"How was your Architect here?" he forced himself to ask.
"One more reason I need you healed and on the road," Hagen said as he backed out of the room. "We need to know how many Scrolls the Infi have gotten their hands on."
Dorian hated that he had to rely on both Corbin and Reverie to help him dress. Every time he moved, the cuts on his side would stretch, and despite their being closed, he was told his muscles still needed healing.
Were it any other day, he would have made sly remarks to them both, but his mind was spinning with all the possibilities of what the meeting was about, the thoughts of him not being able to connect with this sister, and lastly—what the fuck Hagen had meant about the Infi getting their hands on the Scrolls.
By the time they got down to the dais, a great crowd had gathered on all the upper levels to look down on it. Reverie had to walk in front of them to part the people so they could get down the steps. Every move was torture, and they had to stop twice for him to catch his breath.
It was the sight of some of them giving him low nods that made his eyes narrow as they reached the bottom level.
"Corbin," he managed, swallowing his pain. "Why are they nodding?"
"They're bowing," Corbin replied.
"Why would they do that?"
They reached the bottom of the dais steps, and before Corbin could answer, Hagen met them.
"Can you make it, or should I need to carry you?" Hagen said upon reaching him.
Dorian slipped himself out of Corbin's grasp and flipped Hagen off. "I can make it."
He had to hold up a hand to Corbin as the Belwark started to reach for him again. Determination poured through Dorian, and he forced his feet to move. He fought the vomit in the back of his throat with every lift of his knees. Pain tore through his abdomen, but he held his head high. The only thing he couldn't stifle were the tears rising in his eyes.
By the time he reached the chairs at the top of the thirty steps, he felt as if he'd climbed a mountain.
It wasn't just the Elders there.
Mons Magnus was sitting in Hagen's chair, grinning at him.
Every muscle in Dorian's body continued to flinch as he stood there, forcing his back straight and pulling his chin high.
"Relax, kid," Mons told him. "You're no longer on trial. Take a seat."
Dorian looked to Hagen, and Hagen smiled.
"Whether you stand or sit, the outcome of his meeting will be the same," Hagen said.
"I'll stand," Dorian forced himself to say. "What's this about?" He pushed breath into his lungs, ignoring his abs spasming at holding himself upright, as one of the Elders began to speak—Marius, he realized.
"You came into our realm a prisoner and a traitor to our friend and King.” Marius stood from his chair and started deliberately towards him. "You dared to stand before us and claim your innocence and friendship to that King. You claimed you had nothing to do with his and the Queen's death. You stood before us with a boyish confidence in your eyes and demanded a worthy trial. And then you dared to ask for the same aid our High Elder had promised the High King and Queen." He paused just in front of Dorian, arms pushed behind his back.
"I do not know how you are alive. But you are. And I daresay you've earned every ash of respect our people have for you."
Dorian tensed.
And then Marius held out his hand to him. "You've got your aid, Prince Dorian," he said, and a smile rose on Marius's face. “You’re free.”
Dorian nearly puked.
His eyes closed as he exhaled the weight of everything, his head finally hanging. He exhaled the weight of his failures. He exhaled the weight of his promises.
He exhaled the fire.
Claps and shouts sounded. Emotion bubbled in his chest. He could feel the movement of feet all around as though the people were celebrating with one another. He let his head limp back onto his neck. Sunlight coming through the glass dome overhead poured on his face. His body began to tremble, and he once more pushed back the tears.
Because all he could see behind his closed eyes wasthem. Aydra giving his hair a ruffle and grinning at him. Draven pushing him on the road together to do the work. To get his hands dirty as kings before him hadn't done.
