"The human invokes our oldest law," Mor'va said slowly, as if savoring each word. "How unexpected. Tell me, child, do you understand what you've just claimed?"
"I've claimed his life debt," Briar said, though uncertainty was creeping in at the expressions around her. "He can't throw his life away if it belongs to me."
"The debt was already settled," Karse said desperately. "I decided the terms—she belongs to me until—"
"You decided?" Mor'va's voice cut through his protest like a blade. "The debtor decides the terms of his own debt?" She turned to the other elders. "Have our laws changed so much in your absence, Exile?"
"A life debt belongs to the one who saved the life," the scarred elder said with obvious satisfaction. "The debtor cannot dictate terms. You knew this, Karse Draven. You perverted our law for your own purposes."
Briar's stomach dropped. Something was wrong. Karse looked like he might be sick, his scales actually paling.
"You stupid, ignorant girl," he whispered.
"Indeed," Mor'va said, standing with surprising grace. "By invoking the life debt, you've claimed ownership of his life. Which means, under our most ancient law, you've claimed responsibility for his actions. His crimes become yours to answer for."
The blood drained from Briar's face. "What? No, that's not what I—"
"You invoked the law," Mor'va said simply. "If his life belongs to you, then you must answer for how he's lived it. The abandonment. The collaboration. All of it." Her ancient eyes gleamed. "The trial is now yours to face, human."
"No!" Eliam's roar shook the chamber, shadows exploding outward despite the restraints. It took eight warriors to hold him down. "She didn't know! She didn't understand what she was saying!"
"Ignorance of the law is not absolution," the scarred elder said with clear satisfaction. "She saved the Exile's life. She claimed the debt. She faces his trial."
"This is insane," Thaine said flatly. "She's human. She's injured. She had no way of knowing—"
"Then she dies," Mor'va said simply. "And you all die with her, as conspirators in the Exile's crimes."
Briar stood frozen, her mind struggling to process how badly she'd miscalculated. She'd been trying to save Karse, to keep their guide alive, and instead she'd condemned herself. The looks on everyone's faces—Eliam's rage, Arion's horror, Karse's guilt and fury—all confirmed what she'd done.
"I take it back," she said desperately. "I didn't understand—"
"The law is spoken," Mor'va cut her off. "It cannot be unspoken."
Karse turned on her, his golden eyes blazing with a combination of fury and anguish. "Why couldn't you just stay quiet? Why did you have to invoke something you don't understand?"
"I was trying to help—"
"You've killed yourself!" His control shattered completely. "Do you understand that? You've volunteered to die for my crimes, you ignorant—" He cut himself off, pressing his palms against his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was hollow. "You've killed us all. Without you, the seal can't be reinforced. Without you, everything ends."
"Perhaps the Exile should have thought of that before he perverted our laws," Mor'va said mildly. "Before he claimed to own someone who saved his life, twisting the debt to his advantage." She looked at Karse with ancient eyes that had seen too much. "Your dishonor has found its price, Karse Draven. That it falls on an innocent makes it all the more fitting."
The weight of what she'd done crashed down on Briar. Not just her own death, but the failure of their mission, the breaking of the seal, Malus's victory. All because she'd tried to be clever with laws she didn't understand.
"When?" she asked quietly, her voice barely audible.
"Tomorrow at midday," Mor'va said. "You'll be given a night to prepare, though I doubt it will help. The cave has killed warriors far strongerthan you."
She gestured to Veroc. "Take them to the holding cells. Make sure they're fed and watered. If the human is to die for us tomorrow, she should at least do it with a full stomach."
The warriors hauled them to their feet, marching them out of the judgment hall. Briar caught Karse's eyes as they walked, saw the guilt and horror and rage warring in them.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't know—"
"Ignorance and good intentions," he said bitterly. "The two things that have killed more people than any war."
The warriors separated them then, but she could still feel the weight of everyone's stares. She'd doomed them all with her ignorance.
And for that, she would pay for it with her life.
