Chapter 5 #3
Artemyss cleared his throat. "Are you suggesting the accused was incapable of killing Regent Dreynthor?"
"No." The single word echoed through the chamber. "I am suggesting Wolfe Nightblade would have required a solid reason."
Artemyss leaned back and sighed. I couldn’t figure him out from his expressions. They were a mix of unreadable and flat.
I glanced across at Wolfe hovering in the glass cage. Could he hear what was happening? See us?
What did he think?
I wanted to go to him and beg him to change back. Beg him to try.
“I have noted your testimony thus far,” Artemyss said, pulling my focus back to the interrogation. “We have a character witness we’d like to bring out.” He held up a finger, and the officiant walked over to a door.
He opened it, and out walked a Fae female. She looked familiar. As she lifted her head and met my gaze, I realized I definitely recognized her. She was at the palace on the night of my marriage celebration. She was one of the servants.
What in the world did she have to say about Wolfe? Was it good or bad?
She looked away from me and followed the officiant, but there was a dull look in her eyes.
Bad.
This was bad.
Even Bastian seemed to stiffen.
She was led to a chair opposite him.
“Please give your name.” Artemyss gazed at her intently.
“It’s Marielle Fairrose, my Lord.”
“And in what capacity do you know the accused?” He studied her face.
“I work at the palace and at Dreynthor Nightblade’s manor.”
“Have you ever witnessed any disagreements between Wolfe and Dreynthor?”
“Yes. Several times. The last time was quite awful. It happened roughly a week before Wolfe’s marriage celebration.”
Blessed Mother. I was right. Bad.
“Please share the details of that last time.”
“It was after a High Table meeting. They were arguing. I heard them through the door. I would have stayed away, but I needed to run another errand. I walked in, and Wolfe was in Deathwalker form. He had his hands around his uncle’s throat and threatened to kill him.”
The room grew colder and whispers erupted across the hall in ripples, sending goose bumps over my skin.
“Are you certain of what you heard?” Artemyss checked.
“I am positive.”
“Thank you. Is there anything more you wish to tell us?”
Marielle shook her head. “No, my Lord. That is all.”
“We have no further questions for you.” He dipped his head curtly, then turned his attention back to Bastian. “Lord Crowthorne, would you like to respond to Miss Fairrose’s testimony?”
I didn’t know what Bastian was going to say to that. The world seemed to hold its breath with me as I waited.
“My only comment is that my testimony stands. As stated previously, Wolfe and Dreynthor had a strained relationship, but I do not believe he would kill him in the manner in which he died.”
“And that’s where our problem lies. You speak of Wolfe Nightblade as a brother in arms. And we have all witnessed his greatness for centuries, but I fear to say the warrior we all knew and admired is gone.”
“I don’t believe that, my Lord.”
“I don’t think it matters what you believe, Lord Crowthorne. We can see the matter at hand for ourselves.” Artemyss pointed at Wolfe and my heart shied away.
Wolfe had been hovering in the cage, but the moment Artemyss looked at him, he thrashed against the walls, letting out a guttural, blood-curdling howl that filled every corner of the room. It was as though voices from the darkest hell had been unleashed.
Everyone went silent. My heartbeat tripled, just as unsure of what to do as my mind.
Artemyss waited until the howl subsided and seemed to refocus his mind.
“It is my belief that Lord Nightblade showed signs of losing control long before this. I believe that where he may have acted reasonably before his curse, he was no longer able to do so. And this is the end result. He has become the feared Deathwalker, and now his uncle is dead.”
“Nightmother’s kiss was used to kill Dreynthor,” Bastian cut in. “That is deadly to Fae.”
“Indeed, Lord Crowthorne. But nowhere does it say that it is deadly to Deathwalkers.”
“We don’t know enough about them to make that assumption.”
“He is a creature of death and therefore immune to the things that are dangerous to us. Look at him.” He pointed again. “He’s been like this for a day over a week. There is no Fae essence left in him. And therefore, a threat to us all.”
Gods. Where was he going with this?
“We can work with the Galdrmesters and the mages to come up with something. Or even the Seer,” Bastian argued.
“I do not believe that will help. No Deathwalker has ever returned from this state, and there are no records of a known cure."
“For fuck’s sake.” Bastian balled a fist. “What are you actually saying?”
“We are not judging what Wolfe Nightblade was. We are judging the creature that stands before us now.” Artemyss settled back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
“After my review of the evidence and the testimonies given here on this day, my recommendation is that Wolfe Nightblade should be sentenced to death.”