Chapter 8 #2
Polina piloted me along, giving me no time to take in any more than the most basic of details.
Up three steps, through double doors, past a cluster of students, and into a gloomy entranceway where vaulted windows let in meager light.
Then, through an arch into a network of corridors supported by high ceilings and wooden beams, with walls lined with gilded frames depicting scenes I had no time to study.
Was the library that housed the Libra Veritas beneath this building, or was it on the mainland? I’d need to make discreet inquiries soon.
“In here,” Polina said, shoving open a door and hurrying into a long room filled with cushioned benches. A platform housed a long judicial desk stretching along the back. Two witness boxes stood on either side of the platform.
“Seriously? I’m a criminal now?”
“You are your bloodline,” Polina snapped.
“In which case, your bloodline must be filled with sour-faced bitches.”
She gaped at me, and I smiled. Her cruel words were nothing compared to what I’d already been subjected to out in the big bad world.
She snapped her mouth shut, eyes narrowing to slits. “I hope they execute you.”
“What? That isn’t even a possibility.”
An unsettling glint bloomed in her eyes. “You’re so clueless, it’s pathetic.”
“And you like to fuck other people’s boyfriends, so…yeah, whatever.” It was a lame comeback, but it was all I could muster with a racing pulse and a whirring mind. What the fuck did she mean? What had I missed?
“See you around…” Polina said, smirking. “Or not.” She retreated from the room, leaving me standing between the witness boxes. Like hell would I get into either. I was not a criminal on trial.
Once she was gone, the silence was intrusive. Hell, I felt intrusive, being here in this magnificent room, with all its polished redwood features and tall, elegantly arched windows. The view was nothing but ocean and heavy gray skies. We must be facing away from the mainland.
I crossed to the judicial desk, the top of which was a head higher than me. Deliberate, no doubt, to make me feel small. Even the witness boxes were lower than the desk, ensuring that anyone unfortunate enough to stand in them would feel small and powerless. Yeah…I’d pass.
A door behind the platform opened, and several people filed into the room.
First came an older gentleman in a tweed suit and waistcoat.
His wispy hair was swept over his bald spot in an attempt to hide it.
Next was a rugged-looking man in a loose woollen sweater and baggy cotton trousers.
He was significantly taller than the older man and had the kind of hunch to his back that suggested that he’d spent a lifetime stooping to engage with people.
His short, dark hair was speckled with silver, indicating that he was probably older than he looked.
Two women followed: The first, petite and slender, sporting a pixie haircut, and the other athletic in build with an angular face that was both stern and beautiful at the same time.
They both wore the neutral colors of the Arcanus, a cream blouse with a fitted waistcoat, but the petite one paired hers with an ankle-length skirt, and the athletic one sported loose cotton trousers tucked into ankle boots.
Their arrival brought a heaviness to the air, one I recognized from the Border House.
Power.
The kind that lent not only weight, but also a sharp scent to the air. Goose bumps broke out along my arms, and I resisted the urge to rub them.
The door swung shut for a beat, but opened again to admit a dark-haired woman with almond eyes and the kind of face that artists would beg to paint.
She wore a long flowing black dress cinched at the waist by a wide belt.
She was the first to look directly at me, and her frosty gaze took me momentarily off guard.
But my surprise was misplaced, of course these people hated me. I was an unwelcome visitor here. Asking for something they didn’t want to give me. I respected the almond-eyed woman’s honest reaction—easier to deal with than fake smiles and faux respect.
The Coterie members settled into their seats, and I was suddenly the focus of attention.
My palms started to sweat, but I resisted the urge to wipe them on my trousers.
Showing weakness in any form wouldn’t help my case.
This panel needed to believe I was worthy of a spot at the Academy.
There was no place for the weak-willed or fragile-bodied on these grounds.
A soft vibration filled the air, and the hairs at my nape quivered as something inside me tugged with the same strange yearning that had come over me outside the Border House.
The yearning to taste this power. To feel it rushing through me.
I’d been around magic before, of course, but never this much. Never this…potent.
They sat, unspeaking. Waiting.
For what?
Was I expected to address them now? Start pleading my case?
My gaze flicked over them, one by one. The wispy-haired guy with the kind eyes looked small beside the others. There was a dullness about him, the kind often noticeable when a human was in the vicinity of a supernal, which meant he was probably human.
The big guy beside him, who had his attention fixed on a point over my head, looked like he worked out—a lot. With weights. He had the bulk often seen on Therianthropes, either that or he was an Ironhart.
The petite woman beside him might have been beautiful, if not for the sour twist of her mouth. She played with a ring on her middle finger. The emerald gem winked as it caught the light. A focus? It could be. Which would make her a sorcerer.
Beside her, the angular-faced woman watched me with a steady gaze that was almost unnerving. She carried no focus, but her Arcanus clothing meant she must be an incantor.
The almond-eyed beauty on the end was a mystery. She looked too regal to be a Therianthrope. Her red lips and dark eyes hinted at Haematophage, but she didn’t have the telltale pallor to her skin, and her outfit wasn’t what I’d expect. Haematophages favored leather in their ensembles. Hmm…
Five Coterie members, but six seats. They were waiting for someone.
The door opened a moment later, confirming my assessment, and Vitra stepped inside. His presence sucked some of the air out of my lungs, despite the fact that he didn’t even glance my way.
He looked chic in black slacks, a turquoise shirt, and black braces clipped to his waistband. His sleeves were rolled up like last night, but half his dark hair was slicked back and secured in a bun, leaving his bone structure fully exposed to be admired.
“Are we ready to begin?” the wispy-haired man asked the others.
Murmurs of assent drifted down the line.
I forced my jaw to relax and stared up at them. Waiting.
“Miss Onyx,” old wispy said. “My name is Walter Regent.
My family is one of the founding families of Nightsbridge Academy.
These are my colleagues and members of the Superna Coterie: Xander Crax, Tower Master for the Therianthropes.
Portia Reign and Heidi Embercrest, joint Tower Masters for the Arcanus.
Constance Selethis, Tower Master for the Haematophages, and Yash Vitra, Tower Master for the Unwoven.
Yash… His name was Yash… Wait…had he also said Reign? Portia Reign. Sorcerer. I knew her, or knew of her, because I’d been a Reign once. For a little while. This woman, Portia, was my stepfather’s sister, although I’d never met her.
She knew who I was, though. Knew the truth about her brother’s illicit marriage, and the curl of her lip told me that it still disgusted her.
It was hard to believe she was related to my ex-stepfather.
He’d been a soft-spoken, gentle man, with warm, open features, and this woman, with her pointy chin and flint eyes, didn’t resemble him at all.
I offered her a closed-lipped smile, and her mouth pinched as if she’d tasted something sour. I imagined punching her in that pinched mouth of hers. Imagined the spray of blood a good, hard hit would produce. Maybe I’d knock out some of her teeth.
“We have your petition,” Walter said, snapping me out of my blissful thoughts.
“And the Lex terms by which you made it. They clearly state that bloodlines must be preserved and extinction prevented. You are the last of your bloodline, and so it may seem that you are within your rights to petition the block on your bloodline’s power be removed.
However, I believe you may be unaware of the full terms of the sentence passed all those years ago. ”
My scalp prickled, and Polina’s smirking face filled my mind. I hope they execute you. The possibility that I’d made an oversight spawned a fist in my chest.
What had I missed? “What more is there? What are the full terms? I’ve checked the written accounts. I didn’t see anything more than the blocking spell.”
“There is more. I assure you. Papers were signed that night and—”
“Then where are they? Why aren’t they in the official logs? I need to see them.” I was clutching at straws now, but the bubble of panic in my chest was making it hard to breathe.
I hope they execute you.
“Of course, we can get you a copy,” Walter said. “But for the purposes of this meeting, Yash Vitra will provide an eyewitness account.”
Eyewitness? Wait—he’d been there? But that would make him…old…Old Vitra…
“Yash, if you would…” Walter gestured to Vitra to begin.
“The original punishment discussed was an eye for an eye,” Vitra said. “A bloodline for a bloodline. But there’d already been so much death that we could not stomach causing any more, and so a Tardus Mors was agreed upon, along with a block on the Onyx power.”
Tardus Mors…a slow death? A prickling sensation crawled across my scalp.
They’d sentenced my bloodline to a slow death. A sentence that ended with me. Which meant, they had no obligation to give me my power. So why bring me here? Dark foreboding bloomed in my gut.