“Councilman, my daughter doesn’t know what she’s saying.” My father sweeps between us, his tone sharpening to jagged glass. “Raya—tell him you don’t know what you’re saying. Apologize for this folly right now!”
I mean . . . it’s probably a little late for that.
For while I could take the words back, I can’t make Denata unhear them; he’ll never forget that I’ve seen the truth he’s kept buried this whole time; he’ll always consider me a threat. And getting caught with Ezzo—in a place I shouldn’t have been to begin with—has given him all the excuse he needs to remove that threat from his life.
In choosing to expose him, I also chose to doom me.
Though I can’t, and I won’t, and I downright refuse to regret dragging his lies into the light. Maybe when I’m gone, my parents will be angry enough to ask their own questions. Maybe when the magic’s dying, the rest of the elders will remember the accusations I levelled at the man in charge. Maybe this is the part I’m supposed to play in stopping the Divine Meridian.
“Silence!” Denata roars, quieting the scandalized mutters coming from the Shades at his sides. “Given the appalling lack of respect Miss Wryvern has shown this tribunal, it is my recommendation that she be taken to the cells for further interrogation, and if it is found that she has conspired with the half breed, she will be returned to this chamber to answer for her crimes.”
I’m fairly certain that “if” will become a firm condemnation soon enough—that, come morning, I’ll have magically confessed to a whole slew of wrongdoings he’ll then use to bury me at trial.
“All in favor, say aye.”
“Aye.” The echo of agreement that follows is as swift as it is damning.
“Lars, please—don’t do this!” My mother’s voice turns shrill as the guards wrench me from the dock by the arms.
“She is our daughter, Lars,” my father adds, outraged. “You cannot treat her like a common criminal!”
Except he can.
And he will.
And he does.
And no amount of blustering will change that.
My death warrant has already been signed.
CHAPTER 27
RAYA
It’s not until I’m led from the court chamber that I start to feel the full weight of what I’ve done; the futility of railing against the councilman and the finality of that act, the sentence that’ll soon be enacted.She will be returned to this chamber to answer for her crimes.My breaths begin to grow sharp and short and labored. What the hells was I thinking, picking that kind of fight? Have I really learned nothing from Ezzo? How the truth makes zero difference when those in charge have a vested interest in propagating the lie? How they’ll always choose to protect their own power?
The journey to the Council’s prison passes in a blur of realization, fear, and doubt, a rush of moments I only register in fragments. It’s swirling shadows and the echo of my parents’ increasingly incensed shouts, empty corridors and a portal that deposits us back in Sarotuza. It’s an explosion of color as we leave the Gray, that’s soon replaced by a maze of moldy brick that’s filthy and stark. It’s an iron cuff around my wrist and a swell of nausea as I’m shoved—none too gently—into a ferrite-laced cell at the very end of a long line, far enough from the guards’ station for the metal to affect me but not sicken them. This is where they put the traitors, I’d venture; the rogues, the Hues, the Shades who recklessly accuse an elder of having a secret son.
It’s also where they’ve put Ezzo.
He’s still alive.There are so many emotions warring inside me, that I barely even notice the surge of relief that sings through my blood,nor can I decipher the storm brewing in his expression, why he seems less than happy to see me.Does he think I betrayed him?As I wade into the cell proper, he tracks my steps with a hard-set jaw and a wary eye, as though wondering if this is some kind of trick or a novel new method of interrogation.
But it’s not a trick, and once the guard leaves us to fester in silence, I lose grip of the last shred of strength that’s been keeping me up.What in the nine hells have I done?I fall to my knees, the tears coming freely now that he and I are alone in the dark. After a full day of fighting to suppress it, Killen’s death hits me with a vengeance, the part I played in it and the way he looked with his blood drained and his skin carved, how I’ll never get to tell him I’m sorry. How instead of learning from my mistakes, I keep making them over, choosing the wrong battles and letting everyone down. How after all the truths Ezzo’s shown me, I wasn’t even brave enough to stand up and own our alliance.
And for a long second, the air around me stays absolutely still, my sobs bouncing off the walls like thunder, splintered and snubbed. Until, in the space of a blink, Ezzo’s arms are around me, his voice low and gentle as he attempts to soothe the pain raging inside my heart.
“I’m sorry about Killen,” he says, guessing at the worst of my guilt. “I’m sorry we couldn’t stop Adriel from doing what he did.”
What about what I did?There’s not enough contrition in the world to excuse the way I treated him, the way I used his love as ammo and sent him out to wander the streets with a courtesan.
“You couldn’t know this would happen, Raya,” Ezzo whispers into my hair, as though reading my mind. “This isn’t—”
“Please don’t say it isn’t my fault,” I tell him. Because it very muchismy fault—and no amount of empty platitudes will change that. I could have left that tavern with him myself, not paid another girl to do the lying. I could have ensured that he returned to the castle safely, not made an excuse to spare me having to wait and watch. I could have told the future where to stick its twisted prophecy.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ezzo asks instead, shuffling us over to sit against the wall. And though I want to say no—to keep this worst part of me locked away—I find myself telling him everything, a full recounting of my history with Killen and every callous decision I made, including the ones that eventually led to his murder. And Ezzo just listens to the full story without judgement, his arm staying locked around my shoulders no matter how awful my confessions get, even when they make me sound like a monster.
“You can say it, you know, that I’m a horrible person. That I . . . I deserve this.”
