11. Dryston
Chapter 11
Dryston
V enatu looked exactly the same as Dryston remembered from the first, and last, time he’d visited. It was all the same: the spires of the castle, the blue and white flag waving over the bailey. Memories haunted him as Onora and Brayden led a host of guards to escort him to the trial. How he’d walked the same cobblestone streets with his parents and the human politicians, laughing and joking, making peace. How those same people had let his whole family be slaughtered in the woods as retribution against the Cruel Lord his own father had deposed.
His guards were stiff, an icy chill from each person piercing through his skin straight to his bones as they wound around, outside the barracks, leading him out of the dungeon toward his trial.
Breathing in, he tried to quell his rising anger, tried to remember what he’d learned from his parents all those years ago, here in this city, his first excursion acting as a diplomat. He’d been desperate to emulate them in every way. He’d seen them expertly handle tense situations, rub elbows with charming nobles, and each night they had answered all his questions and given him tips on diplomacy.
A lot of good that did.
Dryston had never been built for it.
In battle, he was an excellent leader. In politics? Less so. He was angry all the time, too strict, too tightly wound. He couldn’t tolerate disrespect, and he hated when people tried to lie and manipulate him. Which was half of politics. He was too straightforward, too brash.
That’s why they’d had so few alliances until King Leeth. That’s why he’d been so desperate to keep in the Elf King’s good graces. He wanted to build alliances with the humans, but that felt like a distant hope now.
The realization hit him in the stomach. He thought of his niece and how he had two sisters-in-law now. How his family was growing.
What if he wasn’t around to see it?
What if this launched them into a bloody war that affected his loved ones?
He would have to keep his wits about him and make sure that he didn’t piss the humans off further. Perhaps he could reason with them. Convince them to do the trial with the orcs, who were neutral. At the very least, he had to keep his family and his realm out of all of this, whatever it was.
They entered a stately building and climbed the marble steps that led up to a porch with tall white columns and carvings of humans, Hunters, and gods. They came into the foyer and more guards surrounded him, creating a veritable wall between him and the people here to watch his trial.
“This all seems a bit overkill, don’t you think?” he asked, dipping his head to all the surrounding guards. Onora slid him an icy glare.
“We know demons are not to be underestimated.”
“I would come freely to my trial, Onora,” he said, his voice going soft, pleading. “I know I’m innocent.”
Her jaw tensed as she gave him a long, questioning side glance. She shook her head and continued walking.
They wound through dark gray halls with light bouncing off them, lending a sterile atmosphere. They finally came to a large courtroom, the benches lined with humans, so many of them, all looking at him with hate in their eyes. A man he recognized as the chief of the Hunters sat in the middle, flanked by three humans on each side, all wearing white and blue robes, ready to decide his fate.
Onora led him to the middle of the room, to a dais facing Amherst.
“Lord Dryston,” the chief said.
“Chief Hunter,” Dryston said, bowing reverently. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, though I would prefer it to be under other circumstances.”
“I would as well,” Amherst said, a bite in his tone. “But it seems there’s no point in hoping for anything better from demons.”
Murmurs of agreement rose, and Dryston stiffened his shoulders.
“How do you plead?”
Dryston frowned. “I do not know what case is being brought against me. But in my own estimation, I’m not guilty of anything warranting a trial.”
“While I doubt you don’t know why you’re here, let’s hear from the witness.”
The chief gestured, and a young woman walked forward. She wore plain clothes and an apron, like that of a farmer or working hand. She looked nervously at Dryston before taking a seat next to the chief.
“This is Marigold Sumner,” the chief said. “She is the daughter of the late Holden, a farmer in this community. Marigold, tell us what you saw.”
Marigold swallowed, wringing her hands. “It happened not that long ago. I woke to screamin’, yer honor. It was the middle of the night. I ran outside to see the farm was ablaze. Full of black shadows, licking like flames, bursting like lightning, consuming the whole farm. My pa tried to stop it, but the water was no use against it. He ...”
Marigold’s lip trembled, and she looked down, her face contorting in pain.
“Take your time,” Amherst said.
She swallowed and took a deep breath. “He died, along with my mother and brothers, trying to stop it from consuming the land. But it took it all, including the house.”
“How did you escape?”
“I ran, yer honor. Into the woods. And that’s when ...”
Her face went pale, and she looked at Dryston, then down at her lap again. Dryston frowned, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.
“What is it, Marigold? You won’t be judged.”
She spoke, each word trembling. “That’s when I encountered a demon, yer honor.”
“And what did this demon do?”
Marigold covered her face with her hands, drawing in deep breaths. “He put me under his thrall and ... I’m so ashamed, my lord.”
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of. You can’t control yourself under a thrall.”
Dryston glanced at Onora, his jaw clenching. They couldn’t be serious, could they?
“He made me his own. And I’m ... I’m with his child.”
“And who was this demon?”
Marigold looked at the chief, then to Dryston, her hand flinging up and her finger pointing directly to him. “That’s him. That’s the demon right there.”
The observers in the room erupted in a cacophony of indignation and anger. People shot to their feet, rushing to the center, stopped only by the Hunters holding them back from getting to Dryston. A shoe hit his head, and he whipped around to see more poised to be thrown.
“Silence!” Amherst shouted and the room slowly quieted again, though the hostile energy still thickened the air.
Dryston quelled his anger as best he could, trying desperately to hold it all in and keep himself together.
“That’s not true,” Dryston said, his voice echoing.
“Why would she lie?” the chief asked.
Dryston shook his head. “I’m not saying she’s lying, per se. Maybe she’s only mistaken. I did no such thing. I was meeting with Lord Killgan during that time, nowhere near the human lands. And how would you know you’re pregnant in a few days?”
“A demon baby grows quicker,” Marigold said, defensive.
“Not that much quicker. It’s not adding up,” Dryston said. “Regardless, if a demon did this, I will work with you to find justice.”
Amherst removed his glasses and rubbed his forehead. “It’s not just this. We’ve had reports for months of women going missing, or turning up pregnant, all claiming demons. All matching your description.”
“I think we can find justice here and now!” someone shouted from behind him.
The chief rubbed his eyes, then looked at Onora. “Onora, you’ve spent time with Lord Dryston.”
The room went silent, tension building in the air, and Onora shifted on her feet. “I have, Chief.”
“What is your reading of his character?”
She glanced at him, their eyes meeting for a brief moment that seemed to span an eternity, his heart pounding in his ears as she took him in, assessing. She looked back at the chief, her face a wall of stone.
“I saw no great evil in him, though I’m sure he’s capable of it.”
Dryston scoffed, his anger getting the better of him. She shot him a warning glance. “A glowing recommendation.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Every living being is capable of great evil, but I have never and will never participate in it.”
“Enough!” Amherst said. “We have an eyewitness, with no reason to lie. That’s more than enough for us to decide.”
“Talk to Lord Killgan, I was with him, in the opposite direction of these attacks,” Dryston said, trying, and failing, to keep the bite out.
Amherst scoffed. “Why? So we can delay for days, weeks, maybe a month to pin him down and get his testimony? Giving you and the demons time to attack us? No, your reign of terror ends now. Besides, we know that you didn’t meet with Lord Killgan. Lieutenant Brayden followed you. Stop spinning your web of deceit.”
Dryston’s stomach plummeted. Only one witness. That’s all it took to convict him. The jurors next to the chief all came together and whispered. He sharpened his hearing.
Fuck .
They were only pretending to deliberate. They all found him guilty already.
Fuck .
“Onora,” he whispered. “I didn’t do this.”
She kept her gaze forward, nostrils flaring. “You’re a liar.”
Anger consumed him, and small tendrils of smoky shadows wrapped around his wrist. Someone cried out and suddenly something large knocked into him and he fell back, slamming into the stone floor. Men were on top of him, holding him down.
“Lord Dryston, you’re convicted of rape and murder, destruction of property, and violating the treaty signed by your father. You will be sentenced to death, to be taken out by one of our select Hunters in a few days’ time.”
He stared at the raging face atop him, a man with eyes full of bloodlust. He glanced at the others, finding a similar hatred burning in their eyes.
He had no allies here. He had no one to help.
Onora stepped forward. “Chief, allow me to kill him.”
Dryston drew in a breath, swallowing as his mind scrambled to make sense of what was happening to him. Surely, he’d heard that wrong. But she looked back at him, a cold rage in her eyes that chilled his blood even more.
“I want to be the one to end his life.”