Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lyra
My tears dried up a few hours ago, when I cried out everything I had been trapping in my body since the day I ran. Now, all that’s left is a horrible hollowness. It slowly grows bigger and bigger as I sit on the sofa, watching the downpour of rain fall to the city.
The atmosphere has brightened enough to tell me the sun has risen by the time I hear the patio door slide open again. It’s still a dark grey outside, but no longer the pitch black of night.
“Little Bird,” Killian says softly. “You should be asleep.”
A humorless laugh bubbles through my lips. “Should I be?” I might never see you again, I want to scream, but I can’t seem to find the anger. I can’t even bring myself to whisper that particular truth.
Killian joins me on the couch, tucking me into his side and pulling the cashmere throw blanket over both of us. “I should be able to stall them,” he says. “Maybe only for a few days, but it’ll be something.”
No, it won’t be. Our literal last hope is Carter, though for some reason, I don’t want to tell Killian as much. I don’t want to risk getting his hopes up only to imagine them getting crushed when Carter doesn’t pull through.
When three judges cast their votes against him, and—
I bury my head in Killian’s shoulder, curling my hands into his suit jacket. Already, he’s wearing a suit jacket—he must be expecting to leave soon. I don’t cry, I’m not sure I’m hydrated enough to produce more tears, but I hold him close.
“I need you to know something before you go.” My voice is wobbly, and I don’t have the strength to look at him, but he should know what I’ve grown to feel. What I’ve probably felt for much longer than I’ll ever admit to anyone, including myself.
“I’m all ears, Little Bird,” he says softly.
“Somewhere along the line, between your domineering nature that hid the natural caretaker in you, and the utter bastard who only melted when I melted for him… I fell for you.” I swallow, squeezing my eyes shut.
“I only started accepting the possibility of it the night you let me take that video of you. Before then… before then, I was so fucking angry, and still in denial. But, before you go, you have to know that. If I never see you again, you have to know that I love you. It’s not a normal love—it’s inherently violent and…
greedy. Somewhere along the line, you worked some magic that made me greedy for you, and the thought that I won’t see you again after today destroys me—”
Killian fists his hand in my hair, tilts my head up, and fuses his lips to mine, not wasting any time.
He’s ravenous for me, tongue seeking entry, and I open to him automatically, letting him in and offering myself up.
Killian’s always intense and passionate, but the way he kisses me right now goes beyond the scope of mere passion—it’s pure possession, animalistic and raw, and I lap up every inch of it.
That is, until a throat clears. I break away from Killian, glancing at the patio entrance, heart stuttering when I see that it’s Locke, wearing a grim expression.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but the Eyes are downstairs,” he says seriously.
Killian leans in to give me one, last lingering kiss. I start praying to whatever higher power might believe me—
“And they’ve explicitly requested both of you to join,” Locke says. “I’ve had the team scope out the building and security. They have the place surrounded. There’s no way to get Lyra out alive.”
A strange calm washes over me. Some of my biggest issues with Killian leaving were never seeing him again, him dying alone, and me being forced to somehow figure out how to live without that.
As horrible as me being forced to join this tribunal might be to him, it has the opposite effect on me. I’m relieved.
“Stall them for five minutes while I get dressed?” I say.
“Lyra, no—”
“Killian.” I cup his cheek with the hand wearing his engagement ring. “Let’s not waste time arguing, hm? Locke would’ve been able to tell if we had the faintest chance in hell of getting out of this. Let’s face it head on how we should: together.
The drive upstate is hours and hours long. We’re ushered into a car belonging to the Eyes, driven by security for the Eyes, the moment we step out of the elevator and to the lobby.
At least I get several hours with Killian.
We don’t talk, and the windows in the backseat are completely blacked out, preventing us from seeing where we’re going.
A partition blocks the front of the car.
For the few hours that we sit, entwined, there’s a sense of peace in the air.
Whatever happens, happens. I’m tired of fighting, being resentful, and holding grudges.
I do spend quite a lot of time praying that Carter managed to do what Cain failed to, but I know the likelihood of that is extremely low. I guess I’ll find out.
Killian’s lips remain pressed against my forehead for the majority of the ride, and he holds me tightly, with a tiny tremble in his hands. This magnificent, horrible, terrifying man is actually afraid of what will happen. And I’m willing to wager he’s not frightened for himself—he’s afraid for me.
“Everything will be okay,” he whispers when the car rolls to a stop and the front door opens. I give him a wan smile, right before his door opens and he’s torn from my arms.
An ancient courtroom is where we’re taken after being separated for a time. A courtroom that appears to be setup in what was once a religious chapel that’s now been perverted for the purpose of the corrupt passing judgement they’ve earned no right to wield.
In some ways, it mimics a modern courtroom; defendant table, plaintiff’s table, rows of filled benches for spectators behind them.
In other ways, it’s rather different; a long, stone table seats the five judges, and there’s a small platform before them, potentially for any witnesses that will be called.
I lock eyes with Carter as soon as I arrive. He’s seated in the front row, just behind the table where Killian is. He meets my eye, tilts his head to the side, rakes his gaze up and down me, and then looks away.
My heart drops into my stomach. He has nothing. God fucking damnit—
Now there’s really no hope, and the outcome of today really is decided. Killian and I are both going to die.
Instead of being led to the seating behind the tables or to Killian’s table, I’m led to the side of the judges’ table, where there’s a smaller stone table, which the security guard leading me promptly chains me to.
I’m in full view of the entire court, including Killian, who I momentarily realize is also chained to his table—as is Silas.
I guess the Eyes really don’t fuck around when it comes time for a trial.
“Now that we’ve all gathered,” Raegan, or as her title card says, Crow intones, “Let’s get started.
Now, we’ve already heard cases and defenses from defendants and witnesses advance, but to summarize: there was an incident some months ago during which Killian alleges that Silas released a false, AI-generated intimate tape of his then-fiancée, Lyra.
The distress of seeing such falsehoods about her paraded through the internet contributed to a miscarriage, after which she and Killian decided she needed to travel for a time.
“After the release of said material, Killian confronted Silas and demanded a blood-debt, or a pound of his flesh, threatening to kill Silas otherwise, Shortly afterwards, he filed a request with us to see Silas dead, and Silas later filed a request to see Killian dead when we held up Killian’s request in committee—”
“Now, now, Crow,” Vladimir interrupts. “That’s a rather one-sided recollection of events, is it not?
I think you’re playing favorites. According to Silas, Killian has been actively attempting to complicate his life, drain his finances, and see him killed for years prior.
His violence escalated to a point where Silas could no longer rely on our rules to keep him safe, so he’s bravely come forward.
I think the court has found ample evidence of the truth in these allegations—”
“We’ve found ample evidence to support a mutual long-standing rivalry,” Spencer interjects, the fucking traitor.
“Try to reel in your prejudice against self-starters, Bull. The two have had some healthy battles, as all youngsters should, but nothing that escalated to violence until a woman joined the picture.”
Both Silas and Killian are eerily quiet throughout this conversation, as if they’ve either anticipated this or know that talking will risk losing precious organs.
“There’s much speculation around this case,” Spencer says.
“The facts that we’ve been able to confirm through blood sampling and security footage of the gala when Silas mutilated himself are the following.
Lyra Stewart miscarried the night that a sex tape with her likeness leaked.
Whether the two are correlated incidents are up to personal view, but the blood provided by Killian confirms the loss of a child that was indeed his, and the date of the sample aligns with his story. ”
I swallow hard, squeezing my eyes shut. Killian… saved some of the blood? My god, what sort of twisted world must he live in? He had to have seen this coming and known he needed some proof. He never told me this, probably to spare me the pain of thinking of that night.
“We’ve also confirmed that Killian did in fact demand a blood-debt of Silas that very same night, after Lyra’s miscarriage. Now, whether he was justified in doing so is the question we must vote on today.”
“Of course he wasn’t justified,” Vladimir sneers. “He was angry and vengeful and lost his head, like the stupid, in-over-his-head boy that he is. If he wanted a blood debt, he should’ve gone through us. The rules on that are perfectly clear.”
“What’s rather less clear is the morality surrounding a grieving man and how much allowance we’ll make for the madness that accompanies loss, especially for one of our most senior members,” Raegan says.