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Once inside, another guard guided my horse to a tie-up and offered to carry Soreth inside for me. Denying him would’ve roused suspicion, so I nodded, and the demon hoisted the angel from the saddle and led me through ornate wooden doors. It seemed we walked through at least a half-dozen corridors adorned in rich ornate tapestries and detailed portraits of past Noxerian council members, before we reached the grand room. The place where the Noxerians conducted business.
A long table at the back of the room seated fifteen ancient nobles, some of them old enough to remember the Great War. They looked on over a small crowd of disciples wearing unenthused expressions, as if bored.
I strode up to them, keeping my head low until I was standing before them. With a nod toward the guard who’d carried Soreth in, I waited for him to deposit the angel onto the floor, then removed my cloak.
Nearly every noble lifted his head, some wearing expressions of contempt, while others appeared shocked.
Here we fucking go.
“Either you are foolish, or charmed by the prospect of execution.” The one who spoke in a raspy voice, laden with age, was Korgeerasz, the chairman of the Noxerians. “Which is it?”
“Perhaps a bit of both, Your Grace.”
“It has been years since your betrayal, but surely you did not think we would forget?”
“I did not.” Saying anything else would only anger them, so I kept my responses brief.
“Then, why have you returned?”
“I wish to make a bargain.”
“A bargain.” He echoed the words in a sneering tone that implied such a request was a slap to the face. “For what?”
“There is a female whose soul you’ve granted claim.”
“Who is this female?”
“Farryn Ravenshaw.”
The elder looked to his left, toward one of the other nobles, who cracked open an oversized leatherbound book and thumbed through it. He gave a nod and whispered into the ear of the nobleman beside him, who whispered to the next, and the next and the next, until it reached Korgeerasz.
The old man let out a deep guttural chuckle, his sharp, black eyes on mine. “It seems your father has already laid claim to her.”
“He has. I would like to make a trade. Her soul for another.”
“And what is this trade you offer?”
I reached for Soreth’s shoulder and turned the limp angel onto his back. “Pure Elysiumerian. He’s a scholar.”
The noblemen shifted in their seats, undoubtedly enticed by such an offer. One of the men a few seats down, wearing an embellishedgaleruszha--traditional attire for his breed of demon--lifted his nose into the air and sniffed. “I do not smell vitaeilem on this one.”
“He has masked the scent, Your Grace. I can assure you his wings are white as snow and his eyes blue sapphires.” Perhaps the most telling features of the Elysiumerians.
Korgeerasz looked thoughtful for a moment, then leaned into one of the men closest to him. They seemed to exchange whispers, spoken so low, I couldn’t make them out.
Soreth was a hard bargain. One worth contemplating. A scholar could’ve given them an edge against the angels in the event of attack. I was essentially handing over a guaranteed win for the Noxerians, in the event of war.
Yet still, they deliberated.
“While your offering is quite generous, we are in no position to bargain.”
Shock wound down the back of my neck, a tight fist squeezing my lungs. “Might I remind Your Grace, that such an offering is quite rare.”
“Perhaps, yes. And it pains us to decline. But the treaty states that your father is entitled to souls rightfully claimed through the council. To accept this bargain would break such a treaty and risk war with Eradye.”
“Have you forgotten that I am the only creature in all five realms capable of destroying him?”
“We’ve not. Surely, you are not that ignorant.”
