Chapter 29 #3
Despite my holding the undesirable title of ephemeral, he didn’t seem to harbor the same disdain for me as the others did.
Offering an unexpectedly gentle smile once in front of me, he said, “Do you have more you wish to offer, Takara Bennett of Illinois?” He announced my location like I was a diplomat from a foreign land. Technically, I guess I was.
“Cirrian’s dispute with Diehle was my fault. Diehle was”—the word murdered got lodged in my throat—“handled because he had broken our oath and was hurting me. My life was in jeopardy. It wasn’t my life he wanted to claim, it was me. He’d indicated he wanted me in his home as his pet.”
Lips, once set in stiff indifference, now curved downward into frowns and a few glowers.
The woman who chastised Cirrian stood, a sneer lifting a corner of her lip.
Studying Cirrian’s face, her posture relaxed.
I wasn’t confident that I’d changed all their minds, but it was apparent I had hers.
It may have been more than just her because a wave of magical energy pulled the oxygen from the room.
A constricting lace of warmth spooled around my body.
From their reassuring looks, I guessed they were giving me some type of magical hug or pat.
It was itchy and annoying, and I wished they’d stop. It wasn’t comforting and was simply a reminder of the immense magic.
“That is unfortunate”—Lord Zyran paused, searching for a better way to address me—“Lady Bennett.”
Don’t like that one. “Kara is fine.”
He smiled, repeating the name softly to himself as if he was given a special privilege. His smile widened. “As you wish, Kara.”
His eyes chilled over, smothering the warmth he’d extended to me as he turned toward Cirrian. Everyone else followed his lead. If they were waiting for Cirrian to plead for leniency, from his stoic expression, it was unlikely to come.
Lord Zyran’s steps were measured and resounding as he approached Cirrian. He was careful to keep distance between them. “Will you not beg for your life?” he asked.
Silence.
“You are bound to Kara?”
More silence.
A cruel pleasure flitted across Zyran’s face. “You did this to her because?” Lord Zyran clearly knew the reason, and this was just an exercise in humiliation to prove Cirrian was reckless, showcase his disregard for their rules, and cement his fate. And their harshest sentence.
Cirrian nodded. “Because I believed she was an ashinwa.”
His admission punctured the thick silence. Collective gasps were followed by more silence as they scrutinized me the way scientists would an insect.
“You brought one to this realm,” Zyran scoffed. “You must have gotten over Annessa’s hatred and long-held disdain for the likes of them.”
Cirrian turned away. Inhaling a slow breath, he held it. Closing his eyes, he released it. The exchange had been closer to a slap than a comment.
Lord Zyran’s eyes trailed back to the guards in a polite request for me to return to where I’d been initially stationed. I doubted it would be as polite if he had to ask a second time.
After I stepped backward to my original sequestered position, the guards quickly assumed their positions in front of me but left me more space to move. I didn’t know if it was a courtesy or their understanding that if I needed to get back to Cirrian, I would.
“While your admiration for the lycanthropes is symbolic, mine is real. Ashinwas are omni-magic and may possess the ability to free them. We’ve adopted the same hate that Annessa had for them and have overlooked their immense magical abilities,” Cirrian countered.
“Then why were you found at the Laytherium and not the place of their imprisonment?” someone else demanded, earning him a searing glare.
Minutes ticked by without Cirrian providing an answer. The number of times he’d glanced back at the door led me to believe he knew his fate and was making an escape plan.
“I haven’t been through Spellrend,” I admitted, surprising no one. There was something so insidious about them asking questions for which they already had answers.
“No Spellrend means no access to magic. She’s no more use to us than any ephemeral.
” Zyran’s features folded into a glower that he fixed on Cirrian with incendiary assessment.
Cirrian’s typical arrogance had reasserted itself, and he was tracking Zyran’s movements the way a predator does before he pounces.
Zyran stopped directly in front of Cirrian and nodded at one of the guards. The guard left, returning after a few minutes, his wings still extended, and carrying a sheathed knife that he handed to Zyran.
Zyran slowly unsheathed it from the worn leather, revealing a cerulean hue over the silver blade.
Sigils wound around the handle and over the top of it.
It was a beautiful weapon. From Zyran’s malicious expression and the steely silence that engulfed the room, I knew there wasn’t anything beautiful about it.
Zyran studied it before placing it a few inches from Cirrian’s neck.
Nahela bowed her head. Sayier’s eyes blinked rapidly, perhaps to fight back tears.
The emissary whose mind I believed I’d changed, parted her lips.
Snapping her mouth shut, she shook her head and turned away.
A smirk coasted over Cirrian’s lips, and I sent up a prayer that I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.
He moved closer to the blade. Maybe it was an advantage.
The closer he was, the harder the force needed to cause damage.
But they were deities with immense strength.
It would take very little to do damage. And the cuffs restricted Cirrian’s strength.
“Nothing deters you from doing as you wish, does it?” Zyran asked.
“Shall I pose the same question to you?”
Lord Zyran’s face flushed and something passed over it. Annoyance definitely. But something else. Searching the room with my eyes, I tried to make sense of the politics and hierarchy. It was clear Lord Zyran hated Cirrian, but I couldn’t determine why.
He placed the blade on Cirrian’s neck. Cirrian’s jaw clenched tight enough to make diamonds from coal. The smell of burning flesh wafted toward me.
“Stop!” I yelled, navigating the small space between the guards and sprinting toward Cirrian and Lord Zyran before anyone could stop me.
Covering Lord Zyran’s hand, I guided it away from Cirrian.
Judging from the collective mumbles and complaints, I’d broken a plethora of rules of propriety.
I didn’t care. Whether it was shock at my audacity or dismay at my disregard for their rules or maybe he’d never been challenged, Zyran moved.
Lifting to my toes, I cradled Cirrian’s face, examining his skin and the additional cut Zyran made when I touched his hand.
Cirrian was having difficulty relaxing his jaw. My fingers gently stroked it but it offered no relief. I rested my face next to his, ignoring the spectacle I was making. “Can you just give in to him? He just wants you to show some remorse. Please.”
I blinked back tears, hating everything about this. The rules, the demand for submission, this faux trial, and Cirrian’s defiance and disregard for the rules. Everyone was culpable, and I understood. Which is what I hated the most about this situation.
“If he hasn’t been sentenced, can he be allowed to heal himself?” I was sure he’d be sentenced to death, but seeing him struggle to hide the pain from the dagger felt cruel and unnecessary. Which had been the point.
“Please,” I added.
Zyran smiled, his eyes bouncing between me and Cirrian.
He nodded at one of the guards, who I expected would remove Cirrian’s binding and allow him to heal himself.
Instead, the guard’s fingers hovered over the area, the skin meshing, the seared skin turning a pink fleshy color before returning to Cirrian’s olive tone.
Cirrian’s face wouldn’t show it, but relief flooded his eyes.
“Thank you,” I said to Zyran, hoping my voice or expression didn’t reveal how much of an asshole I thought he was.
Zyran’s callousness and malicious intent was overshadowed by a spark that widened his smile and produced a measure of contentment in his face that I hadn’t seen before. With quiet confidence, he moved toward me and extended his hand, directing me to my previous position behind the guards.
At least he was polite in telling me he was tired of my nonsense.
He watched until I was back in my spot.
Quickly returning his attention to Cirrian, the gleam in his eyes was malicious. It swept in my direction and quickly returned to its target. “Have we asked too much of you?”
“We avoided the theft of magic and our eventual annihilation because of the lycans of Gyaneth. I’ve honored them and their contribution and made it a priority to find a way to release them.
Now that the draveths are no longer an immediate threat, you have formed new alliances since their exodus and moved on.
My appreciation isn’t as fleeting as yours. ”
Zyran scoffed. “Nor is it fully authentic. When guilt is the driver of your dedication, it’s not genuine appreciation. Releasing them won’t bring Goddess Annessa back or absolve you of your role in her death.”
Cirrian glanced at me but quickly returned his attention to Zyran.
What was his role in Goddess Annessa’s death?
“I repeat, what do you have to say for yourself that can persuade us to be lenient?” There was a pause before us. Clearly, he considered himself the purveyor of justice. The final determiner of Cirrian’s fate.
“There is nothing I can say that will make you change your mind. Especially since you’ve already made your decision. Anything else will be for show.”