Page 148 of The Edge of Darkness

I, on the other hand, had watched. If only to let the scene fuel the rage inside me until I was close to bursting at the seams. My shadows danced beneath my skin, ready to strike. Ready to enact violence. My vision tunneled, and a high-pitched ringing began in my ears. Ramil would pay for every ounce of pain and suffering he’d let Auren and Aremis endure.

Thankfully, Maeson hadn’t asked the Alatyr to reveal my torture sessions in the dungeon cell.

I nodded to her in gratitude. She gave me a wink in return, but her expression remained as cold as ice.

The audience was still reeling, their cries growing louder as the memory ended, the projection flickering until it went dark.

I faced the chair, where Ramil was . . . smiling.

That mother f⁠—

Before I could finish the thought, the stone sent another memory into the air. The tension in the room remained, but the voices quieted as the spectators beheld another scene.

This time, chaos spilled forth from the Alatyr’s memory as it showed what had occurred in the catacombs. Auren, myself, the Trium, Silas, Morah . . . The memory revealed snippets of each of our battles, allowing my court to witness the attack that was waged against us, and how we fought together as one. Then, the image showed Maeson, and the body that she held in her arms as she worked to break the bonds of the poison that held him captive.

A small portion of the fae in the temple knew who they were looking at when Fallon’s gaunt face was projected for all to see. Gasps and bellows of disbelief echoed through the chamber as many of my council members recognized him.

“Is he alive?” a male voice called out—one of the eldest members.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I relayed a message in my mind to someone else while the room hung in suspense.

As the Alatyr’s projection faded out, and the candles flared back to life, a figure dressed in a long, black tunic and tan leather pants appeared beneath the entryway arch, a wooden crutch tucked under his left armpit.

Seeing where my attention had gone, the eldest council member turned, and the others followed.

The heir to Benmoor stood atop the stairs, his presence seeming to fill the empty space—regardless that he was leaning on a crutch.

Roirdan ascended the steps to him, while I spoke to the room. “In addition to the crimes committed against my family, the High Lord of Benmoor willingly sacrificed his son to further his own agenda, stealing decades of his life and power.”

Roirdan reached Fallon, nodded, and gripped the male’s arm, porting him down to where the rest of us stood.

“But no more,” I said as I met Fallon’s eyes and inclined my head toward him. He did the same.

It was Morah who spoke next, her voice striking and gritty as she raised it for all to hear. “My brother is alive today because of your new Lady and the others that stand before you. You saw what they were up against, and yet, they saved my brother in the midst of it all. I am blessed to call them my friends and allies. My brother, Benmoor’s rightful heir, is blessed to call them the same.” She bowed low to Auren and me, then she moved to stand next to Fallon, taking his free arm in hers.

Another voice rose from the crowd, echoing in its authority. “I will not stand for threats made against any member of this court, or elsewhere,” Vanir announced, stepping forward and placing a hand over his chest. “Vahrenhall is a faithful ally of Calledan, and will be an ally to Benmoor under its rightful heir.”

“As is Drastia,” a voice called out from the left side of the room.

We all turned and beheld Laurent and Senna, both of whom had stepped forward. They bowed their heads toward us in respect and allegiance. Next to them, Breck took a step forward as well, declaring his choice of allegiance in the matter.

Killian let out a hiss from where Silas held him halfway up the stairs, but no one paid him any mind, and he was the least of my concerns at the moment.

I leveled my attention back to Ramil, who was staring with distaste at his son and daughter. “So, what to do with you?” I asked, as if there was more than one option I was considering.

There wasn’t.

Only a long, drawn-out death would suffice. And I was dying to stuff every last bit of my shadows down his throat, weave the blackened flames between his ribcage, and let him boil from the inside out. The shadowfire was already dancing just beneath the surface of my skin, threatening to lash out at the slightest instigation. It was an effort not to let it surface in front of an entire audience of my court.

“Your crimes are already punishable by death,” I reminded the bastard. “But as a High Lord yourself, your actions⁠—”

Ramil let out a cold, lifeless laugh. “My actions? While I think the majority of this room would side with you, they might think differently if they knew what slithered through your veins. What you are truly capable of. I glimpsed your mind when you were in that cell, and your power⁠—”

All of a sudden, his voice cut out, as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

I scanned the platform and found Nivelle stalking forward. “That is enough from you,” she said, hand outstretched, fingers stroking the air.

Whoever’s power she’d tapped into from the audience, I was thankful for it.