Would there be a later? How much time did we have between his judgment and punishment?
With him so close, it was difficult to remember that we were in an atrium and all eyes were on us, ready to deliver sentence. Cirrian didn’t seem to mind. Releasing the strands of hair, hetook my hand, his thumb making little patterns over my skin. The warmth of his touch curled over me.
With an unusual intimacy, his eyes lingered on my features, slowly journeying over the angles as if in search of something. I stepped even closer.
Leaning in, I asked, “Are you the slightest bit off? Not working at your full capacity?” I wasn’t trying to be insulting, but I couldn’t begin to understand his casual attitude. “It could help your defense.”
His laughter roared through the room, and he mumbled something I couldn’t quite make out: There she is? Or something along that line as he backed away, the guards quickly replacing his chains.
His hearing, if you could call it that, felt like a recount of his life. Not only did they list the innumerable violations that had led him to Quelling three times, they also listed his current violations. Cirrian didn’t just circumvent their rules, he seemed to view them as suggestions, to which he kindly gave the middle finger. Most of his transgressions were the result of him being a complete menace to the draveths, which made me wonder if he had been the inciting incident for the war.
“Then there was the time of your self-appointed hiatus. Disengaging your seon and abandoning your duties. We were lenient because you were grieving the loss of Goddess Annessa, but it has been long enough. These are not actions from grief but rather your self-indulgent insubordination,” Lord Zyran chastised.
My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. After this venomous lamenting there was no way he would be extended leniency.
“Do you have anything to say in your defense?”
After a long moment of consideration, Cirrian spoke in an even, tepid voice. “We claim to value virtue and adherence to therules that bind us. Do not kill. Adhering to them meant we nearly lost the collected magic and rendered ourselves obsolete.”
“The rules exist for a reason.” Another Bavelon spoke, her voice a beautiful melodious chime. From the suspended silence, I assumed she wasn’t one to speak often. “It is unfortunate so many of you don’t appreciate the importance of the rules. They exist because along with the immense responsibility, we have been granted exceptional magic.”
Her eyes swept over the room. A protective gentleness in her expression filled her words. “We have so few rules we must uphold, and in return we are given an abundance of privileges.”
Her attention landed solely on the rule-breaker. “Minimizing and rejecting our rules will extend to our roles as protectors of magic. If we neglect our jobs and allow a culmination of all the magic from the departed, you are fully aware of the chaos, wars, and abuse that will occur, especially in the ephemeral world. How long would it take for the ephemerals to become as ravenous for power as the draveths? To attempt to break the barriers to our realm in search of more power, to conquer other realms? It would only take one of them to do the unthinkable and gain that power.”
My mind quickly went to Vina, who’d allowed her coven to die so she could take their magic and would have sacrificed her own daughter for access to the Laytherium.
“You are given a life of luxury for so little in exchange.” Her assertion came with ridicule and obvious umbrage at Cirrian’s lack of appreciation.
Ostentatious luxury, though, said my judgmental voice, who was an epic hater.
“And we expect so little in return. Respect and adherence to the few rules that we have. Do not kill. Do not intervene in collections.” A blade edge inched into her words. “It is my understanding that in a course of seventy-two hours you’vemanaged to do both. Surely you have a reason for this, Cirrian?” A slight flush fell over her sharp cheekbones and the bridge of her angular nose. Her thin lips disappeared into her frown. Her fingers aggressively combed away her cocoa-brown shoulder-length hair highlighted with a thick patch of silver in the front. Silver-gray eyes leveled an expectant look at him.
Shadow gods weren’t a nuisance but a necessary entity for the stabilization of society.
I could feel Sayier’s glare searing into the side of my face. Not knowing the protocol, I stepped forward, steering around the guards, who didn’t try to stop me.
My eyes found Cirrian’s while I waited for him to give me some kind of indication that he wanted me to intervene. To give my testimony. Nothing. As if he’d resolved himself to his fate. Fate I was linked to.
“He didn’t intervene with a collection,” I blurted. Walking toward the center of the room, I continued. “It wasn’t a real death. It was a curse.” I surveyed the room, expecting piqued interest but finding only boredom. Immense boredom and varying degrees of disdain.
The minute belief that my appearance could curry any favor was squelched in that moment. Their expressions were a micro-step from disdain, but I marched on. “She wasn’t supposed to die, and he only intervened to give me time to save her.”
“Was it a death curse?” Lord Zyran asked.
“The very nature of a curse is eventually death, correct?” I provided.
“So your answer is yes,” he volleyed back, his cool eyes sweeping over me with a critical assessment before walking around the desk toward me.
Despite my holding the undesirable title of ephemeral, he didn’t seem to harbor the same disdain for me as the others did. Offering an unexpectedly gentle smile once in front of me, hesaid, “Do you have more you wish to offer, Takara Bennett of Illinois?” He announced my location like I was a diplomat from a foreign land. Technically, I guess I was.
“Cirrian’s dispute with Diehle was my fault. Diehle was”—the wordmurderedgot lodged in my throat—“handled because he had broken our oath and was hurting me. My life was in jeopardy. It wasn’t my life he wanted to claim, it was me. He’d indicated he wanted me in his home as his pet.”
Lips, once set in stiff indifference, now curved downward into frowns and a few glowers. The woman who chastised Cirrian stood, a sneer lifting a corner of her lip. Studying Cirrian’s face, her posture relaxed. I wasn’t confident that I’d changed all their minds, but it was apparent I had hers. It may have been more than just her because a wave of magical energy pulled the oxygen from the room. A constricting lace of warmth spooled around my body. From their reassuring looks, I guessed they were giving me some type of magical hug or pat.
It was itchy and annoying, and I wished they’d stop. It wasn’t comforting and was simply a reminder of the immense magic.
“That is unfortunate”—Lord Zyran paused, searching for a better way to address me—“Lady Bennett.”
