Page 149 of Revealing Fate

A deep growl cut through the woman’s weeping. Kalevar bared his teeth at Lucien, eyes blazing. “You lying fuck.”

Adder stirred behind Felíne’s other shoulder. He pegged Rask with a thunderous glare. “I think I know whose fucking handiwork this was, mate.”

Lucien ignored them and once more faced the crowd. Felíne could feel the temperature of the collective shift. What started as curious concern morphed into disbelieving outrage at the revealing of the Carrow brothers’ mangled bodies. And Lucien knew precisely where to direct all that fury. “I demand justice for our slighted laws! Ms. Carrow demands justice for her murdered sons!” He thrust a finger toward the dead, then jabbed it at the dais. “I demand these traitors be sentenced by the people! Their punishment must fit their crimes! Blood for blood!”

An angry murmur swelled, raising the hairs on Felíne’s arms and the back of her neck.

Across from her, Beulah stood, flanked by her two male companions, and stepped into the center of the square. She raised her palms to those gathered. “My people!” she called. “My people! Calm! Calm, I beg you.”

Some of the clamor quieted as attention turned to the lone female member of Meress’s Conclave. Ms. Carrow’s crying continued.

“How can you ask for calm in the face of such abhorrence, Beulah Porter?” Lucien said loudly enough that the crowd could hear.

“We are not a community of impulsive beasts,” Beulah said. “This Conclave will not stand for incitement of violence.”

Lucien’s gaze swept the square. “Violence has already been done. We are here seeking punishment for those responsible.”

“You do not have the authority to pass independent judgment, Lucien Cross,” Beulah declared loudly. “And communal sentencing is not our way. You speak of lawful obeisance, of justice. Then let us be just. Let us follow law. We are a Conclave of five, are we not?”

Lucien glared.

One of the men stepped forward next to Beulah. His thick black hair was neatly styled, matching beard tapering to a short point beneath his narrow chin. Keen green eyes surveyed his surroundings with calculated awareness. “Beulah speaks soundly, Lucien,” he said, voice calm and assured. “The five of us will deliberate. We will consider the evidence presented by both parties and reach an acceptable verdict.”

“This matter calls for immediate action,” Lucien argued. He gestured to where Ms. Carrow still rocked over the bodies of her sons. “You would deny these brutally murdered citizens fair recompense? You would delay a grieving mother her due? Look at them!”

“As Vorak said,” Beulah replied carefully, “we will deliberate.” She glanced at her companions. “But all members must weigh in. We cannot make a decision without Saul.”

Felíne’s relief welled. He still lived.

Lucien shared a look with Rask. Kal noticed it, missing nothing. Rask eased away from the platform as Lucien began arguing enthusiastically with the other three members of the Conclave. Beulah’s meaty palms found her hips. The crowd watched the lawmakers trade verbal blows, their voices low and harried. Felíne tracked Rask’s movement through the square. A sick, sinking feeling spread through her chest. No one was watching as he reached the edge of the crowd—no one but her.

And Kal.

“Rask Harless!” Kal bellowed. Felíne flinched, his voice booming in her ear. Rask froze, and the Meressians looked about. “Creeping off like a dog to finish what your master started?”

Beulah frowned, noticing Rask’s aborted departure. “What’s this, Kal?”

Lucien stepped forward. “We don’t listen to traitorous filth, Beulah. His words are contemptible. Irrelevant. This discussion is not over.”

Kal leaned away from his shackles and the iron rod at his back. The barbs of his skullcage bit into the sides of his neck. He bared his teeth, heedless of the metal piercing his skin. “Lucien Cross,” Kal said with all the formality of a king addressing his court, “you stand accused of conspiring to assassinate a citizen of Meress.” Kal swung his gaze to the Carrow brothers’ bodies. “With two added counts of defiling the dead.” He met each of the present Conclave members’ eyes, settling on Lucien last. “And the attempted murder of Saul Leino, leader of Meress’s Conclave.”

The gathered shurii clamored at Kal’s accusation. Santhe, still standing rigidly near the Porter children, twisted her skirt in clenched fingers. Penn was on his feet, hands fisted at his sides. The tall, bearded man with green eyes, Vorak, narrowed his gaze on Kal. “These are serious accusations, Kaine.”

Felíne caught sight of Rask attempting to slink into the crowd. Kal did as well. “Don’t let that man leave!”

A familiar figure separated from the throng and clamped a heavy hand around Rask’s upper arm, hauling him back into the square. Beaumont Stonehaugh stood like an armored mountain next to the fair-haired man, preventing his quiet escape.

“Kal?” Beulah asked again.

“Unhand him, you devil!” Lucien snarled at Stonehaugh, his cultivated façade cracking. He whirled on Kal and shoved a finger up at him. “This foul-tongued traitor spews venomous lies. How dare you entertain such dangerous slander!”

“It’s not a lie,” Felíne said. Eyes turned to her. “Lucien Cross has been poisoning Saul, likely for days. I recognized the symptoms immediately. Look at his hands. He’s got blisters from the morticana he used.”

Lucien shoved his hands into his pockets, lips curling in a snarl. He stomped up the platform steps. “You lying bitch. Morticana is more bitter than High Country coffee. If I were to poison someone, I wouldn’t be foolish enough to choose an herb so easily recognized.”

“That’s why she said it took you days,” Kal growled.

“Small doses wouldn’t be noticed,” Felíne explained in a rush. “Especially if concealed in coffee or strong tea. But you knew that, didn’t you?”