Page 146 of The Edge of Darkness

A pulse rippled across the wards around the temple. I felt it in my bones—having been the one to place the wards. All magic was innately linked to its creator, and any defiance of it was a palpable thing. So I knew exactly who had tried to port out of here before he could be confronted.

Ramil.

When he’d seen enough, the coward had attempted to vacate the event the moment I had my back turned.

But where was the fun in letting him go that easily? I’d invited him for a reason, after all.

If he had decided not to accept the invitation, well, now that Auren could bring down wards at her will, we would’ve just gone with our alternate plan and paid him a rather unpleasant little visit in Benmoor. But I had bet Roirdan an entire cask of the finest ale that the High Lord of the desert would show his face. And he did, with Killian at his back, foaming at the mouth to get his hands dirty.

I knew their type: desperate to be included in anything and everything just to have firsthand insight. And the fact that I had slipped out of Ramil’s grasp after he had already failed to capture my mate and my advisor . . .

I was damn sure he was seething with contempt and writhing with desperation to gain a foothold of the control he thought he had.

So I’d used the same fucking tactic as him—an invitation to an event that wasn’t all that it seemed. Funny how easily one could be blind to the very same trap.

This was more than just a mating ceremony. These guests were to be witnesses. Because the next portion of this event was not the celebration—as was expected. That would come later.

Right now, there was to be a formal trial.

“Going somewhere, Ramil?” I spun on my heel, pulling Auren around with me.

The High Lord halted mid-step on the stairway, caught in the act of trying to slink away to the entry once he realized he couldn’t port.

Fucking pathetic.

Before Ramil could answer, Remic ported, materializing behind him, wings only half-extended due to the aisle’s width. His hands hovered at his side, fingers poised above the twin daggers at his thighs.

Ramil, the smug bastard, straightened the lapels of his golden tunic and lifted his chin in defiance, but he didn’t say a word. He was nervous, otherwise he would have slung some sarcastic retort back at me.

“You know, I was raised to be a kind and gracious host,” I mused. “My mother—Æbon rest her soul—always told me that guests should be honored. Perhaps you should take a few notes from her wisdom.” He didn’t respond. “I never wanted to disappoint my mother. But today, I’m afraid I’m going to have to.” I flicked my eyes to Remic and gave him a nod. “Bring him.”

Remic latched onto Ramil’s shoulders and shoved, forcing him down the stairs toward the center of the room. Ramil whipped his head around, but Remic had a dagger unsheathed and pointed at the High Lord’s throat in the blink of an eye.

“Move,” he growled, pressing the tip of his blade into Ramil’s skin.

Ramil held up his hands, feigning surrender as he conceded a step, but his eyes narrowed on the Dionach, the promise of wrath lining his expression. Remic angled his wrist and the blade, prompting Ramil to move faster.

Nivelle stepped into the stairway, and with one flick of her wrist, she bound Ramil’s hands with ropes made of Roirdan’s lightning. When she turned back around to face me, she smirked, then walked past the basins of fire and took up a spot near the altar, next to Auren.

Ever since we had returned from our visit to the wraith, she had become strangely protective of my mate, and I wasn’t complaining one bit.

The rest of my Trium followed her, coming to stand at our sides.

All around us, my court eagerly watched, glancing between me and the High Lord of Benmoor as he made his descent. I supposed it was time I made it known what they were about to witness.

“Ramil, High Lord of Benmoor, you are hereby summoned to trial, for the poisoning of Calledan’s Lady, and my second-in-command, and for the attempt to take both their lives.”

The audience gasped in disbelief.

Killian—realizing that this was not about to end well for his only ally amongst the courts—stepped out from where he had been standing, and attempted to lunge for Remic’s unguarded back.

Silas was immediately there to intercept him. He grasped Killian’s neatly-pressed vest and lifted him off the ground. Then, he flung the woodland lord to the stone steps with ease, and glared down at him. “Wouldn’t do that if I were you. Unless you want to join him.”

Ramil made it to the base of the stairs, and the fires in the nearest basins raged, causing him to cower backward to avoid the heat. The enchantment recognized him as a threat.

With a wave of my hand, the fires calmed, and Remic shoved Ramil past the threshold and onto the platform where a chair materialized before him.

“Sit,” I commanded.