The criminal curled his lip, and Saer took that instant to sink his metaphysical hooks into the man’s pride.Fingers flexing, he jerked the sin into himself, devoured it, draining it from the criminal with such swiftness that his face paled, tears springing to his eyes, mouth trembling.
Worthlessness and shame.
Saer let the thief wallow in it.His voice dipped lower, a dangerous invitation.“Something to say?”
The quietest whimper left the criminal’s throat, and the guards exchanged perplexed glances.
“You won’t steal again, will you?”
The thief sniffled, his breath shuddering.He couldn’t form words, but shook his head in a movement so swift that his lower lip made a wet, flopping noise.
A quiet hum of satisfaction lifted from Saer’s throat, and he cast his gaze upon the guards, who exchanged shocked but impressed glances.
“Where is your colleague who was stabbed?”
One soldier cleared his throat.“The healer sees to him.”
Running his tongue over his teeth, Saer calculated the various outcomes before lifting his voice.“Take this thief to one of the cages.Bring the injured one here.”
No questions asked, the soldiers left to do as they were bade.The criminal dragged his feet, mewling apologies to no one in particular.
This was power.They’d all fall in line.Saer would—
From the center of the audience, the hooded man stood and stepped forward, jerking Saer out of his reverie.The same man who bore no reaction to Saer’s pull upon pride a week prior.
“You!”Saer shouted, just keeping his growl at bay.Other humans quailed under the focus of Lucifer’s First.
The man halted, but not as though the attention bothered or alarmed him.He came to a slow stop, calm and infuriatingly collected.
An edge of the man’s lip quirked—not exactly a smile.Yet, he didn’t lift his head to show Saer his eyes.
“Me?”
His voice carried the tranquility of an easy summer afternoon, the patter of rain outside a cozy cottage, a crackling fireplace in a peaceful den.
Even worse, members of the crowd responded to it like moths drawn to a flame.One by one, they turned their attention to the hooded man as though seeing him for the first time.
Saer stood.“Who are you?Name yourself.”
This time, that subtle curve of his mouth did turn into a smile, albeit a sad one.“I’m Ahraan, Cousin.”
“Cousin,” Saer repeated the word with all the derision the man’s presence evoked.“We aren’t family.”
Ahraan lifted and lowered his head in a soft nod, still not granting Saer a glimpse of the rest of his face beyond a straight nose and shaded but sun-kissed skin.“I’d like to see to the wounded when they arrive, please.”
Saer sneered, but the quiet alerted him to the attention their exchange had brought.
The villagers watched them, riveted.
Huffing, Saer rapped his knuckles on the table before stepping around it.“So be it.You’ll see the wounded guard, and then what?”
Ahraan offered no answer, but veered to the side of the stage with an elegant angle.Vexed, Saer cast his awareness through the man, hunting for any sliver of pride to snag and jerk on.
None.Not even a thread.Was there no pride in this man?Or did he shield it from Pride himself, somehow?
Where in the Hells had he come from?
An anguished moan cut into Saer’s musings.Supported by two of the village guards, a third man limped between them, approaching the stage at an agonized pace.Bandages wrapped around his burly gut, already seeping through with wet scarlet.He kept all weight off one leg, the thigh bound with more crimson-stained dressings.What must normally have been deeply tanned skin carried a faint sheen of sweat, its hue tinged a sickly yellow-green.
