Sorrel chuckles quietly, like my pain is the funniest thing she’s seen in a while. “I really should thank you, Lennox,” she chirps at me, her eyes filled with nothing but cruelty. “You made all of this far easier than even I could have hoped for.”
The rage that’s been festering inside of me since I first laid eyes on her boils over. Bones snap up around me at my order, ready and waiting to be told where to stab, bludgeon, and maim. But before I can so much as breathe in her direction, glass walls slam down all around me. Shock and then fury tsunami through me, and I scream as I pound on the glass cage.
“You fucking bitch! You leave them alone, you power-hungry whore!” I bellow at the top of my lungs as impotent tears drip down my face. I bang on the glass so hard my hands start to bruise, and try as I might, I can’t use my magic in here.
Dyad steps down from the dais and walks over to me. Without warning, I’m slammed against the glass wall in front of me, and my hand is forced out of the glass as though there’s a perfectly designed hatch to hold my arm in place. I scream and thrash as I try to pull Rogan’s vow mark back into the safety of the cage. I even try to break my own arm in order to regain control of the limb, but nothing works.
Dyad does something to my mark, and I feel a jolt of power rush through it. “You fucking liar,” I snarl at him. “You set me up, I know you did,” I screech, my face and features the epitome of madness as I try everything I can not to let this happen, but I was fucked before I ever even got here.
Sobs wrack my body, and I cry even harder as a whooshing sound fills this godforsaken room, and then out of nowhere, Rogan is suddenly there, and I know I’ve failed miserably.
He looks around confused, and then like I’m a beacon that’s calling him, moss-green eyes land on mine. He pales as he sees my face, and then fury quickly takes over, and he sprints toward me. I look over to see his mother watching him like the prize she thinks he is, and I feel sick.
A loud boom sounds off all around me, and I see Rogan punching the glass to try to get to me. I run to the back side of the cage and press my palms against the glass to make him stop.
“What the fuck is going on?” he bellows, turning his attention from me to the three demons at the front of the massive room.
“Osteomancer Osseous is only in there because she violated the rules of this court by trying to attack someone...again. The sooner you tell us what we need to know, the sooner this trial will end and the sooner she will be let out,” Gremory tells him, his tone clipped and exasperated.
“Let her out and I’ll answer your questions,” Rogan tries to bargain, but Gremory just glares at him.
I stare at Rogan, willing him to feel how sorry I am for bringing him here. I know what his mom has planned for him, and like a fucking idiot, I walked in here and basically handed him over on a silver platter. Anguish washes through me, and I press my palm to his as he focuses on Gremory and darts suspicious looks at his mother.
I’m sure he’s trying to figure out what the hell is going on, but his perfect poker face is locked down tight now, and I know he won’t let it crack for anything.
“Sorrel Adair has claimed she owns you and your brother, is this true?” Dyad asks. I stare at Rogan, waiting for him to laugh or sneer or do anything other than what he does, which is nothing. From this close, I see a slight tightening around his eyes, and it’s all I need to see to know we’ve lost.
Tears drip steadily down my eyes as Sorrel turns to her son expectantly. “Come now, Rogan, tell the High Demon all about how you swore fealty to me,” she orders him, a greedy glint in her kelly-green eyes.
I shake my head as though it will erase the truth of what she just said, but Rogan pulls in a deep breath and squares his gaze on her.
“I was barely eighteen,” he argues, and she tilts her head mockingly at him.
“Still counts,” she purrs.
“I’m a renounced witch, how the fuck does that still count?” he snarls at her, and she steps closer to him.
“Because I say it does,” she counters, all pretense of sweetness gone.
Her words strike right through like a lightning bolt ofholy shit, and I push away from the back corner of my cage and rush to the front. I slam a battered palm against the glass to pull the High Demons’ attention back to me.
“He may have sworn fealty to her, but I never have,” I yell at them, my heart hammering desperately inside my chest for this to somehow work. “She may own him, but she doesn’t own me, which means she contracted with Botis for magic that she had no right to. Just like Jamie did,” I point out.
“Nice try, Osteomancer, but when Rogan tethered the two of you,hisfealty becameyours,” she snaps at me, clearly ready to be done with this and off with her prize.
I go still as her words batter around my mind. I study each and every syllable, every breath between the words of her statement, trying to see if there could be some other interpretation. But I don’t see one, and a small flicker of hope sparks in my chest because...I think I’ve got her. My eyes sharpen as I look around the room warily, worried that somehow the truth I just stumbled across will be ripped out of my desperate clutches and stomped on the ground in front of me, but no one is paying me any attention. No one knows that I just found the key.
Holy fucking shit, I think I’ve got her.
“Is that true?” I ask, my voice dry and my heart racing as I try to sound as feeble and small as I can. “If Rogan bound me to him, then his fealty is my fealty?” I demand, and the High Demons all turn to me.
“Yes,” Cozen replies, and I’ve never wanted to hug a word so hard in my fucking life.
Hope and a trill of triumph builds in my chest, but I lock it all away as I nod my acceptance at what Cozen just confirmed. “Then I would like to point out that Rogan didn’t tether me to him,Itethered him tome. So in that case,myfealty ishis, and I’d like to make it crystal fucking clear that I have none,” I inform them, my tone lethal and my eyes fixed on Rogan’s mother.
Her mask cracks slightly, not enough to drop the confident smile from her face, but I see her dart a look back to her husband, and it’s all I can do not to crow out my victory. Rogan and I aren’t owned by anyone but each other, and that means the High Priestess of Witches promised things to a demon that she wasn’t allowed to barter with, and in turn they both violated the Accords.
King me, bitch.
