He guides me toward the northern point of the pentacle space where a single chair sits bathed in a spotlight.
No, not a chair. It looks like an ancient throne with ruby-red velvet cushions and a padded back. The wood is weathered, but what worries me most are the thorny spikes peeking up at the end of each arm.
What the hell are those spikes for?
Theron gestures a hand toward the throne. "Miss Hallowind, if you will take your seat."
I'm going to be sick.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
"It's all right, Poppy,” Vale assures me. “The Axiom Throne tests the integrity of those who sit in it. It's like the lie detector devices used by humans, but is powered by blood magic and a million times more accurate.”
"Blood magic?"
"Don't look so scandalized. There's nothing nefarious about it or about the intent of the Order. They simply want to hear your account of things and verify you have no hidden agenda by taking creative license with the truth. I vouched for your integrity, but this will erase all doubt among the empowered communities."
What he doesn't say is that because of Laurel's lies, there is a giant stormcloud of doubt and mistrust hovering over my head. If I hope to see sunny skies again, this is the way to do it.
"If you will, Miss Hallowind," Theron says.
I swallow and shrug out of my wrap, pegging Vale with all my objections. "If you swear this is only a search for truth, I'll do it. Though, given the whole blood bound to a demon thing, I'm not thrilled about poking that particular bear."
Vale offers me a sad smile. "One has no effect on the other, I promise you. And if there was any danger to you, I would tell you and put a stop to it."
There's no mistaking Vale's sincerity, so I lift my chin, hand him my wrap, and draw a steadying breath into the full depths of my lungs.
The Axiom Throne waits in patient silence, its blackthorn arms polished to a dark sheen, silver sigils pulsing faintly like a heartbeat beneath the varnished wood.
At first glance, I think the carved vines look decorative—artful and ceremonial. But when I lower myself into the seat, the vines shift, lengthening with a soft, organic creak.
A murmur ripples through the Order as the thorns descend back into the wood at the end of the arms.
“Place your hands flat and curl your fingers over the ends of the armrests to ensure full contact.”
I do as I'm instructed, and the armrests warm beneath my forearms.
"Deep breath, Poppy." Vale's voice is as steady as his gaze, and I give him a quick nod.
The moment I commit fully to what is about to happen, the vines emerge from their resting place in the wood and wrap tightly around my arms and wrists. I don't fight them. After realizing they were part of the magic of the chair, I figured they would act the part of restraints.
As the tangle of vines pins my arms to the magical field now glowing through the wood of the armrests, the barbs begin to rise.
Not a violent thrust—no, it's worse.
With a deliberate, agonizingly slow rise, each thorn pierces the center of my palms, punching through flesh in a twin bloom of pain that steals the breath from my lungs.
It stings hot, and despite my conviction, I yank to get away from the bite.
My blood ignites in my veins and a rush of my power spills beyond my control. My body's instinct to defend itself is taking hold.
"Easy, Poppy." Vale bends to bring his face into my direct line of sight. "I warned them that you aren't in full control of your affinity yet, but it would be better for all of us if you didn't detonate and ruin the party."
A joke? I'm about to rip apart at the seams and Thaddeus Vale cracks a joke?
Wow, he gets me.
It helps. I focus on his magical signature dancing between us as he stands with me through this trial.
