The council erupts. The female golem on the far left speaks first, her voice slicing through the chamber.
“No man should ever raise his hand against a woman. Women are sacred. They carry life into this world. The accusations you have brought before this council are an abomination.”
The second female golem leans forward.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves. Your son hurt this woman, and you come here to torment her further.”
The human councilman raises his hand and the chamber quiets.
“Let me make the legal position clear,” he says, looking directly at Bran’s parents. “Once a human bride has been claimed by a golem, she falls under our law. She is outside of human jurisdiction. You had no right to come here and level these accusations against a woman who is no longer subject to your authority.” He looks at the guards and nods. “Escort them out. Remove them from the mountain before this council is forced to take more drastic measures.”
A tension I’ve been carrying since Tessana rolls off my shoulders. I knew the bride market put me beyond the Peacekeepers’ reach. That was the whole reason I went. But hearing it spoken by a governing body, in a chamber built for exactly this purpose, in front of the two people who’ve hunted me since Bran died… The relief is so strong my knees give out, and Korr’s arm tightens to hold me up.
Two guards step forward. Bran’s mother screams as a human guard takes her by the arm and pushes her toward a side door. His father walks between the guards, stiff and silent, and doesn’t look back.
The doors close behind them, and I can finally say I’m free.
Korr turns to the council and bows his head. I manage a nod. He half-carries me out, but in the corridor, I sag against him and shake my head.
“I can’t walk,” I tell him. “I’m sorry.”
He lifts me without a word. I curl up and grip his shirt with both fists, press my face into the warm stone of his neck. He carries me to the lift, up a level, through the Highhalls and into our living room.
He sets me down in an armchair. I don’t let go of his shirt. He kneels in front of me so we’re closer to the same height, his eyes level with mine, his hands resting on the arms of the chair.
I look at his face. My hands are trembling against his chest.
“I need to tell you something.”
Chapter Eighteen
Korr
Her hands are shaking. I take hold of them, my fingers wrapped around hers, her knuckles pressing into my palms. She’s in the armchair where I set her down after carrying her from the council chamber, and I’m on my knees in front of her, the fire burning low behind me, the flames catching in the diamonds she’s covered in.
She’s perfect. Her blue eyes, red-rimmed and wet, looking at me like I’m supposed to know what to do. Her golden hair loose around her shoulders. Everything about her is right, and I don’t understand why she looks like she’s about to come apart.
Those despicable, horrible people. They had the audacity to walk into Steinheim, stand in front of the Council of Five, and point their fingers at my wife. That vile man who put his hands on her before I met her. That pitiful woman who watched her son hurt Sorina every day and never opened her mouth to defend her. They came looking for Sorina as if they had any right to her. Of course she’s shaking. Anyone in her position would be terrified.
I run my thumbs across her knuckles.
“It’s okay. I’m here for you. No one is going to hurt you ever again.”
“You don’t understand.” Tears run down her cheeks. “I did it.” She holds my gaze. “They weren’t false accusations. I did it. I killed Bran. I poisoned my ex-husband.”
I lift her hands to my mouth and press my lips to her knuckles, one hand and then the other.
She frowns. “Korr. I’m a murderer.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“I couldn’t take it anymore.” She pulls one hand free and wipes her face with the back of her wrist. “He was violent, andhe got worse every day. His parents were the same. His father had a temper, and his mother pretended like nothing was wrong. Nobody was going to help me. Not my family, not the neighbors, and not the Peacekeepers. So, I helped myself.”
“How did you do it?”
“Dwale berries from deadly nightshade, dried and crushed to powder. Henbane seed, ground fine. Monkshood root, shaved thin and steeped overnight. I made a mixture and put it in a heavy stew with enough garlic and pepper to cover the taste. The nightshade and henbane caused a deep sleep, and the monkshood stopped his heart before morning. It looked like a young man who died in his bed. Nothing too weird about that.”
Her grandmother taught her which plants heal and which ones kill. She told me about it this past week, as we soaked in the bath, how the knowledge was passed down through the women in her family, how the port trade routes in Tessana brought her plants that didn’t grow anywhere near her house.
