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“Neither will you.”
CHAPTER 44
EDWIN
The ritual chamber is a cathedral for sinners who don’t believe in God but still crave ceremony. Every level is packed. Bodies in green hooded cloaks and silver masks swallow every foot of stone. It’s warmer than usual in here. Closer to hell.
The voting alcove is lit up, the box prepared with a hidden scale inside. An outdated method for collecting data.
Zaiya stands next to me in her white cloak and white silk dress, made for her by the Veiled Matrons. The hood frames her face like a halo in a painting of a saint, except her eyes aren’t holy tonight. They’re stormy with hatred.
I wish she didn’t have to feel rage the way I do. I don’t want her heart to go black. But to see her harness what’s been buried within her is up there with holy acts.
Bridget wears the same ritual purity attire. It’s a lie draped over her.
Zaiya keeps her chin lifted, but her fingers haven’t stopped quivering. She’s shaken. Trying to hide it from them, from me, from herself.
Her gaze locks on Patrick, full of hatred and fear. If she weren’t holding my hand, I’d already be on him. We both know it.
I bend my head to her, close enough that the words belong only to us.
“Do you trust me?”
Her eyes pull up to mine, and she nods. I see the youth in her face, innocence clinging to her through everything trying to scrape it away. This heaviness was never meant for her shoulders. But she’s still standing.
“Say it. You know you’re safe with me.”
Her expression softens, the way she always does when I pull her into my gravity.
“I know. I trust you, Edwin.” She looks over the room again, over the masks silently watching. “But no one else.”
The vote is eating away at me, and I want to get it over with. Not for pride, or even vengeance. For her. I need to be sure she’s okay.
I release her hand and move to the center where Liam stands with the other Councilmen, their green robes trimmed with silver thread.
Liam watches me approach, knowing I’m about to make a scene, and he hates that he can’t stop it. But this needs to be said.
I remove my mask. Wait for all eyes to be on me.
“Before we vote,” I say, voice carrying without effort through the round chamber, “I want to share information I gathered tonight.”
Across the room, Michael stands close to Patrick. Masked, but not invisible. His glare reaches me from across the room. He told Patrick what happened, I’m sure.
Good. Let them sweat beneath their silver faces.
I speak from my chest. No looking down. No leaving things out. I tell them everything.
That Patrick arranged Zaiya’s kidnapping. That Asher Zapera died because of it. That Patrick plotted with Frank Bolton to have her killed.
Everyone is quiet as I look around each level of the room. It’s impossible to read what anyone is thinking, but I take it most of these men don’t give a shit. That’s the trouble with a group of assholes obsessed with power. Eventually, evil becomes less shocking.
Patrick steps forward. He removes his mask with a slow, performative calm, like he’s walking onto a stage he built himself.
“It’s only fair that I defend myself,” he says with a polite smile. “I am guilty of taking a personal bribe from gubernatorial candidate William Zapera. He offered me money for my influence. Nothing more.”
My teeth clench. When I looked into Zaiya’s family, it was clear William had no money left to give. His little campaign had drained their life savings.
Patrick plays to his audience. “Power is only useful if you know how to leverage it. The men in this Order could easily put someone in the governor’s mansion. The Senate. Even the White House. All it takes is someone willing to use what we already have.”
