“Enough politics for now. We have more pressing entertainment.” Her pointed teeth flashed in a predatory grin. “The trial of the traitor and her vampire pet. And more importantly, the opportunity this affords us!”
The assembled elders turned their attention to Nadi and Raziel, and she felt the weight of their judgment like a physical force. These were her people—what remained of them. And they looked at her with nothing but contempt.
“Nadi Iltani,” Ebiti pronounced the name like a curse. “Last fae blood of her line. Traitor to her people. Murderer of her own family.” She gestured at Raziel. “And this—the Serpent himself. Raziel Nostrom. Butcher. Monster. The architect of more fae deaths than any vampire in living memory.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Nadi kept her eyes forward, her expression carefully blank. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear.
“The charges against them are clear,” Ebiti continued. “Treason. Murder. The penalty is death.” She paused, savoring the moment. “But in the spirit of the old laws, we will allow the accused to speak before sentence is carried out.”
Nadi opened her mouth, ready to defend herself, to plead her case, to do something?—
“Not you,” Ebiti cut her off with a sharp gesture. “I’ve heard enough of your excuses. No—I want to hear from thevuampifirst. Let the Serpent speak his final words.”
Every eye in the room turned to Raziel.
He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t reacted to any of Ebiti’s pronouncements. He knelt there in his chains, head bowed, looking for all the world like a broken thing waiting to be put out of its misery.
“Well?” Ebiti’s voice dripped with contempt. “Has the great Serpent nothing to say? No grand speeches? No clever manipulations? How disappointing.”
Slowly—so slowly—Raziel raised his head.
His crimson eyes swept across the chamber, taking in every face, every detail. And then, despite the broken jaw, despite the wounds, despite everything?—
He smiled.
“Stop moving.”
Two words. Spoken clearly, calmly, with perfect diction despite the damage to his face.
And the world stopped.
Nadi watched in stunned disbelief as every fae in the chamber froze. Cups halted halfway to lips. Hands stilled mid-gesture. Even the servants, caught in the act of pouring wine or carrying dishes, became statues.
Every fae.
Except one.
Kalo stood at the edge of the room, very much alive and mobile, his silver eyes wide with fascination.
“What—” Nadi’s eyes went wide.
The chains that had bound Raziel fell away—clicked open, as if the locks had never been secured properly in the first place. He stepped out of them with casual grace, stretching his arms as if he’d merely been resting.
And Nadi realized, with dawning horror, that he didn’t look broken anymore.
The wounds were still there—the cuts, the burns, the damage from the silver stake. But his jaw…his jaw was fine. Had always been fine. The way he held himself, the fluid confidence in his movements…he wasn’t injured at all.
“You—” The word came out of Nadi’s mouth before she could stop it. “You cocksucking bastard. You were faking! This whole time?—”
“Not the whole time.” Raziel rolled his shoulders, working out stiffness that might have been real or might have been another act. “The silver was genuine. Quite excruciating, actually. But the rest?” He reached up to touch his jaw, the one that had seemed so horribly broken. “Theatrical license. I’ve had centuries to practice convincing people I’m more injured than I am. It’s a useful skill when your enemies want you weak.”
“The blood,” Nadi breathed. “The wine. You put your blood in the wine.” Fae were immune to his control, but they’d learned there was a catch to that immunity.
“I had help.” Raziel’s smile widened. “From a certain young fae who was smart enough to see which way the wind was blowing. Who understood that Ebiti’s ‘alliance’ with the Rosovs was going to get your people exterminated, one way or another.”
Kalo folded his hands across his chest, staring down at his feet.
“Ah-ah.” Raziel’s voice took on that particular quality—that edge of command that Nadi had come to recognize. “Such manners…now. How shall I make you suffer, Ebiti?”
