23. Accusation
ACCUSATION
ELENA – THE MATING CHAMBER
The whole chamber vibrates as the alarms sound. Red lights strobe against the ceiling and every surface—stone, towels, even the water in the pool.
Rythar’s on his feet in a single motion, dragging me with him.
He doesn’t let go, not even to dress, just scoops me up with one arm and moves to the side of the chamber.
He’s naked, but he doesn’t care. The air is sharp with a new scent.
If the mating chamber was designed for intimacy, the sudden shift is meant to kill it fast.
A seam opens in the stone. Rythar steps through, still hauling me, into a narrow corridor lined with pulsing lights.
He slams his hand against a panel. From the wall, a rack slides out with his armor.
He drops me on my feet, never taking his eyes off the corridor’s far end, and yanks the armor on in seconds.
I’m still reeling when he turns to me, voice far too calm for what I feel.
“You are safe by my side. Stay with me,” he commands.
I’m not about to argue. “Where are we going?”
Rythar answers with clipped words. “Command Center.”
He leads me down the corridor, moving fast enough that I’m breathing hard to keep up.
We reach an intersection. Two guards wait there, armored and helmeted, weapons drawn, pointed carefully away from us. Rythar grunts, and they fall in line behind us.
We take three more turns, then emerge into a chamber that’s nothing like the rest of the fortress. There’s no pretense of a primitive cover here. This is all metal and black and harsh lights. There’s a single table ringed with chairs. The air here is cool and dry.
Rythar leads me to the head of the table, plants me there with a hand on my shoulder. He stands in front of me, looming, with the two guards posted at the doors. Other warriors filter in, surrounding me.
Then Vorak enters. His armor is darker than Rythar's, a deep green-black that eats the light. He brings no warriors. He brings something else—a holographic projection.
Light gathers above the table and resolves into the shape of a seated male.
There is no chair in the projection, so it looks like he sits on nothing.
It’s not just an image. It’s a presence.
When it comes alive, the feeling of a growing storm pushes at my mind.
I know this presence. It pressed against the web in my dream.
I’m frozen, watching as the guards drop to one knee.
Rythar does not kneel. He inclines his head in a formal nod. "High Lord," Rythar says.
Vorak surveys the room, then fixes on what he can see of me behind Rythar.
“So this is your Starfallen,” he says, his voice perfectly neutral, as if he’s greeting a neighbor. “And I understand that the Stone has blessed her with a gift. One she is using to interfere with my claim to my bride.”
The guards behind me go still.
Vorak gestures toward me, never breaking eye contact. “As you are aware, contact between Starfallen brides is forbidden on Xytheos. And yet your Starfallen reaches for mine.”
“You have evidence of this?” Rythar asks coldly.
“My own bride reported the intrusion. It upsets her,” Vorak says. He angles the words away from Rythar, toward the light above the table. He didn’t come here to argue. He came to perform for the audience he brought.
Rythar’s voice stays flat. “And where is your proof? Have you brought your witness? Where is your bride, who makes this accusation?”
Vorak's expression doesn't change. “My mate does not desire to be near another warlord. You know the risks of communication between the Starfallen. It spreads instability. Doubt. What if she infects the whole system with her—” he pauses, eyes flicking to me, “with her weak ways? The Concord Council will punish her for this.”
Rythar squares his shoulders, every line of his body radiating warning. “I will discipline my mate. No one else will.”
I fight to keep my face a mask. Rythar has never mentioned anything about “disciplining” me. I bite down on my tongue to keep from saying anything.
Vorak’s gaze sharpens. “Then do it now. In front of us. Or admit she is unfit to breed the Reach. Admit she interferes with my claim to my bride.”
I stare straight ahead and keep my teeth clenched. I’ve got a lot to say to Vorak, but I know it will do more harm than good right now. Especially when he still has Sophia.
Rythar stands between me and Vorak, a wall of flesh and armor. “You still have provided no evidence for your accusations, Vorak. What is it you want as punishment? My mate to be broken? To have her as your own?”
Vorak leans back. “How can you rule the Reach if you cannot rule your own mate? I want order.” He spits the last word.
Rythar’s voice drops, dangerous. “As do I. You came here to take my bride, and yet you cannot produce your own bride, even as a witness. Where is Sophia?”
Vorak smiles. “She is where she belongs. Claimed and quiet. And she will stay that way. Even if your bride does her best to interfere.”
The projection speaks for the first time. The voice is quiet and arrives from no direction at all. “Starfallen.” The High Lord doesn’t say my name. I’m just a category. “Did you communicate with Vorak’s bride?”
“She has no access to communication devices,” Rythar says. Rythar’s arm is around my shoulder.
The room is utterly silent. I wish Dana were here. I want a lawyer. But standing between me and Vorak and the projection of the High Lord is an apex predator who would die for me—and he’s my mate.
“I haven’t seen Sophia since she was hauled off by Vorak. And like Rythar said, I don’t have access to any communication technology,” I say. Let’s see what the High Lord admits he knows about the mental network the Stone made between us.
Rythar shifts, turns to Vorak. “This is a waste of time. If you want to challenge me for the Reach, do it. If not, get out,” he growls.
Vorak is clearly furious, but Rythar doesn’t have to tell him twice. Vorak backs through the door to the Command Center.
The light above the table thins and is gone. Just like that, the High Lord’s appearance is over. The doors seal after Rythar’s men escort Vorak out. Rythar looks at the door for a moment.
I don’t dare breathe a word.
Rythar’s expression remains unchanged. To anyone watching, he maintains the image of an unshakable warlord who just shut down a Reach challenge.
I swallow. He knows I was terrified. His hand finds the back of my neck, fingers closing there.
"The matter with Vorak is handled," Rythar says. “For now.”
“For now?” I whisper.
“Contact between rulers is logged and transmitted to the Concord Council. Today it was more than a log. The High Lord attended.”
For now means not permanently. For now means there's a next time, and a time after that, and eventually Vorak or the Council or the High Lord will find the opening they need.
Rythar is stronger than anyone I've ever known, but the Concord Council isn't something he can fight with his hands or his vines or his sword.
If they decide I'm a threat to order, I don't know what he can do.
I don't know if he knows either. There's a line here I have to walk, and I'd better find it fast.
Rythar’s attention shifts outward, focused on the warriors surrounding us. With a nod to Drenz and another to a warrior whose face I don't recognize, unspoken orders ripple through the room. The others exit.
The image of the High Lord flares to life. I startle, but Rythar merely waits.
He was expecting this.
“Your vassal performs poorly,” the High Lord says.
“The era of his kind’s rule is long ended.” Rythar says. “They were engineered only for war and destruction. It is against the stability for which Xytheos was designed. He is not a ruler by my choice.”
“No. By the Stone’s.” The High Lord frowns. “Old code is not discarded while it still runs, Warlord. The Stone set Vorak where the strongest of you could contain him.”
“You know what he is.” Rythar’s voice stays level. “I cannot prove it, but he released the serpent-panther into my Reach. He wants what is mine, and he will do anything to get it. Even spend his own bride.”
“He wants. That is all Vorak has ever done. It is why he was never fit to rule a biome. It is also why he is useful where he is. His type is predictable.”
“Was predictable. Now he has a bride of his own, and he has already made two accusations against my bride. What if he has harmed his Starfallen?”
“Then he is no longer running,” the High Lord says. “He is malfunctioning. Malfunctions are ended.” The words are mild, but I shiver.
“He already malfunctions,” growls Rythar.
“Bring me proof, not grievance,” the High Lord says. “You have wanted Vorak’s death for four hundred years, and the Concord Council knows it. Your word alone convicts you, not him.”
Rythar inclines his head a fraction. His head snaps up at the High Lord’s next words.
“I request permission to speak with your bride, Warlord Rythar. As a personal matter.”
Rythar’s eyes narrow, but he nods once. “Permission granted,” he says. He does not move from in front of me.
Then the projection’s attention shifts to me, even as Rythar keeps me under his arm. It’s the moment before lightning again as the High Lord’s blue eyes fix on mine.
“Starfallen,” he says. “I am certain Rythar provides you with excellent care. However, Xytheos is a new world for humans. How is your health?”
“I’m healthy,” I say carefully. “Why?”
He doesn’t answer why. His eyes flick to Rythar.
“She testifies carefully, your mate,” he says to Rythar. “The Council values care. So do I.” The light of his projection begins to thin. “Keep her out of reach, Warlord. Vorak counts what you have. He is not the only one counting.”
The image disappears. I shiver again.
Rythar pulls me into his arms. I sink into the warmth.
“You did well,” he murmurs.
“Why did he ask if I’m healthy?”
Rythar inhales deeply, then lets it out. “You are worried enough about Sophia. I do not want to give you more to carry. You are here with me. You are safe,” he says.