Cyn smiled in the direction of a loud curse.
No matter how strong she was, this hurt.
The guards wove forward. She followed and saw something ahead where the Parklands ended at the railing. If they foundher guilty, would they simply shove her over the side into space or would they shoot her? If her wings kindly reappeared, shoving her into space would make them look stupid.
Shooting then. Or she could jump? She’d keep that for a last resort. Her wonderful hypothetical wings had so far been shy.
Five years since the Ghoul Lords desecrated the Earth, sucked its population to the Top of the scrapers, and started feeding on humans. Most of those people would be dead by now. She’d been stupidly lucky—the only feeder ever to escape from the Top.
She should remind them of that.
And of how she was their last forlorn hope. Which she damn well knew was true.
Cyn straightened her shoulders, held her head high, and found that not everyone was looking at her as if she were a bug to be squashed. Some looked sorry for her. A few whispered encouragements. Had they seen what truly happened?
To her shock, Rutger emerged and squeezed her shoulder, whispering as he passed by. “Be strong. I have an idea that’s promising.” She craned her neck around and watched him walk back along the path she’d taken through the crowd, and almost whimpered as a craving struck.
I believe we saw a Ghoul Lord.Rutger’s words from that day. What was he doing?
She paused to calm herself and stretched out her wrists until the metal cuffs hurt.Pain.His touch had electrified her, pricked at her, reminded her of something dire.The Lure is coming. If she didn’t fuck him soon, or Vargr, she’d be mindless and crying out to be allowed to go upward.
Two days ago, her skill with the Lure had become dust beneath her feet and pain. She’d attempted to manipulate it since then and had failed in agony every time.
They brought her to a table set up with three chairs behind it and the backdrop of the game reserve beyond. They thought this place safe after that attack? Did some logic outweigh the daftness of holding a trial right where people had died? Then again, the Thing had walked in from the dark and not from the outside.
Another chair sat before the desk, on her side. Hers, of course.
Cyn nodded at Willow. Locks of the biotechie’s hair snaked slowly as if stirred by a breeze, except there was none and the blue in her eyes and hands seemed to flare brighter as if to match it. To her left was a shirtless wing-soldier with a spiky upright thatch of white.
“Cyn, this is Mads Thresher,” Willow introduced him, and Cyn nodded to him also. “And this is Steve Goodman.” She indicated the gray-haired and bearded weaponsmith at the other end of the table. “We’ll be judging your case. Be seated.”
They all sat—her, only after a foot-soldier pulled out her chair and helped her lower herself. She didn’t bother informing him her balance was fine even with her hands at her back. She could probably have kicked in his throat before he could dodge. Two days ago, she’d learned this about herself. Two days ago was a pivotal point in her life. She was more than she’d thought, and she was less too.
If they decided to execute her, would she simply allow them to do so?
Her mind was telling her abso-fucking-lutely not.
This was not something she wished to test. Cyn raised her eyebrows and waited.
The faces of her three judges were devoid of expression and not at all welcoming. This was far too personal for her liking. Walking through the crowd was better.
The older beaster with the gray hair, Steve, spoke after clearing his throat. “This is a trial, however, we have never held one before. Not since the invasion has there been any crime worth doing anything about. Willow is the only one of us with any legal experience. Her father was a lawyer.”
Oh crap. Experts then. She resisted eyerolling.
“Yes.” Willow sat forward and clasped her hands on the table. “I understand if you feel overwhelmed, Cyn.” That statement alone gave her hope. She detected sympathy. “We’ve been interviewing everyone we could, these last days, and have found there is disagreement over what or who it was that you killed. Apart from Tom and Carl, that is.”
She shifted and dared to speak. “They saw a Ghoul Lord?”
Willow smiled weakly. “Some did see something other than a human, yes. Some did not. I was among those who saw Dr. Frank Nietz.”
Her mouth opened in disbelief. She’d been sure Willow had seen the reality. Behind where Cyn sat, voices were raised as if a scuffle occurred. Not again. There’d been noises like this on the day she’d killed. She turned in her seat but could see very little of consequence.
“Uhh. What is going on?” Mads half-rose from his seat, his wings rising also. “Someone find out.”
The sounds of retreating footsteps told her a guard or two were investigating.
“I’m sorry.” Cyn frowned, recalling Willow’s words. “How many said they saw a Ghoul Lord?”
