Chapter 5 #2
An officiant stepped forward, dressed in full black.
He unrolled a large scroll and lifted his chin. "Let the proceedings begin." His voice carried effortlessly through the hall. "Presiding over today's tribunal are the Twelve Magistrates of the Citadel, guardians of law and order in the Kingdom of Galaythia."
One by one, he introduced them, beginning with the eldest seated at the center of the dais before moving down the line. The names meant little to me. I was too distracted by the pounding of my heart in my throat.
When he finished introductions, his gaze moved back to the scroll. "We gather this day to hear the case brought before the Citadel against Wolfe Nightblade, Crown Prince of Galaythia."
The chamber seemed to grow colder.
"The accused stands charged with the murder of Dreynthor Nightblade, acting Regent of Galaythia, and with the unlawful use of Deathwalker magic resulting in his death," the officiant continued.
I clenched my hands together to keep them from shaking.
"The tribunal shall determine whether the accused acted with intent, whether he remains a threat to the realm, and whether he possesses the capacity to stand judgment under the influence of the Deathwalker curse."
Gods, there it was.
The real question.
Not whether Wolfe had killed Dreynthor. But whether there was enough of Wolfe left to be judged.
“Bring forward the accused,” the oldest magistrate spoke. His name was Artemyss.
My heart stopped as the officiant waved a hand and a swirling fog of blackness tinged with purple streaks appeared.
Within it, a glass case took form and inside…
Gods, as the fog parted, I saw what was inside. Wolfe.
But the Deathwalker form he’d taken looked nothing like it had when he’d unleashed it before. There was no ghostly skeleton. And no part of him that felt like him.
Shadows poured from Wolfe's body in slow, endless streams, coiling around him. They clung to him like robes woven from smoke. Around his head, the shifting tendrils gathered into the suggestion of a hood. Nothing about it was solid, yet the shape remained.
He looked more similar to the wraith I’d summoned on the night of the Phantom Moon. Just more menacing and powerful.
More like death.
He’d finally become Death.
Everyone stared. I knew they saw the monster. But when I looked at him, all I saw was my husband. My mate.
I didn’t care what was happening. I just wanted him out of here. I wanted him back and whole, and mine.
I missed those big blue eyes, those loving arms around me, his voice, and the way he loved me so fiercely he willingly gave up a hundred years of his life just to save my soul.
I missed him. And I hated, hated, hated that we were here in this place, with these people, and their laws and judgment for things they wouldn’t be able to comprehend.
Artemyss straightened in his seat.
The hall fell silent.
His gaze lingered on Wolfe before moving to the gathered spectators.
"This tribunal acknowledges the extraordinary nature of the matter before us.
We gather not only to determine the circumstances surrounding the death of Dreynthor Nightblade, but to examine a condition for which no precedent exists within the records of the Citadel.
" His gaze settled on Wolfe once more. "The tribunal recognizes that the accused is presently unable to speak in his own defense. Therefore, by authority of the Citadel, Bastian Crowthorne, second-in-command of the King’s Guard and Bloodsworn, has been appointed representative of the accused.
He shall answer questions on his behalf where possible. "
Bastian bowed. His expression remained calm, though I knew him well enough to see the tension beneath it.
Artemyss inclined his head. "Do you accept this responsibility?"
"I do," Bastian replied with confidence.
"This tribunal shall first determine three matters.
" His gaze swept across the room. "Whether Dreynthor Nightblade's death was unlawful. Whether Wolfe Nightblade remains in possession of reason despite the progression of the Deathwalker curse. And whether he constitutes a threat to the realm. Let us deal with the first matter. Bastian Crowthorne, how well would you say you know the accused?”
“He’s like a brother to me. We were practically born together.” Bastian spoke with pride.
“As his second-in-command, have you ever come across instances where Lord Nightblade acted recklessly or lost his temper?”
“I would say no, but that question is a matter of opinion. We are the most skilled warriors in Galaythia. We’ve lived through countless wars and battles. You don’t achieve those sorts of things by not being reckless when you need to be.”
“Fair point. Next question. How would you describe the relationship between Wolfe and his uncle? Many have said it was strained. Would you agree?”
“Yes, I would agree.”
No one could paint their relationship any other way.
“Would you say that it was so strained, death was the only answer?”
“Not at all.”
Artemyss leaned forward and looked Bastian right in the eye. “Bastian Crowthorne, answer me this: do you believe Wolfe Nightblade killed his uncle?”
“No. I do not.”
I focused on Bastian, and I was surprised. Bastian looked like he truly believed in Wolfe’s innocence. It made me feel guilty that I couldn’t be sure.
On the one hand, I knew Wolfe had wanted Dreynthor dead. But he was keeping his uncle alive to lead him to more clues about his father’s death. He’d wanted evidence and he got it. And that’s why I wasn’t sure.
“Please explain your reasoning.” Artemyss levelled Bastian with a hard stare.
“If Wolfe had wanted Dreynthor dead, there would have been no mystery.
Wolfe Nightblade is many things. Stubborn.
Reckless on occasion. Protective to a fault.
But he has never been secretive in matters of duty.
" Bastian's gaze swept across the tribunal.
"If he believed Regent Dreynthor guilty of a crime worthy of death, he would have brought that information to the Bloodsworn first. To me.
To Alaric. To Garrick. He would have sought witnesses and evidence. "
We exchanged curious glances. It was true. That’s exactly what Wolfe would have done.
"And if all else failed, he would have challenged him openly," Bastian added.
A murmur moved through the chamber.
"Wolfe is not an assassin. He is a prince.
If he wanted his uncle dead, he would not have hidden behind shadows and secrecy.
He would have looked him in the eye and made his intentions known.
" Bastian sat straighter. "More importantly, Your Honors, Wolfe Nightblade had absolutely nothing to gain from killing Dreynthor. "
Nothing but justice. Even so, he’d still want him around to lead us to the bigger threat.