Chapter 18
Lor
Istood in the dungeon with Wolfe, Fargus, Meera, Aoife, and the rest of the council.
Somehow Sir Arthur had also gotten involved. “Scum!” the suit of armor bellowed as he jabbed his wooden sword through the bars at Ronan. “Scoundrel! Ballywagger!”
Wolfe’s brows furrowed as someone murmured, “Ballywagger? That’s a new one.”
Ronan just stepped back, unimpressed by the sentient knight and everyone else standing in front of his cell staring at him.
Wolfe rubbed his bearded jaw as he shot me a look. “You said you killed him.”
“I know.”
It had been a relief when Aoife had followed me, when someone had finally discovered this secret that had been weighing me down.
I simply couldn’t make a choice. On the one hand, letting him live put Fairwitch Isle at risk, but on the other, killing him in cold blood .
. . it felt wrong. I’d already spilled so much blood as the Butcher of the Brotherhood.
I couldn’t stand the thought of any more crimson staining my hands.
Arthon would’ve known what to do. He would’ve made the hard choice and killed Ronan. This was just another way I’d disappoint my mentor.
No excuses. Be better. Do better.
When Aoife had said I needed to tell the council, I finally felt like I could breathe again, and now here they were.
Wolfe swore softly and other council members that surrounded us spoke in hushed whispers.
Ambrose stroked his clean-shaven jaw, his blue hair so bright in this dark, dimly lit dungeon. “Is it not obvious to anyone else that we should just kill him?” He looked around at all the faces of the council members in the dungeon. “Why is this even something we have to discuss?”
“I’ll do it.” Sir Arthur raised his wooden sword into the air. “In the name of their majesties. I’ll get the guillotine ready.”
“Sir Arthur.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “We do not use guillotines any longer.”
“We can’t just kill a man in cold blood,” Fargus said from where he perched on Wolfe’s shoulder.
Ambrose’s face twisted into a confused expression. “It’s not cold blood. He’s the enemy. He’d destroy us if he could.”
“I agree.” Aoife stepped forward, not even bothering to look at me. “We shouldn’t risk it.”
My hands balled into fists. Of course she wanted to kill him.
She was temperamental and part of this was probably her way of getting under my skin.
I’d sat next to her yesterday in this dungeon, and I’d revealed more about myself than I meant to, things I hadn’t told anyone.
I’d been too tired, too emotionally drained to care.
I’d shown her this vulnerability, and she was going to use it against me.
Ronan didn’t move, just stared at the ground. His curly black hair, unkempt, hung over his eyes.
“No,” I said, voice hard. “We keep him here for just a little longer.”
Ronan’s head snapped up at that. “I would rather die.”
“You wouldn’t,” I said, and Aoife snorted.
I whirled to face her. “Is something funny?”
“Here we go,” Ambrose muttered under his breath, but I didn’t miss the way he angled his body in front of me as if to shield Aoife.
Something burned in my chest at the sight of him feeling the need to defend her. It should be her husband defending her . . . but we’d never had a conventional marriage.
Aoife brushed her long hair over her shoulder. “Of course you would seek to tell someone else how they feel. He’s telling us he’d rather die than be made to stay a prisoner here any longer. And you’re trying to tell him he wouldn’t.”
My jaw locked. “Once he’s free, he’ll see that the wait was worth it.”
“And when will that be?” Aoife asked, fire sparking in her eyes. “You’re always so sure that you’re right, but you don’t get to decide someone else’s fate.”
Something in her tone made me pause. Her voice hitched slightly on that word: decide, and her cheeks were flushed red, and hands balled into fists at her side.
This wasn’t about Ronan. She didn’t care about him.
But I wasn’t sure it was about getting under my skin either, like I’d originally thought.
She was upset for some other reason that I couldn’t quite understand.
Ambrose grabbed Aoife’s hand, and some of the tension in her body melted. I looked away, fists clenching, and I wasn’t sure why I even cared that Ambrose was comforting her.
“I have an idea,” Fargus said, and everyone turned to look at him.
“Why don’t we let him be a prisoner with some freedom?”
Wolfe raised his brows at the owl. “What does that mean?”
Ronan eyed the owl with interest. He didn’t seem shocked by the presence of the Fair Folk, but that wasn’t a surprise. He’d seen many Fair Folk when we’d infiltrated this city together over two years ago.
“He can be a prisoner in Fairwitch Isle. We let him go free.”
“What?” I asked.
“Absolutely not,” Aoife snapped.
Wolfe looked contemplative. “We could assign a guard to him. Make sure he’s always with someone. He could have some freedom so he’s not trapped in here any longer.”
Ronan’s eyes widened, and for the first time in two years, hope lit up his face.
I rubbed my jaw, not sure I liked this plan, but it was the more humane thing to do. The right thing to do. This man hated his life so much he was asking for death.
“I still think we should ready up the guillotine,” Sir Arthur said. “A nice public execution.”
“I don’t think it’s the worst idea.” Meera curled around Aoife’s leg, tail twitching behind her.
Other council members around the room nodded in agreement.
“We’ll do a vote, then,” Aoife said. “Everyone in favor, say aye.”
The room filled with “ayes.”
So it was decided. “Then let’s set the prisoner free.”
Aoife stepped forward. “Wait. Who’s going to guard him?”