Chapter 11 #2
Brand was struggling to ignore the power prickling over his limbs. That his uncle would dare make accusations, when they were the ones who’d been wronged—
Lyriat’s hand landed on his forearm, squeezing. “Five more says he tugs each sleeve before stepping off the portal dais.”
Ah. Jokes, then, to hold the rage at bay.
He glanced back at Baldrir, where he was standing silently between Magnus and Thad, Mag’s hand wrapped loosely around his upper arm—more for show than anything, but Caius would expect his demand to be met.
Even if it meant Bal collapsing right there next to the bloody thrones, in front of everyone.
“Fine.” Brand shook himself. “I say he doesn’t wear the purple, does tug the sleeves, and throws a look at everyone before stomping on his toll like he has an infinite supply of them somewhere.”
After which, he would hopefully have a damned convincing argument for how the Wolflords were not at all responsible themselves.
Magnus leaned down and whispered, “Thirty pieces says you’re both wrong and he’s just as confused as everyone else because—as I’ve already said, repeatedly—we had nothing to do with this. Now shut it before I drop your naked arse somewhere else.”
Brand ground his teeth together and avoided looking at Lunara amongst the crowd of gathered Demons, Nyri at her side. Veiled references at dinner were one thing, but Mag’s hissed threat was too loud and direct for comfort.
Even if she was probably too far away to hear it.
“You’re really going to bring that up again?” Brand bit out. “May I remind you—”
A soft patter cut off his words, and he looked at the portal just as his uncle came through.
“Caius aht Bordoroth, Blessed of Thodelebor, High Ambassador and Seventh Imperial Son of Stennyx and Gildat!” a herald called, as if everyone wasn’t well aware of his identity.
Caius’s boots drilled into the floor as he approached the throne, a pair of Wolflords trailing him. Lyriat rose to his impressive height as his uncle fell to one knee at the foot of the steps, his heavy breathing the only sound when he stood again.
Looked like Mag was getting thirty gold pieces.
Instead of his usual court finery, Caius wore a simple linen robe—the battle garb of the Wolflords.
It was filthy, black streaks littering the fabric alongside splatters that could only be blood.
None of his usual adornments were anywhere to be seen.
No jewelry, no weapon. Only a small leather bag was attached to the belt at his waist, which he was slipping his recovered realm toll into.
His blond hair was lank, the normally shorn sides long enough to brush at his ears and hide the tattoos there, and dark smudges cradled haunted, golden eyes.
Shite.
Caius didn’t waste a second. “You know why I’m here, Your Majesty.”
“Yes, Your Highness, though I would hear it from your lips.”
No one in the hall so much as twitched, the whole room holding a collective breath.
His uncle spared a fleeting look behind, lips pursed. “Certain you want to do this here, Lyriat?”
Lyriat huffed, arrogance personified. “When have I ever beat around the bush, Caius?”
“Aye, there is that. The whole thing, then?”
Brand noted the slight twinkle in Caius’s gaze, his fondness for the Demon King—who’d become like another one of his nephews over the long years—apparent.
“May as well, old friend. Loud and clear,” Lyriat answered, waving a hand to the room at large.
Unlike his uncle, Brand hadn’t missed the unfamiliar note of mistrust in Lyriat’s voice as he’d said old friend. They were going through the motions as usual, but the game he’d always hated was being played beneath the surface.
And Brand was caught in the middle.
Caius threw his shoulders back. “I, on behalf of the Westrealm of Thodelebor as its High Ambassador and Blessed Imperial Son, come to accuse that Demon”—He pointed at Baldrir—“of murder in our capital, the Keep at Fanghold, in the Westglen. One Fausta à Bor was found late last eve, strangled and mutilated in the quarters assigned to Baldrir of Straelon. She was last seen by mine own nephew, Magnus aht Bordoroth, and one other, entering said room with the male in question. As such, the Wolflords call for justice from our allies in the Montrealm.”
A low growl rumbled from Lyriat, but Brand stood before it could escalate.
“I, on behalf of the Montrealm of Straelon as its High Ambassador and Blessed Imperial Son, hear your accusation and proclaim its falsity.” He ignored the way Caius recoiled, and continued.
“We have proof that Baldrir of Straelon is as much a victim as this Fausta, and that they were both wronged by an outside assailant. We offer our sincerest condolences on your loss, and make a formal request of alliance in order to solve the heinous crime committed against us. Do you accept?”
Caius blinked between all of them, a crease between his brows. “Undecided. Permission to question further, Your Highness.”
“Granted, Your Highness.”
Sisters save him. Brand detested this shite, where lines blurred and power was thrown back and forth. Where he had to ignore the fact that he was speaking to his own beloved uncle in order to fulfill his obligation to protect Straelon above all else.
Ringing started in his ears, a match for the galloping beat of his heart—piss-poor timing, as usual.
“You say he’s a victim as well,” Caius said. “I see no evidence of that. Explain.”
“Baldrir returned to us on the edge of the Veil.” Brand tried and failed not to picture the memories as he spoke them.
“His horns and tongue had been removed, as well as most of his skin. Multiple limbs were broken. And that was just what I could see with my own eyes. He has since recounted his abduction at the hands of an unknown creature. In Thodelebor. Someone has committed an act of war against the Dominion of Demons, and will answer for their crimes upon discovery. Painfully.”
Masked threats were always useful for garnering truths if one knew what to look for.
Brand blocked out the gasps and murmurs, focused instead on his uncle’s face. On even the tiniest of reactions.
Nothing.
Caius lifted a fist for silence. “Our Fausta lies dead, but he stands tall. I wish to know how that’s possible, when no one could’ve healed such extensive damage in a matter of days. Where’s this alleged proof?”
“You mean aside from the letter I sent long before we knew of this?”
His uncle’s confusion was evident. One of the Wolflords with him leaned forward to whisper in his ear, earning a put-upon sigh. “I was at the Ghostbor fending off Forgotten until the wee hours of this morning. Apparently, it’s sitting on my desk.”
“My messenger?”
They conferred again before Caius said, “As of an hour ago, she was dining in the Chieftains’ hall. I’ll have her home as soon as this mess is cleaned up.”
Brand nodded, satisfied for the moment. “If that’s not enough, the healer who tended Baldrir is present and can attest to his condition.”
“Come forward, Lunara,” Lyriat commanded.
Caius gasped at the mention of her name, whirling around.
For Brand’s part, all of his attention went to the Sorcerit as she took timid steps closer, hunched in on herself. He swore he could almost feel the flush spreading across her cheeks like it was his own, a kindred wish to disappear flaring within him.
“How?” Caius whispered, anything remotely official gone from his voice. “How are you here?”
Before she could answer, Thad cleared his throat. “It was me.”
Caius gave his son a sharp look. “What did you do, lad?”
“I was the one who saw Baldrir come flying through the portal. Brand speaks true. He was this close to dying. No other Sorcerit were near, and I knew she’d be able to help.”
“You went into the Evesong? You broke your oath?”
“Aye, I did, to save him.”
“How’d you get to Lunara without…” Caius paused, pressing a fist to his mouth. “I know you made it there before, when your mother… Fuck. How’d you do it this time?”
“The same way, but hers instead.”
What the fuck did that mean?
Caius growled, flashing his canines.
“It was just in case!” Thad threw his arms up. “She was there, Da. She knows what it was like, and I didn’t want to be cut off from her. I thought if I ever needed to talk about it, she would understand.”
“Aye. She would. But you were still forbidden.” Caius turned to Lunara. “I’m not particularly happy to see you, lass.”
Lunara’s lip was trembling when she lifted her head. “I know. I didn’t particularly want to come, but I couldn’t say no to him. Not after everything. Besides, you know how he is.”
“I do, unfortunately.” Caius rubbed at his temples with one hand. “Well, I sure as shite didn’t see this coming. What a fucking mess.”
More details of Meliora’s illness, still hidden beneath a shroud of secrecy. Caius had refused to speak about it. Thad had shrunk further and further into himself. And the healer had been as much a mystery as the rest of it until a few days ago.
Some had tried to claim they’d been there. That it had been gruesome. That they’d never seen anything like it.
Liars, of the worst sort.
No one, in their family or otherwise, had seen Meliora for at least a month before her death. That didn’t stop the whispers, though. The rumors, rife with conflicting information. The gossip.
Now, Brand was somehow staring at the only three people in the world who knew the truth, and the urge to demand answers roiled within him.
“Right.” Caius drew himself up, back to business. “If Baldrir didn’t do it, who the fuck did?”
Lyriat folded his arms, head tilting. “Is just seeing her enough to assuage you? Do you not want to be briefed on her findings?”
Caius waved that away. “I wish I didn’t know what the lass is capable of, but I do, unfortunately. If you say she’s the one who did the healing, then aye. It’s all I need to hear.”
Brand’s eyebrows shot up. High praise from a male who gave it sparingly.
“May I release him then, uncle?” Magnus asked.
“Aye, let the lad go.”
Baldrir hurried down the steps and straight to his little sister, Nyri meeting him halfway and letting out a sob as she threw her arms around him.
Caius watched the exchange. “At least one of them is getting a pleasant ending.” He signaled for the Wolflords who’d accompanied him to come forward.
“Straight home,” he muttered low. “Send the Demon messenger back, and relay all you’ve heard to the Chieftains.
Tell them I’ll be staying for a spell to figure this out.
And tell Lilius we can’t be putting her daughter to rest just yet.
She’ll not be pleased, but promise her whatever she needs in return. Go.”
The males turned on their heels as one and sprinted for the portal, barely a blink between them tossing the toll and leaping through it.