Chapter 45 Under the Veil of Judgment
UNDER THE VEIL OF JUDGMENT
“There will come a day, my rose, when you must choose with hands that tremble and a heart that roars. Choose anyway, for even mercy carves wounds. Every judgment leaves seeds behind.”
—Eyleen ársa to Noel, on her sixteenth birthday
Noel
My heart pounds louder in my chest as I sit at the table. My breathing feels shallow and uneven. It’s nearly impossible to focus on the teams’ progress. The whispers of the nymphí, the chatter of Elder A?na, Na?a, and Essin—they all blur in the background of my mind.
Gregor is on his way.
The nymphí that usually walk about with carefree grace move more cautiously now.
I noticed that my own feelings reflect on them.
Like they’re mirroring me. Mina took the younglings for a nap, sensing the tension in the air.
My tension. I press my palms flat against the table and try to quiet the noises in my mind.
Why am I so on edge? Gregor isn’t a threat. At least he shouldn’t be.
Then what is it? Is it the knowledge that Theron will be furious? That his rage will ripple through the vólkins the moment Gregor steps foot in this place?
Maybe it’s something simpler. Maybe it’s because I don’t even know how I feel about him myself.
I don’t hate Gregor, but I don’t like him either. He’s done nothing truly wrong, and I’m not a monster. I don’t kill without reason. The way he looked at me when Arnold . . .
I didn’t let Theron kill him before. That much is true. But why? Was it because I cared for Gregor in some small, unspoken way? Or was it because after Arnold’s death, I couldn’t bear to hear another man’s dying gasp echo in my ears?
Did I make the right decision?
I’ve turned the question over in my mind a thousand times in the past few hours. And still, I don’t have an answer.
A nymphá with beautiful golden hair rushes to my side. “They’re here. The warriors have returned with the human, Gregor.”
I rise from the table and glance at Elder A?na. She meets my eyes with a nod. Together, we head toward the edge of ávera, the place where I first arrived weeks ago. The others follow us both.
As we walk, their gazes burn into my back, watching, waiting for my next move. The breeze stirs the leaves around us, and from the tree line, the vólkins appear.
My heart pounds when I see Theron, leading the group of at least a dozen warriors. I haven’t seen him all morning, and for some strange reason, I feel my body needing to be closer. Theron is a handsome wolf. So big and strong, with unnatural muscles. But then I see Gregor.
He hangs over one of the vólkin’s massive shoulders, his body slack like a rag doll.
He looks worse than when I last saw him.
His ribs are visible beneath his torn tunic, blood crusted around his mouth and eyes, his skin pale and splotched with bruises.
He looks like a man who’s been to the edge of death and clawed his way back.
My stomach churns at the sight. What happened to him?
Seeing him like this, so small and fragile among the giant vólkins, makes me . . . need to protect him. He’s human. He’s my kind.
Theron’s eyes soften as his gaze meets mine. There’s something magnetic about him, a pull that I can’t seem to resist. Half a day apart feels like too long.
Will this connection ever weaken?
When Mother would leave for days, I’d throw myself into preparing for her return—cleaning the house, tending to her roses, cooking her a warm meal. That ache of missing her, the joy of her return, it felt overwhelming back then. But this . . . of course this is different.
Am I falling for him?
The question is so out of place. Right now, it’s the last thing I should be thinking about.
When Theron’s gaze shifts to Gregor, all tenderness vanishes. His face hardens with distrust. It’s in the way his jaw tightens, in the way his broad shoulders stiffen. He despises Gregor, sees him as someone who shouldn’t be here. Not in ávera. Not near me. His face says it all.
Theron made it clear before that sparing Gregor was a mistake. And yet, Gregor is here, barely clinging to life, surrounded by beings we were told to hate.
I understand that fear. I remember it from the first time I saw Theron, and then ávera. The feeling of being so small, so out of place, fragile among powerful wolves. Walking into ávera for the first time, surrounded by deadly beasts.
It overwhelmed me then, and I see that same fear in Gregor now. His eyes, wide with terror, flick back and forth between the vólkins as if he’s trying to determine which one might kill him.
ívar, the warrior who holds him, unceremoniously drops Gregor to the ground at my feet. The sound of his body hitting the dirt makes me jolt, and a flash of anger burns within me at the roughness of it all. He’s already suffered enough.
Beside me, Theron crosses his arms. He doesn’t trust Gregor. Not one bit.
Gregor groans in pain when he hits the earth but doesn’t stay down long. Shivering, he crawls toward my feet, his bloody hands leave streaks in the dirt as he drags himself forward. The sight of it makes my heart clench.
“P-please . . .” His voice is so weak. “Please, you have to listen to me.”
Oh, poor thing.
I crouch and offer him a gentle smile. “It’s alright, Gregor. You’re safe here.”
But as I speak, the tension rises around me. Some vólkins grunt, their eyes dark and judgmental. Theron’s irritation radiates off him, his gaze never leaving Gregor.
I take a slow breath and focus back on Gregor. “What happened to you?” My voice is calm, but I can’t ignore the knot forming in my stomach. I need to understand.
Gregor hesitates, his eyes on mine as his pupils dilate. His lips quiver as he speaks. “I-I was captured.”
I frown. “Captured? By whom?”
His eyes lower to the ground, and I can see him trembling. “They tortured me.”
What?
I was expecting something harsh, considering his state . . . but not this.
“Tortured?” I repeat. I instinctively reach out to touch his shoulder. “Gregor, who did this to you?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know . . . I don’t know who they were. I only heard them call themselves the Shadow Guild.”
I frown again. The Shadow Guild? I’ve never heard of them.
“Who are they?”
“I don’t know.” His voice is frantic. “They—they didn’t show their faces. Just shadows . . . moving in the darkness, asking questions I couldn’t answer.”
I glance at Elder A?na, but even she looks troubled by his news. The vólkins stir behind me, muttering among themselves, clearly as unsettled as I am.
“Why would they capture you?” I ask. “What did they want from you?”
Gregor’s face pales even further. “They—they kept asking about you. About ávera.”
This isn’t good. Someone knows of me. ávera is a known legend, vólkins a popular topic to discuss and condemn. But the fact that someone knows of me specifically raises alarms. I can’t help but glance at Theron, who’s watching Gregor with a look of barely contained fury.
“They wanted to know how to find you,” Gregor continues, struggling to hold it together. “But I didn’t know anything. I swear, I didn’t tell them anything! I didn’t even know how to get back here until I—until I stumbled into the forest.”
My hand drops from his shoulder as I straighten up. There is no question we might be talking about the tsar’s men. Unless there’s a force I’ve never heard of. The Shadow Guild.
I keep my voice steady as I say, “I believe you, Gregor. We’ll keep you safe.”
The vólkins grunt again, unimpressed with his story.
They have been in this place their whole lives, and the only human they know is me.
As much as Elder A?na taught them about humans, it is not enough to know the politics of my kind.
Our system works differently from theirs, and while they want to disagree with me, I know better.
Their growls reverberate through the air, and Gregor flinches. He looks up at me, his eyes pleading, darting nervously toward the surrounding vólkins.
The silence that follows is loud. Theron is staring at Gregor with cold, unforgiving eyes.
Elder A?na says, “Leadership isn’t about making easy decisions, Ethereal Lidé?en. It’s about standing by the ones you make.”
She’s right. I spared Gregor’s life once. I need to stand by that choice, even if it’s difficult. Even if it brings tension. Especially if it brings tension. “Gregor will stay in ávera. We’ll see to it that he heals properly.”
“No.”
I blink, taken aback by the sharpness of Theron’s tone.
“He will not roam ávera freely. He’ll be locked up until we decide what to do with him. He’s a danger, Noel. We don’t know what he’s capable of or who might come looking for him.”
His words sting. The vólkins shift, their eyes moving uncomfortably between Theron and me. They’ve never seen us in disagreement like this before.
Neither have I.
I just stare at Theron as the tension pulls tight between us.
He’s not just protecting me. He’s protecting ávera, and I know he’s right.
Gregor could be a threat, even if he doesn’t seem like one.
I clench my jaw. I don’t want to undermine Theron either, but I can’t let him completely take control. He will kill Gregor.
After a brief pause, I nod. “Very well. Gregor will be kept under guard until we decide his fate.”
Theron doesn’t respond. The warmth I felt when I first saw him coming through the trees, that connection . . . it’s now replaced by distance. I hate it.
I turn my attention back to Gregor who’s still trembling at my feet. His fate is uncertain, but for now, he’s alive. I spared him for a reason.
But did I really make the right choice?