Chapter Sixteen #3
“They’ll go through the same process,” Eloric answers with a dismissing tone. “They’ll be found guilty and they’ll be removed. No one is exempt.”
“Even when a demon ascends your High Throne and you’re made to swear your oath to her?” I ask, holding his stare.
Eloric remains silent.
“There is a distinct difference between a sworn oath to protect our people and signing a demonic contract,” Ganus replies.
For a split second, my eyes venture right, meeting the dark blue eyes of the Sovereign Queen beside him. Sophira, Ryc had said. Ganus sits on the far end of the row, on her left.
“You’re right,” I counter, pitching forward in my seat to better view Rowen. “A contract outlines expectations and boundaries clearly. There’s no room left for interpretation. Is there, Rowen?”
Rowen chuckles. “There is not.”
“Are you implying you’re going to require the council to sign contracts once you ascend?” Eloric asks with a bitter scoff.
“Perhaps I should,” I reply. “It would prevent situations such as this one. I can draft terms involving immediate death to those who do make conscious decisions to endanger their people.”
Call me a tyrant.
Strengthen the argument against my ascension for me.
Give me the option of living out my years in Ollora.
Eloric’s jaw tightens as he swings his gaze to Ryc. “Alaryc—”
“This council was duly warned we weren’t interested in taking the High Throne,” he interrupts. “How Ves chooses to keep her word will always carry my support.”
A curling, disgusted sneer appears on Eloric’s face.
“I’m nothing if not a demon of her word,” I say with a smile. “I consider this ascension my punishment for fighting to keep your people alive when you, their kings, wouldn’t. Not until it benefited you to do so.”
A few low murmurs rise in the room as Fenryn starts to laugh.
“This entire escapade has proven Rowen is capable of making decisions benefiting his people, not damning them, despite demonic influence,” Darin retorts.
I would be hard pressed to make such a claim.
But I’m here in defense of Rowen, not condemnation.
“You would support Rowen’s retention,” another male voice, one I’ve yet to hear says.
It stems from a crimson clad Sovereign King sitting beside his crimson clad queen on the right of Eloric. Eloric appears to be the only king on the other side of the aisle without his mate.
“You do not, Oryn?” Fenryn asks.
Oryn… the Sovereign King of Corvallis.
“Should we all step down now pending Ryc and Ves’ ascension?” Fenryn adds, shrugging. “Surrender complete control to the High Rulers?”
Ryc chuckles as I turn wide eyes upon the gargantuan fae.
“Your fatalistic theatrics hold no ground here, Fenryn,” Ganus drawls flatly.
“Have we not wasted enough of this morning?” Liran asks, leaning forward in his seat to peer down the line of kings. “Let us vote and be done.”
Rowen rises from his seat to stand along the bottom step of the dais, near its center. Straightening the cuffs of his sleeves he asks, “No last questions?”
Silence.
Glancing over the room, he nods.
“At this time, the floor opens for voting,” he says, clasping his hands before him. “Those in support of removing the Grayflame family from Vis’ throne, shall vote aye. Those against, shall vote nay.”
“Aeros votes nay.” Darin is the first to speak.
“Battalia votes aye.” Ganus is quick to follow.
“Corvallis votes nay,” Oryn says.
My brows raise.
An unexpected ally?
“Erus votes nay,” Ryc says, turning to offer me a small smile.
“Gersand votes aye,” Liran says.
I more than half expected Liran’s vote would fall.
“Renna votes aye,” Eloric says with an annoyed sigh.
It’s not going to be a sweeping win, but it’s going to be a win.
Thanks to Oryn.
“Sol votes nay,” Fenryn says with a beaming grin.
All eyes turn to Rowen.
“Vis votes nay.” Rowen’s vote comes as no surprise. “By voice of the High Council, the Grayflame family will remain the royal family of Vis.” Rowen barely finishes speaking before Tanila buries her face in her hands, stifling a sob.
Others stand from their seats, once again congregating in small pockets as they had when we arrived. I catch more than one glare from a pair of yellow eyes between moving bodies.
Ryc turns to me. “Our first win, little love,” he says, his voice low.
It doesn’t feel like much of a win, truth be told.
It feels more like the beginning of a convoluted and potentially abusive relationship with seven Sovereign Kings.
“Is this the kind of behavior we can expect from our High Rulers?” Eloric asks and a few faces pivot. “Offenses made by those favored swept under the rug?”
“Favored?” Fenryn laughs as he pulls himself to a stand, revealing his towering height in case it had been forgotten. “Do you hear yourself, Eloric? Ryc doesn’t favor Rowen.”
“No, but his mate does,” Eloric counters.
I favor Rowen?
“He was seen visiting her quarters the night of the eclipse,” Eloric says and I heave a tired sigh. “What dealings were made then I wonder?”
Fenryn’s arm shoots out, stopping Ryc by the chest as Ryc springs to his feet with a low growl. Eloric doesn’t flinch. Instead, his dark brow arches. Fenryn lets his arm fall.
This damn fae is blessed I do not have my innate.
I might snap his neck otherwise.
A tiny vibration races through my chest and down the length of my spine.
“Your insinuations are unfounded, Eloric,” Rowen says, giving the fae a scathing scowl. “Vestaris’ concerns that night revolved around Alaryc. She—”
“You needn’t explain, Rowen,” I interject, rising to my feet. “My business is my own. Aside from the damn ascension, I owe this council nothing.”
No.
If Rowen details the purpose of our meeting, Eloric will absolutely use it to convince the council Erus’ support of Rowen is an act of one hand washing another. While they wouldn’t be wrong, it doesn’t need to be illuminated. Not here.
Folding his arms over his chest, Fenryn adds, “Might be worthwhile to ask why you were around Ves’ quarters that night, Eloric.”
“A demon stands in our midst and you’re concerned about my actions?” Eloric laughs.
“Your actions haven’t resulted in freeing thousands of souls from demonic contracts,” Ryc counters.
“Souls freed only to find death at the hands of undead slipping through a torn veil,” Ganus replies. “Ollora isn’t the only city suffering.”
Shock sears through my veins and my eyes snap up, meeting violet ones.
Too late do I realize my mistake.
Hammering pain rips through my skull as a deafening ringing jars my ears. Ganus’ eyes grow wide as I squeeze my eyes shut, cradling my pounding head in my hands.
The relief from both the pain and sound is immediate, but my mind is left hazy and my vision unfocused. I feel as if I’ve been struck a dozen times. An arm wraps about my waist, yanking me backward—chairs fall, blurs of brown clattering against the floor as shouting fills the throne room.
There’s a flash of white light.
It doesn’t dispel the lingering haze in my vision.
“Do not!” Rowen’s voice bellows and the blurry array of colors grows still. “This is blood tithe.”