He interrupted again. “Nephilim choose to travel with you? They can confirm the truth of your claims—that the king has committed these crimes?”
“Yes. A healer and a truth seeker are members of the squad. Good and honorable men and women, like I said. They’ll confirm everything.”
“Come.” Haniel turned and strode back to the archway she had entered through. Just to its side, he opened a small wooden door and removed a bronze gong and mallet and began to beat a steady, pulsing rhythm that reverberated in shimmering echoes across the walls of the courtyard.
Within a few seconds, a similar gong sounded from within the complex. And another, and then another. Each further, deeper inside the complex, until the air itself seemed to vibrate with a low, metallic rumble that resonated deep inside her body and brought goose bumps thrilling over her skin.
Within a minute, there was a soft rasping noise as dozens of armored men and women began to pour, almost silently, into the courtyard.
They were all tall and strong, with hair ranging in color from light copper through to a dark burgundy and every shade of red between. Here and there even black or blond, from those few who were accepted into the ranks from other races.
The Clibanarii wore leather armor of brilliant white, so vibrant that it seemed to glow despite the gloomy skies. Thin bands of gold depicting an angel with a fiery sword were emblazoned on every cuirass.
Haniel led them forward through the archway, until they were standing in ranks on the steep path outside, overlooked by the towering archangels. There, a huge Clibanarii warrior with hair the blazing red of the autumn leaves and wearing a shimmering gold surcoat strode forward and bowed his head toward Alanna.
Haniel clapped him on the shoulder with a grin. “Thanks for coming so quickly, my friend.”
The warrior snorted with wry amusement before answering in a stern, rumbling voice, “You suggested we were under attack.”
Haniel shrugged and looked at Alanna before replying. “We need you. Ramiel, this is Alanna, Queen of Brythoria.”
Alanna dipped her head respectfully. “Please, sir, I don’t have time to explain. Can you trust me when I say that we need to run if we are going to prevent a terrible travesty?”
He watched her carefully as she spoke, a strange heaviness filling the air around them, and she realized he was a justice of truth. Maybe even The Supreme Justice.
“Yes,” he said sincerely, “I can trust you.”
“They’ll be on the road somewhere, hopefully not too far. Please, we’ve wasted too much time as it is.”
He gave her a curt nod and then turned to the soldiers arrayed behind them and raised his voice. “Take the forest paths. Follow the lady. Move out!”
Alanna’s voice cracked with gratitude as she whispered a rough thank you.
And then she turned and started to run.
Chapter Sixteen
“What do I want?”Dornar chuckled maliciously. “I think you know.”
Val collapsed back onto his knees, letting his wings hang limply at his sides. “You want me to tell you where Alanna is.”
“Not at all—I want you to find her and bring her back.” Dornar sneered. “Use your charm.”
The new Lord High Chancellor folded his arms and leaned forward. “But just to be clear, you will have a quad of my best trained Blues following you the entire time. Step one foot in a direction that I haven’t allowed, and you’ll come back to a sister with no wings.”
Val bowed his head for a moment so that he didn’t have to look at Dornar. Gods. He hadn’t realized it was possible to hate someone as much as he hated Ballanor. “And in exchange you’ll let the Hawks go?”
At that, Dornar let out a true laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. In exchange, I’ll make sure you are all beheaded cleanly and that no one will lay a hand on your sister before then. In fact, here”—he waved at the soldiers holding Tristan—“let him go to her.”
The soldiers lifted their hands, and Tristan leaped forward, gathering Nim onto his lap and wrapping his arms around her as she clung to him, still surrounded by a ring of soldiers with their swords drawn.
“And what will you do to the queen?” Val asked.
“You must understand, Captain Lanval, that the king can’t remarry while everyone knows the queen is alive. Nor can he allow the whole kingdom to mock him for a cuckold while she traipses around with her lover.”
Val rubbed at the agonized pounding between his eyes, hoping Dornar would keep talking for long enough that he could think of some kind of solution. “So, you’re going to kill her?”
“No. He’s going to pardon her.”
