Chapter 28
As I clung to those thoughts, allowing them to lift the shadow of darkness that lingered, Nahela knocked and simultaneously entered the bedroom.
The plastic smile was still firmly in place, offering patience and congeniality reserved for their guest in the lovely prison.
“Come,” she pressed, urging me to follow.
Walking with brisk and businesslike efficiency, she led me through a series of corridors, our steps echoing in the emptiness.
Diluted, dwindling silver light spilled through round stained-glass windows.
The building seemed to be an amalgam of palace and citadel.
Nahela walked as if she wanted to keep a few paces between us.
I was led down two spiral staircases, the air crisping with each turn.
The last staircase opened into a hallway that looked excavated from the structure’s foundations: rough-hewn stone, torch sconces that flickered with magical blue instead of flame.
It was aggressively chilly. The hall ended in a single iron door decorated with what I assumed were protection spells or to block the use of magic.
A window at the center had a metal screen.
After Nahela’s three sharp knocks on the door, the screen was pulled back.
Relief flooded me at the sight of Cirrian’s intense amber contrarian eyes.
As if I believed a day in prison would break him.
They immediately moved past her to me, sliding over me in a quick assessment.
“Hi,” I said with a wave too whimsical and casual for the dreadful situation.
“She wanted to see you,” Nahela stated.
“I gathered that much,” he said. I glared. He grinned. Cirrian should have wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see him.
“You must have been just as enthusiastic to see me as well. That could be the only explanation for why you are still here.” He directed his comment to Nahela. Her pleasant mien dropped, narrow eyes searing at him.
“Such a prickly beast,” she muttered. “Move from the door.”
Unlocking the door with a series of sharp movements, she then took hold of my arm and guided me roughly into the cell, closing the door behind me and mumbling something about being back soon.
“You really need to be nicer. I’ll be the one who pays for your rude disrespect,” I chastised, looking around the chambers that were nicer than the outside had led me to believe.
Larger and nicer than some apartments. A single table held a dark ceramic mug and a sheaf of paper, next to it a chair with worn velvet cushioning.
Three books stood upright on a tiny shelf hammered into the rock, their spines blank as if the scribe who’d bound them thought titles encouraged escape.
The walls were bare, with only a nail above the bed and the outline of where an old tapestry or painting had hung.
Shadows from the restless movement of torchlight moved over the walls.
Even the air was nicer here, less dense.
I let the door’s echo die before turning to him.
He sized me up, chin lifted, and I could see the shifting of his mouth—a tick, a hesitation. I wanted desperately for him to admit he’d spent at least part of his time here waiting and expecting me. There was nowhere for him to put his hands, so he crossed them in front of him.
I couldn’t help myself. I reached for him. The moment my fingers touched his sleeve, he rested his fingers against it.
“You’re worried about me?” Doubt threaded through his voice.
“How can I not be?” Searching his face, I saw the spark of dark mischief but not the concern, fear, and remorse I’d expected. “Sayier said you could be sentenced to death.” My voice was a hollow whisper that I didn’t even recognize.
His fingers traced an outline along my hand. I was no longer sure if the need for contact was to comfort him or me.
Guiding me to sit in the chair, he sat on the bed. The distance between us was too much, so I scooted it closer to him.
“What do you need me to say to help you?”
He laughed. It wasn’t bitter like someone running on hope and anger. Nor was it like someone who’d conceded to their fate. His stolid expression didn’t give me any feedback.
“Nothing.”
“I don’t understand you,” I admitted. Leaning into him and resting my forehead on his shoulder, I inhaled his scent. Nothing about it had changed, and with his magic probably inhibited, his body hummed with subdued energy.
“I killed Diehle and performed magic to nullify a collection. How can you spin this in my favor?”
Shifting from him, I sat up taller. The muscle in his jaw ticked, but it settled back into his emotionless expression.
“Little minx, is it my life you’re worried about or yours?
If I were to unbind you from me, would you still be this concerned about my life?
” The heavy curiosity in his gaze made it difficult to hold.
“Yes, and I’d still release the lycans because I promised you and it’s the right thing to do.”
He didn’t take his eyes off me as he repositioned himself over me, giving me an unexpected kiss on the cheek that was more sensual than the kiss we’d shared.
His shrug of indifference caused an eruption of anger in me that I couldn’t contain.
Launching at him, I shoved him. Grabbing my hands, he jerked me to him, turning until I was flat on his bed, him crouched over me.
“There she is.” His lips stretched into a wolfish grin.
“I don’t like you broken,” he whispered against my cheek. “I adore this side of you.”
His eyes were dancing with that dark delight that convinced me he was some weirdo masochist.
“I don’t have time for your brand of weirdness. We need to get you out of this mess.”
Pushing him away from me, I immediately missed the heat of his body over mine when he repositioned until we were face to face.
With warm lips pressed against my cheek, his tongue was a tantalizing lave over my skin, leaving trails of small heat along its path until he made his way to my neck.
Everything felt too much and too little all at once.
No one should command that type of emotion.
He moved me onto my back and settled in behind me, his hand nestling just under my breast. Hyperaware that if he moved just an inch up, I could experience the intimate touch that I desperately wanted, I tried to turn to face him. But he kept me locked in position.
“Tell me what you know, Kara. And I’ll fill in the rest.” The level of confidence this deity had in the face of probable death was frustratingly annoying. I wanted to yell at him but couldn’t find the energy to do so.
“The only information they gave me was that you could be sentenced to death.”
He grunted. Without the benefit of seeing his expression, I had no idea what to take from the sound. It felt dismissive.
“What happens next?”
“There’s a hearing and I will state my case to the Bavelon,” he said. “Then they’ll render their judgment.”
“There has to be something I can say to help.” Again, I attempted to turn, but he kept me in place. “Do they hold the same gratitude for the lycans’ contribution to the war as you do?”
“Of course. The outcome could have been quite different.”
“Then they’ll understand why you killed Diehle and saved Amelia. In your favor, you retrieved the magic from Vina.”
“The magic is locked, not retrieved. She’d have to die for us to retrieve it.”
Sucking in a breath, I held it. I hoped that wasn’t the only option we had.
Despite Amelia disavowing her mother, she still loved her and wouldn’t be prepared to allow her to be killed.
I suspected, like I was, that she was holding on to a tendril of hope that Vina would find her humanity and change.
It was a seed of hope, but I hoped it would turn into more.
“Bavelon, they’re your governing body?” I speculated.
“Yes.”
“Are they reasonable?”
He made another sound, and this time I wasn’t going to let it go. I didn’t respond to his nudge to keep me in place and turned to face him. “I don’t know what that means.”
“As a collective, they are magically stronger and are responsible for our fate. They make the determination of life and death. I don’t believe they are power hungry, but they do possess an often-uncompromising belief in our role in the Umbryth.
Justice is judged based on perspective,” he said.
“If I am sentenced to death, Sayier and Larkin will consider it unjust, because I’m their sibling and deserve leniency.
But others who are familiar with me may believe I’ve been given mercy too often and death would be a just end. ”
He looked down at me and whatever he saw placed a small smile on his face. He leaned down and kissed the tip of my nose. “Do you have any other questions?”
I had a million and none. Watching as his eyes grew heavy, I had no idea how to feel. How could he sleep when his life was on the line? His ease should have pushed me into relaxing, but I felt like I had to worry for both of us.
“Why do you believe worrying about this will change anything?” he whispered.
Pressing my lips together, I pushed back my recommendation for us to establish an exit plan if he didn’t get a favorable sentence.
“Can you appeal if you’re found guilty?”
“This isn’t a trial to determine my guilt. I’m guilty. It’s a hearing to determine the penalty.”
His eyes fluttered even more, and he let them close. “Sleep,” he urged softly. When he gave me some space, I rolled over onto my back and pressed into his chest, the heat of his body warming me, and stared into the darkness, knowing that sleep wouldn’t come as easily for me as it had for him.
Awakened by pounding on the door, I found Cirrian looking at me. His eyes slowly ran over my face. Searching. Maybe assessing.
“How long have you been awake?” I asked.
He grunted a non-answer. Before I could ask anything else, a tray slid through a door I had missed earlier. Cirrian pressed his lips to my forehead and sat up.