47. ALMOST HELL IN A HANDBASKET
Aremis’s brows were pinched as he gritted his teeth and charged at me, blade glinting in the light.
Quick as a flash, I saw it—the slightest tell, a flicker in his eyes—the shift from rage, to confusion, to rage again, that told me he wasn’t in control.
He was upon me within seconds.
My shadows surrounded him, restraining him before he could make contact. “Aremis . . .” I warned.
What the fuck was he doing? What was—
I whirled back to Ramil, but Fallon had already gotten to him. His large hand closed around his father’s throat and pulled him from the commanding daze he’d gone into in order to weave his false realities.
The spell broke, and Aremis stumbled to the side, dropping his dagger when he realized who he had been aiming it at.
Fallon’s stare might have been unseeing, but he glared down at Ramil with so much disdain that for a moment, I swore he could see through the white that coated his eyes, straight into the depths of his father’s soul. “MONSTER!” he bellowed.
Ramil gasped for air, jerking his wrists against Nivelle’s restraints, unable to move or breathe.
“Without your beloved stone, you do not have enough power to weave like you used to,” Fallon said.
“It only takes . . . one mind to . . . create chaos,” Ramil struggled to say.
Morah stalked toward them, garnering her father’s desperate gaze. His bulging eyes tried to follow her as she circled his chair and stopped behind him.
She leaned in, over his shoulder, and spoke calmly into his ear. “You’ve failed. Your court falls as we speak—the palace is being seized at this very moment. Those who are loyal to you are all being slaughtered, and everything you’ve worked for ends now.”
Ramil tried to speak again, but Fallon squeezed tighter.
Morah reached for the dagger at her chest, pulling it from its sheath slowly, letting her father hear the hiss of the blade as it came free. His eyes darted to the right, searching for what he knew he’d heard.
She twirled the weapon next to his face, allowing him to see it out of the corner of his eye as she said, “I swore to myself long ago that I would expose your corruptness to the world and see my brother avenged. I built an entire army underneath your nose and you never even saw it coming. Your greed was your downfall.” She paused the twirling. “And I am your death.”
Ramil mouthed his daughter’s name, begging, but his plea did nothing to sway her, and when Fallon released his hold, Morah sank the dagger into her father’s neck.
She paused for only a moment before taking the blade’s hilt with both hands and ripping it through him with such force that his head came clean off.
It tumbled into his lap, then rolled to the floor between her and her brother.
The entire room was frozen in shock.
When Morah straightened, she stared up at Fallon, whose face had gone solemn. He was breathing hard through his nose, his blind stare landing on where his father’s head had just been.
He reached his arm out to his side, and Morah tucked herself beneath it, wrapping her own arms around his waist and closing her eyes.
“It’s done,” she whispered.
Fallon brought his other hand up and placed it on her head, holding her to his chest and pressing a kiss to her hair. But he said nothing more.
Across the room, Killian was wide-eyed and kicking his legs against the wall as my shadowfire continued to pin him in place. “Murderers!” he cried out.
I smoothed the lapels of my jacket. “Oh, my apologies. We were supposed to vote on Ramil’s judgment, weren’t we?”
I spun on my heel and took a few casual steps around the former High Lord’s headless corpse, then raised my voice as I addressed the audience.
“For the crimes committed against this court and his own . . . All those in favor of sentencing Ramil to death by . . .” I glanced down at his severed head. “Decapitation?”
The entire audience raised their hands.
“All those opposed?” I asked, just for good measure.
No one moved, except for Killian as he heaved flustered breaths.
I turned back to face the woodland lord and gestured toward Fallon. “There is a new High Lord of Benmoor now.”
At the edge of the altar, Vanir pounded a fist against his chest in recognition of Fallon’s new title. Laurent followed suit. Then I echoed the motion.
“Oh, and I suppose there is one more thing you should probably see,” I said to Killian. I then nodded at Maeson, who commanded the Alatyr one last time.
An image flickered to life—the view from the Alatyr around Ramil’s neck as he tried, and succeeded, to break into Killian’s vault to steal the talisman of Lyceius.
It was quite satisfying to watch Killian’s outraged expression fall into disbelief the moment he realized he had been betrayed on every possible front, especially by the one male he thought was his friend.
“That was Ramil’s point of view, by the way,” I reminded him.
His upper lip pulled back, and his fists balled at his sides as the image cut out.
No one needed to know that Ramil didn’t actually take the talisman. As far as Killian now knew, Ramil had taken it. And with him dead, the talisman seemed to be as good as lost, given that no one else knew that we had it.
“This justifies nothing!” Killian spat.
“Would you not agree that traitors should die for their transgressions? You should have nothing left to be angry over, unless there is some sort of agenda you two we’re working toward that involves the betrayal of your own kind.”
His eyes flared, but my shadowfire tightened around his body, cinching him higher up the wall, and denying him the opportunity to utter whatever demeaning statement he was about to conjure up.
I allowed the flames to sear his skin, just enough to feel the burn—a burn so cold that it was deadlier than a touch of fire.
He groaned through clenched teeth and thrashed. The fae nearest to him slunk away, unsure of the situation and my power.
Realizing he couldn’t win against the restraints, Killian spat on the ground and sent a promising glare in my direction. He’d never been one to practice control over his emotions, and he wasn’t about to start now. Certainly not with me continuing to bait him like I was.
But I couldn’t help it. Something about exposing his corruption and watching his demise play out before me just as Ramil’s had, was enticing. And my power was relishing it.
“You will regret this,” he said, before shifting his glare to Auren. “Both of you.”
Auren didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Her expression remained impressively blank.
The shadowfire surged beneath my skin, wanting to enact more violence. I tilted my head like a predator assessing its next meal, watching Killian squirm. When he groaned with more desperation, and the veins in his neck began to bulge, Auren turned to me.
“Niall . . .” Concern rippled down the bond as she held my attention and reminded me with just a look that we were in a room full of my court members, and they were not used to seeing my power like this.
I reeled my shadowfire back into me and let Killian fall to the ground.
Slowly, he gathered himself and stood, straightening his lapels and trying to regain his dignity.
He found Breck in the crowd next. “And you”—he pointed—“you traitorous bastard! I’ll see to it that you suffer the same.”
Breck squared his shoulders as he said, “I look forward to it.”
Killian took a step, but Silas was there, moving to stop him.
I threw my hand up. “Let him go. The death of one High Lord is enough for today.”
Silas shook out his wings and stepped aside, allowing Killian to make his way out of the temple’s only exit. My court hissed and cursed at the High Lord as he passed them by. He didn’t dare look back when he reached the entrance. He simply ported the moment he crossed the threshold.
The guests gathered their wits, a mixture of uncertainty and disbelief etched into most of the faces as they waited to see what would transpire next.
“Well, that was rather interesting.” I tossed a look at Aremis and lifted a brow.
“Apologies,” he said with a hint of embarrassment. “I didn’t expect Ramil to try and manipulate me.”
I laid a firm hand on his shoulder, wondering what exactly had happened, and why he had neglected his mental shield in the first place. “You all right?”
He nodded, forgiveness beckoning in his stare.
“Then all is well,” I said, offering him a slight grin.
“Now,” I announced to the room. “Where were we? Ah, yes. There is a new High Lord in our midst, which is worthy of its due celebration. However, this evening belongs to my Lady.”
I turned to Auren and summoned something she wasn’t expecting.
A crown.
“Darling, I believe this belongs to you.”
The solid gold crown was adorned with six pointed arches, each of them holding a black stone at their tip. It was simple, elegant, and commanding. And it was the twin to mine. The set had belonged to Gavrin and Lyra, Evander’s parents.
“May I?” I asked.
Auren dipped her chin, and I placed it on her head, then summoned my own. I pulled her to me and pressed a kiss to her forehead, and the entire chamber gave a gentle applause.
“I would also like to take this time to introduce the new faces you see amongst my faithful Trium. Maeson”—I nodded toward her—“is an old friend of mine, and is one of our newest, and dare I say, greatest healers. Silas”—I gestured in his direction as he made his way down the stairs—“is Auren’s Dionach.
And Nivelle”—I settled my gaze on her—“is the witch who has convinced her goddess to send aid for the war that is to come.”
Nivelle shot me a look, knowing that it was I who lured her goddess to our aid, not her.
Relax, I said into her mind.
She jumped, her eyes flaring wide with panic upon hearing me inside her head for the first time.
Relax, I repeated. I’m trying to win my court’s favor for you and the rest of the witches.
When she realized I was only speaking into her mind, and not invading her thoughts, her panic abated, though she did not reply.
All around us, my court began to murmur at the mention of war, and I held up my hands to settle them.
“I do not want any of you to be fearful, but war is on the horizon. Lyceius is preparing his legions again, and so are we. For those of you who were alive during the last war, you can rest assured that we have many things in our arsenal that we did not have in previous battles. But the time to dwell on that is not now. Tonight, I would like for you all to feast and celebrate with us. You will find that, just outside, a proper celebration awaits. We will join you all shortly.”
The guests shifted on their feet, lingering on the topic of war only for a brief moment, before deciding it was indeed a conversation for another day.
Orbs glowed to life at the tops of each stairway, guiding everyone out of the temple and into the forest, where I had ensured the evening festivities would continue in full swing.
Once the temple was empty of guests, and only our group remained, Roirdan blew out a breath. “Fucking fates.” He shook his head. “That could have gone to hell in a handbasket really quickly.”
“Thanks to Fallon and Morah, it didn’t,” I said.
Fallon had foreseen Ramil’s mind games this morning before the entire event began.
With his abilities returning at a quick pace, he was seeing more and more glimpses of the future, but they were only small windows in time.
And they were broken into segments. He hadn’t known when it would happen, he only saw a dagger aimed at my face, and some of the audience falling prey to Ramil’s false realities.
Thankfully, he’d stopped his father from letting it get any further than the dagger at my face.
Auren walked over to Morah and grasped her arms. “Are you all right?”
The female had just publicly beheaded her father and didn’t bat an eye while doing so, and now she stood contentedly, like the entire spectacle hadn’t just happened.
“I’m fine,” Morah answered. “It should have been done a long time ago.”
“He was still your father, though,” Auren said. “That took strength.”
Morah shook her head. “Actually, it took nothing. I knew it would happen one day, and that I would be the one to do it.”
Across from her, Aremis met her stare. “Courage is something we all hope to have, but never know if we do until the time is right. What you did took courage, whether you think it did or not. You have our deepest respect and my highest admiration.”
“Thank you,” Morah said. “And thank you for watching over Fallon for all those years, despite what Ramil did to you . . . and how I treated you. I know we were not as close as we could have been back then, but I do hope I can work to mend whatever can be salvaged between us.”
Aremis regarded her, taking the time to find his words. The corner of his mouth lifted in a gentle smile. “There is nothing that needs mending, Morah.”
“But, the things I said to you—”
Aremis held up his hand. “It’s all right. You were obeying your father. You didn’t know any different, and I do not blame you for any of it.”
When her words failed her, Fallon stepped in. “Thank you, Brother,” he said to Aremis. He extended his arm, and Aremis closed the distance to clasp it. They gripped each other just beneath the elbow, a sign of good faith and respect.
“Aremis,” Morah said, more quietly this time. “I . . . I have to ask . . . Did you know? About the others in the catacomb? About . . . the rest of my family?”
Aremis frowned. “I knew there were younglings buried there, and I always suspected there was more to it than Ramil led on, but I did not know that they were related to you. If I had known . . .”
Morah’s face relaxed with relief, and she nodded.
In the silence that followed, Auren laced her fingers in mine, gently reminding me that we still had the rest of the evening to enjoy. “Shall we join the rest of the court?”
“Yes. As lovely as all this camaraderie is,” I said, “I’m overdue for a good glass of whiskey and spinning my mate around the dance floor. You’re all invited, by the way,” I called back over my shoulder as I escorted Auren across the platform.
Roirdan laughed. “You’re damn right we are. I didn’t dress up this fancy for nothing.” He tossed Auren a wink as he followed us up the stairs.
The rest of our group trailed behind, ready to unwind beneath the stars.