Page 23

“You’re being taken up to judgement.”

Her throat clenched and her hands trembled as she smoothed out the lace ruffles in her skirt, which was now a grubby off-white. The blood stains darker.

The gate unlocked, and she forced her leaden feet forward. He snapped the Lodamante cuffs back over her wrists. Even before being taken up, Idonea knew she’d not tell them of the relic, or of Nellith.

“What time is it?” she asked, wondering how much time she’d lost.

“Dawn, of course,” he said. “When judgement is ripe.”

She had no reply, her throat was dry as a bone. They passed the cell the male was in the day before. It now stood empty.

They climbed the white stone steps and at the top waited another Templar, silent, and stern. He turned without a word, and together they led her deeper into the sanctum. They ascended more steps, through a high golden arch into the ceremonial hall. Clouds swirling across a fresco of a dawn sky adorned the concave ceiling; the artistry was flawless. Rich, dark wooden pews pushed to the side of the walls.

They led her to stand before a marble dais carved with the emblem of the rising sun. A single chair resembling a throne towered over her.

Idonea glanced around the room; it was only her and the two Templars. The desire to flee pulsed underneath her skin.

From a side door on the dais walked a man in a hooded flowing gold robe, cinched with a red sash. He seated himself on the chair, white-gloved hands resting on the arms. A golden circlet sat atop his head over the hood while a white silk veil masked his face.

Then another man, one of the artificers, walked in and stood behind the chair. He wore gadget-like goggles over both eyes. An empty feeling settled in her stomach, and she twitched at every sound.

“This is the accused Riven?” asked the robed man. The one Idonea assumed was the High Hierophant.

“Yes, your radiance. This is she,” the Templar said.

The High Hierophant tapped a finger against the chair. “Anything to say on your behalf?”

Idonea licked her lips and shuffled forward, eyes fixed on his veil. “Yes. You will regret this.”

The High Hierophant breathed a laugh. “Will I?”

She shrugged. “We’ll see.”

“Rivens don’t walk freely in the Republic, and they don’t make threats.”

Idonea glanced at the Templars and the futility of it all slammed into her. They would never give her fair judgement.

The High Hierophant gave a low chuckle. “You have spirit, though.”

Her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t right. And you know it.” Her knees went weak, and she staggered to stand straight.

He straightened in his chair and pulled his shoulders back. “No.” He glanced at the artificer behind him. “Could you use a Riven with the technologies?”

The artificer shook his head. “No. She’s too volatile.”

Idonea’s eyes snapped towards him. She wasn’t volatile. Could he sense something on her she couldn’t?

“You’re certain?” the High Hierophant asked. The artificer nodded. “Very well.” He faced Idonea. “You murdered our sensor. Your true nature cannot be denied.”

“A sensor?” Idonea didn’t mean for it to slip out.

“Oh yes,” he said. “We blind a witch, keeping their link to the Current.”

Then he smiled. “What a radical idea. You can either be shackled or become my replacement sensor. I need one, after all. Since you murdered her.”

Acid turned in her stomach and she staggered back.

“Silence. Very well. Under the accords, I decree you volatile, unfit for reformation. You’ll be shackled. You’ll never access the Current again.”