the same time as they took his wings. But despite those limitations, he has managed to maintain authority in Tartarus through sheer force of will. And violence, of course. That’s the only currency that matters here. You’ll see. But we must warn you” —Wormwood leaned in close enough to touch his nose to Ronin’s bulging shoulder— “he does not tolerate insolence. Nor insubordination. He may let you pass today because you’ve just arrived, but his patience is extremely limited. I would not advise testing it.”
Ronin sniffed, uncrossing his arms and holding the Koenig’s gaze as the male made a series of hand gestures toward Wormwood.
“Yes, yes.” Wormwood bowed obsequiously. “My apologies for the delay, sire.” He turned back to the prisoners. “Ronin Matakos, the Butcher of Aethalia. Your reputation is legendary enough to have slipped past these wards. So curious to find an Imperial darling here.” Wormwood gestured toward Ronin’s torso, raising a single brow. “Please confirm your sentence.”
Ronin pulled aside his collar, exposing his V-shaped brand.
“Life. Wonderful. And your crime?”
“Treason,” Ronin grunted.
Wormwood squeaked out a laugh. “Bold, given your history. Well, I don’t need to ask about your skills, do I? You’ll join the Brethren. The Koenig can always use another powerful male to add to his peace-keeping force.”
At the throne, the Koenig nodded.
Wormwood glanced at Cassandra’s shirt. “And you, prisoner 161803? What is your name?”
Cassandra bit the inside of her cheek, wondering if she should lie. But no one in here would’ve known her or that she’d been human before she arrived. “Cassandra Fortin.”
Wormwood’s whiskers rustled as he stared excitedly at her left breast. Cassandra blew out a breath and pulled aside her shirt.
“Yes, yes. Just as I suspected.” He whispered in the Koenig’s ear, and the male’s kohl-lined eyes widened then darted to Cassandra, examining her more intensely. Her heart hammered so aggressively she was sure the Fae around her could hear it. “You’ve been given a death sentence.”
Gasps scuttled through the hall.
“Yes,” was all she said.
Wormwood scratched a whiskered cheek, his eyes sliding toward the Koenig. “Why?”
