Don’t like that one.“Kara is fine.”
He smiled, repeating the name softly to himself as if he was given a special privilege. His smile widened. “As you wish, Kara.”
His eyes chilled over, smothering the warmth he’d extended to me as he turned toward Cirrian. Everyone else followed his lead. If they were waiting for Cirrian to plead for leniency, from his stoic expression, it was unlikely to come.
Lord Zyran’s steps were measured and resounding as he approached Cirrian. He was careful to keep distance between them. “Will you not beg for your life?” he asked.
Silence.
“You are bound to Kara?”
More silence.
A cruel pleasure flitted across Zyran’s face. “You did this to her because?” Lord Zyran clearly knew the reason, and this was just an exercise in humiliation to prove Cirrian was reckless, showcase his disregard for their rules, and cement his fate. And their harshest sentence.
Cirrian nodded. “Because I believed she was an ashinwa.”
His admission punctured the thick silence. Collective gasps were followed by more silence as they scrutinized me the way scientists would an insect.
“You brought one to this realm,” Zyran scoffed. “You must have gotten over Annessa’s hatred and long-held disdain for the likes of them.”
Cirrian turned away. Inhaling a slow breath, he held it. Closing his eyes, he released it. The exchange had been closer to a slap than a comment.
Lord Zyran’s eyes trailed back to the guards in a polite request for me to return to where I’d been initially stationed. I doubted it would be as polite if he had to ask a second time.
After I stepped backward to my original sequestered position, the guards quickly assumed their positions in front of me but left me more space to move. I didn’t know if it was a courtesy or their understanding that if I needed to get back to Cirrian, I would.
“While your admiration for the lycanthropes is symbolic, mine is real. Ashinwas are omni-magic and may possess the ability to free them. We’ve adopted the same hate that Annessa had for them and have overlooked their immense magical abilities,” Cirrian countered.
“Then why were you found at the Laytherium and not the place of their imprisonment?” someone else demanded, earning him a searing glare.
Minutes ticked by without Cirrian providing an answer. The number of times he’d glanced back at the door led me to believe he knew his fate and was making an escape plan.
“I haven’t been through Spellrend,” I admitted, surprising no one. There was something so insidious about them asking questions for which they already had answers.
“No Spellrend means no access to magic. She’s no more use to us than any ephemeral.” Zyran’s features folded into a glower that he fixed on Cirrian with incendiary assessment. Cirrian’s typical arrogance had reasserted itself, and he was tracking Zyran’s movements the way a predator does before he pounces.
Zyran stopped directly in front of Cirrian and nodded at one of the guards. The guard left, returning after a few minutes, his wings still extended, and carrying a sheathed knife that he handed to Zyran.
Zyran slowly unsheathed it from the worn leather, revealing a cerulean hue over the silver blade. Sigils wound around the handle and over the top of it. It was a beautiful weapon. From Zyran’s malicious expression and the steely silence that engulfed the room, I knew there wasn’t anything beautiful about it. Zyran studied it before placing it a few inches from Cirrian’s neck. Nahela bowed her head. Sayier’s eyes blinked rapidly, perhaps to fight back tears. The emissary whose mind I believed I’d changed, parted her lips. Snapping her mouth shut, she shook her head and turned away.
A smirk coasted over Cirrian’s lips, and I sent up a prayer that I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. He moved closer to the blade. Maybe it was an advantage. The closer he was, the harder the force needed to cause damage. But they were deities with immense strength. It would take very little to do damage. And the cuffs restricted Cirrian’s strength.
“Nothing deters you from doing as you wish, does it?” Zyran asked.
“Shall I pose the same question to you?”
Lord Zyran’s face flushed and something passed over it. Annoyance definitely. But something else. Searching the room with my eyes, I tried to make sense of the politics and hierarchy. It was clear Lord Zyran hated Cirrian, but I couldn’t determine why.
He placed the blade on Cirrian’s neck. Cirrian’s jaw clenched tight enough to make diamonds from coal. The smell of burning flesh wafted toward me.
“Stop!” I yelled, navigating the small space between the guards and sprinting toward Cirrian and Lord Zyran before anyone could stop me. Covering Lord Zyran’s hand, I guided it away from Cirrian. Judging from the collective mumbles and complaints, I’d broken a plethora of rules of propriety. I didn’t care. Whether it was shock at my audacity or dismay at my disregard for their rules or maybe he’d never been challenged, Zyran moved. Lifting to my toes, I cradled Cirrian’s face, examining his skin and the additional cut Zyran made when I touched his hand.
Cirrian was having difficulty relaxing his jaw. My fingers gently stroked it but it offered no relief. I rested my face next to his, ignoring the spectacle I was making. “Can you just give in to him? He just wants you to show some remorse. Please.”
I blinked back tears, hating everything about this. The rules, the demand for submission, this faux trial, and Cirrian’s defiance and disregard for the rules. Everyone was culpable, and I understood. Which is what I hated the most about this situation.
“If he hasn’t been sentenced, can he be allowed to heal himself?” I was sure he’d be sentenced to death, but seeing him struggle to hide the pain from the dagger felt cruel and unnecessary. Which had been the point.
