10. Onora
Chapter 10
Onora
C louds cast shadows on the sides of the mountains that rose on either side of the valley. Thunder whinnied under Onora, the leather of the saddle creaking as she pulled the horse to a stop, and the group behind her followed suit. She glanced back. Dryston hung limply over the pack mule, black hair hanging off the side, arms tied behind him with enchanted shackles digging into his wrists. The poison on the metal made his wrists blister red and ooze. She looked away, stomach twisting.
It had been ages since they’d had any fights with demons. While they trained, the ones that came through were few and far between, and she’d been so busy as a ranger in the elf lands that she hadn’t encountered any since Dryston’s father had deposed the Cruel Lord.
She’d forgotten how much the poison affected them, how much their bodies rejected it by harming them.
His head swayed, and he looked up, bleary eyes blinking as they searched, stopping as they landed on her with a keen rage.
“Are you okay?”
She shook her head and looked forward, that rage in his eyes reflecting the erupting volcano in her. She realized now how much she’d trusted him. Perhaps it had only been survival and necessity on their travels, but she’d trusted him, nonetheless. The images of the burnt farms and dead bodies flashed through her mind, and her hands ached from gripping the reins too tightly.
Dryston would see his justice soon enough.
She signaled, and the group turned off to the side of the road, finding a clearing under trees to set up for the night. Dismounting, she began pulling out supplies to help the others cook. Brayden and two other large men dragged Dryston off the horse, tugging him to a tree. He stumbled with every step, but that didn’t stop his gaze from finding hers and leveling her with a look that almost made her demand they untie him and let her fight him right then.
He was angry with her?
She wanted to shout at him, hit him, make him feel the pain that whipped across her soul every night as she went to sleep, every morning as she woke. She wanted him to experience all the horrors every human had experienced at the hand of any demon.
Instead, she drew in a breath and turned toward the fire Jin was building. The other Hunters were giving her sly and tentative looks, no doubt clocking that exchange. Had they seen the passion of anger and mistaken it for something else?
Scuffling and struggling made her look back. Brayden had Dryston by the hair, head yanked back, and another Hunter, Leo, slammed his fist against his face.
“Leave him be,” Onora barked. “I want him delivered in one piece for the trial.”
“He doesn’t need a trial,” a woman snarled back. “We know what he did. Let’s give him the justice he deserves now, no point in delaying it.”
Murmurs of agreement rose from the others.
“The next person I see antagonizing the demon,” Onora said, voice dangerously low, “will have their hand cut off. We follow the creed. There’s no justice without due process, only a cold vengeance. Don’t be a fool.”
She felt all eyes on her, boring in, examining her every word, her every move. She stood taller, meeting all of their gazes one by one, letting the cold wrath that always coiled inside of her out, altering her face and expression. Each one looked away, startled as she looked at them, going back to whatever they’d been doing.
“If anyone wants to challenge me, feel free to draw your sword and see if you can beat me,” she said, her words ringing in the clearing.
There was only one who stood a chance, and he was the only one who held her gaze when she looked at him.
Brayden. His fist still clung to Dryston’s hair, his other hand resting on the dagger at his side, a cruel playfulness in his eyes as he calculated what she’d said.
Then he smiled, releasing Dryston so suddenly that the male stumbled to his knees, barely stopping himself from slamming face-first into the dirt.
“Right as always, Onora,” Brayden said, then went back to helping the others chain Dryston to the tree.
She settled by the fire, adding water to a pot and helping the others make a quick meal from packets of dried food. When they’d eaten, she made a plate and handed it to Jin.
“Feed Lord Dryston,” she commanded.
He stared at her hand, hesitating, then frowning at her with pursed lips. She pushed the plate toward him, raising her brows.
“I’m not trying to disobey, Lieutenant, but I can’t stand the thought of helping him,” he said, swallowing.
Onora let out a heavy breath and turned, stalking toward Dryston. She’d have to be the only one keeping him alive until they reached Venatu and could give him a trial. She knew how they felt, the horror of helping someone who had done atrocities. But if they didn’t follow the creed, if they didn’t uphold justice and give a fair trial, then were they any better?
No, they weren’t.
She knelt in front of him. Dried blood made a trail down his nose and over his lips, dark rings circling his now dull eyes that tried to blink away a red dryness. The cut she’d given him bled slowly, his healing powers trying to combat the poison. The chains wrapped around his torso three times, poisoned ropes twining over his shackled wrists for good measure.
“They certainly are afraid of you getting loose,” she muttered, taking the spoon of food and putting it to his mouth.
He kept it shut, his eyes slicing into her.
“You need to eat.”
“Is it poisoned?” he asked, voice rough as gravel before he let out a rasping laugh. “Never mind, you wouldn’t let me go so gently.”
He took a bite, chewing and swallowing quickly, and she gave him more, until it was gone. Then she pulled out a waterskin and took his chin, tilting it up. The touch felt electric, some charge of magic going between them that left her lightheaded and his breaths coming out heavily. Shadows danced lightly on his shoulders, and his eyes darted to hers.
“You might want to hide that,” he rasped out.
Panic tightened around her skull, and she jerked her magic back in, glancing over her shoulder. No one was paying attention, which was a nice break for once.
“Drink,” she said, putting the waterskin to his mouth and carefully letting it fall in, giving him several drinks that he gulped down greedily, light returning to his eyes.
She put the stopper back in as he said, “Does that happen often?”
“What?” Although she knew what he had probably seen.
“The shadows caressing you like you’re one of their own.”
“Why? Does that mean something to you?”
She desperately hoped it did, that he had some answer for her. But she couldn’t show him the tattoos, not here or anywhere. He could turn her in—out of spite or in an attempt to save himself.
“I just think it’s curious. Usually sinks have to channel the magic of a specific type. This seems so natural to you.”
She scoffed, and he clenched his jaw. “More lies?”
“Why would I lie about that? And pray tell, Onora, what have I lied about to you, ever?”
What indeed? It felt like he had, as if he’d betrayed her on a deep, deep level.
“You pretend to want peace and alliances with those of us in Nemus, but then you do this?”
“You take an awful lot of care for someone you believe is guilty.”
“The court will decide if you're guilty or not. If, by some miracle, you’re acquitted, then my hands will be clean and my honor intact.”
“What is it I’m being accused of?” he asked.
She scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You can’t manipulate me with your thrall while you have velin in your system.”
“I’m not manipulating. I genuinely don’t know.”
“Oh? Are there too many crimes to choose from that you don’t know which one specifically?” She came close to his face, wanting to see a crack in this facade he had. Something to show her she wasn’t crazy. Some proof of something, anything. He only stared back, defiant, resolved. She pulled away, letting out a disgusted huff as she stood and walked away.
She needed to get to Venatu quickly. He had an effect on her that made her lose all sense. She wanted to kill him outright. She wanted to leave him tied to the tree, slowly bleeding out.
And part of her wanted him to tell her it wasn’t true. That she hadn’t been wrong and foolish. That she hadn’t let her guard down or been held captive in a thrall. Part of her wanted him to convince her with foolproof evidence that it hadn’t been him.
Even though she knew that thought, in and of itself, was foolishness. Dryston was the Lord of Shadows. And he had destroyed those farms as an act of war. He had killed those people as if they were expendable, their lives meaningless. As the demons had done to her family all those years ago. With each passing moment he wasn’t in a jail cell in Venatu she came dangerously close to discarding the creed and her morals and taking out justice herself.
She stalked angrily to Thunder, sifting through the saddlebag to find her own packed food as her emotions kicked up like dust in a storm, refusing to settle.
“Hey,” Jackson said, coming up beside her. “How are you doing?”
She sighed, pulling out the flatbread wrapped in cloth and taking a bite. “I’m fine.”
“Do you think he truly did it?” Jackson’s gaze slipped to where Dryston sat against the tree, face contorted in pain.
“There’s apparently evidence that he did.” She wanted to say a sure yes , to tell Jackson that it was obviously demonic work at play and that it was Dryston. But a needling feeling wouldn’t leave the pit of her stomach, no matter how hard she tried to shove it down. Jackson stared at the demon lord, deep in thought. “Do you think he didn’t?”
Jackson opened his mouth, then closed it again before finally speaking. “It seems out of character. But I don’t know him well. Only you do.”
Silence fell between them, and that needling feeling became stronger, razor sharp, the point pricking her conscience over and over again.
“Did I ever tell you about when I met Kaemon and Melina?” he asked, lowering his voice so no one could hear.
She stepped closer to him, shaking her head.
“It was when we captured them to bring him in and take her to a temple for purification.”
She’d heard about that. They had escaped, killing all the other Hunters except Jackson. Everyone had surmised they’d left him as a witness to tell others how easily they could kill them.
“Kaemon was gentle, and Melina was in her right mind. They insisted it was a thrall, but ... I just couldn’t believe it. She was fully in control of herself, and she loved him dearly.” Jackson swallowed, giving her a nervous side glance. There was something he wanted to tell her but wasn’t, and she felt the omission like a blow. What would he not trust her with?
Jackson shrugged and stepped away, laughing nervously. “But I don’t know Lord Dryston. And he will get a fair trial ... right?”
Onora nodded. Him getting a fair trial was the only thing holding her fraying emotions together right now. She needed to know that justice would be met. One way or another.
They arrived in Venatu the next morning. A few people milled here and there, the early birds up before the others came awake.
Those in the streets stared at the winged male slung over a horse’s back, gasping in horror and stepping farther back. Onora led the procession to the guild, the grates opening loudly in the morning silence. Brayden, Jin, and she escorted Dryston to the dungeon, the jailers roughly throwing him into his dark, musty cell. He stumbled against the wall, breathing heavy, his hair matted to his face, clothes ripped and bloody. He slid to the ground, staring up at the ceiling, a calm look of acceptance on his face.
“Make sure he’s given food and water,” she told the jailer, who looked at Brayden for confirmation. She grabbed him by the jaw, yanking his attention back to her, his eyes going wide in shock as she came close with a snarl on her face. “Obey me, or I will hand out your punishment myself.”
“Yes, Lieutenant,” he mumbled, and she let him go, following Brayden out.
“You certainly give the demon a great deal of care,” he said.
“If I have to repeat my reasons again, Brayden, I’ll have to take my anger out on you,” she seethed.
Their footsteps echoed in the dungeon and up the steps to the main office of the guild.
“I always like it when you do,” he said, letting his voice go lower, his eyes looking her over.
“You won’t this time,” she said with a growl. Gods, she was tired of this. The trial couldn’t come fast enough.
They found Amherst in his office, always up early and looking over the never-ending reports and complaints that came across his desk. Since demons weren’t common in Nemus anymore, Hunters had become a specialty group for any number of issues humans and their allies faced.
He looked up over his glasses at them and then stood swiftly, motioning for them to enter. “I take it you’ve been successful?”
“Lord Dryston is in the dungeon now. We can get the legal proceedings ready for his trial.”
“I already have, he will be held accountable later today.”
She blinked, shocked. “So early? Doesn’t he need someone to defend him in court? It may take time to find someone willing to.”
“He will have a defense. You don’t have to worry, Onora. I’ve been getting this together while you were gone. Everyone is eager to get to the bottom of this and hold him accountable.”
She nodded. It was early. So early. Usually, it took several weeks to set up trials to ensure fairness. But perhaps with the scale of this, it had been easier. Amherst came around, checking the healing scratch on her cheek.
“Did he do this to you?”
Onora sighed. It had happened when he tackled her. “Yes, but it’s nothing.”
“He won’t get away with it, none of it,” Amherst said, a cool anger in his tone.
Dryston had done it in defense, but she wouldn’t say that. She didn’t need Amherst giving her that look again. She didn’t need Brayden spreading any more rumors about her.
She just needed to get through this trial.