“Humbling,” Cosmo interrupted the patriarch of House Lynx. He stepped forward to even more murmurs of surprise.
To my shock, the other house leaders seemed to acquiesce, nodding their approval.
“Dahlia of the Third Ring,” he announced, taking on the measured, professional tone of the justice of Sanctuary. “As you have confessed to the crime of murder, your punishment is to be humbled. You are hereby stripped of all titles and rank. You will live out the remainder of your days here, on the Deck. You will receive no rations that you have not worked for, and you will be given no home to call your own.”
A cry rang out at the sentence, and I looked over to see Dionne had collapsed into her husband’s arms. Rage welled up within me, and I took a step forward, pushing through the crowd. But before I could go far, someone held me firmly by the arm. Even with my enhanced strength, the grip didn’t relent. I whirled around. It was Dante.
“Adrian, Please, listen to me.”
“Let me go,” I growled, yanking my arm free.
“You can’t help her,” he called after me as I pushed through the crowd again. “She made her choice. She must face the consequences.”
Even if they aren’t fair,he finished in my mind.
I paused and glanced back through the crowed at him.Fair? Your grandfather passed the sentence.
They would have killed her if he hadn’t proposed humbling.
They may as well have. Alone on the Deck with no home and no rations?
Adrian, please. Listen—
I shoved someone out of my way, then another and another. I could hardly see them through the tears burning my eyes. But my time was running out. They were dragging Dahlia away again. I pushed through, using my strength to send anyone who wouldn’t move sliding easily out of my way. Soon enough, people started shuffling out of my way before I reached them. Dahliawas just up ahead, guards on either side of her as Warren spoke something softly to her. She nodded, tears gathered in her eyes. I let out a roar of frustration, hate for Cosmo, desperation at the unfairness of it all, and the crowd scattered.
Adrian, stop. You’re going to hurt someone.
I shoved him out of my head and stomped forward, pushing another man out of my way. He went skidding along the stone like a spinning top.
Adrian, stop.
I’d almost reached her. Dahlia finally looked up, and when our eyes met, the sorrow in her gaze was almost more than I could take.
“Dahlia—”
Something sharp slammed into the back of my head.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“The foolish man ends the lives of his opponents. The wise man controls them.”
-Written Texts of Vulcan, House Viper; 1,437 Age of Sanctum
The night Dahlia had been humbled, I woke up in the estate of House Viper, in my own bed, confused and with a pounding headache. I had just enough time to remember being knocked unconscious when Cosmo emerged from a dark corner of my room, telling me I had no right to attempt to circumvent justice and informing me that I would likely have been stripped of my ring myself for my outburst if I weren’t a candidate with such lofty connections.
Bria came after him, trying to coax me out of my room, out of my anger. But she offered nothing but religious platitudes, and I was weary of the Geist, so I shut her out and pushed aside the dinner she’d brought as the only peace offering the House of Viper was willing to extend.
I left the estate that night, too angry with all of them. I made my way back to my apartment and into my bedroom. Harrisondidn’t say a word when I slammed my door shut and didn’t emerge.
I didn’t leave my room for a week, just stewing in my anger, my righteous fury, raging at the world for what it was and who it hurt. At first, I blamed Cosmo. I’d begged him for mercy, and he’d ignored me. Then I blamed Dante for not stopping him. Then I blamed Warren for not being there to stop Dahlia. Then Cyrus for plaguing her mind as he had. But in truth, I blamed everyone except for the one who’d confessed, the one who had actually committed the murder.
I blamed everyone but Dahlia because I wasn’t certain I wouldn’t have done the same thing in her place. And that terrified me more than anything in the Trials ever had.
The evening of the eighth day after the tribunal, I needed an escape, something to take all of my pent-up frustration out on. I returned to the First Ring and found Dante sparring in the yard, alone. I picked up a sword, and he reached for one of his own, a silent sign of understanding. We fought, twirling around each other gracefully now that I’d had proper training, no sound in the courtyard but the clang of metal and the grunts of two fighters, each determined to win the battle.
I pushed harder than I ever had, putting every bit of the anger, sorrow, and suffering behind each blow. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on Dante’s brow. Finally, he called it, holding up his hands to signify he needed a break. I dropped my weapon and, panting, looked up at him.
“Maybe sparring isn’t what you need right now,” he said after catching his breath.
