Finn glanced at his brother, and Darin nodded, confident.
Celia shook her head, her right hand pressed against her stomach. “No. We bow to no one. We’re loyal to ourselves.”
Ragnor moved next to her. He smiled, but there was a threat in his eyes. “That’s right.”
“You’re claiming to be neutral? Like the Ward?” Finn asked. “But in the end, he wasn’t. He and I?—”
“Finn,” I said. The hole in my chest where Jacob’s rope had been ached at the mention of him.
Finn looked over at me, and I asked, “Where’s Jacob?”
Everyone looked at Finn.
A slow, frightened crawling sensation dragged up my spine.
“I sent him to the fortress to find Darin. He . . . he didn’t come back?”
While Finn spoke, Darin stiffened. I watched the hardening of his jaw and the subtle shift in his stance.
“What did you do?” I asked.
Darin looked at Finn. “He said you’d made a truce.”
“We did.”
Darin scoffed. “Don’t you realize that was just another Ward lie? He came to you to find out what you were thinking, what you were doing—to exploit your weaknesses and then to twist your mind. Wards lie. Wards?—”
“What did you do?” I said again, my voice low and horrible.
Darin glanced at me and then said, “He’s dead.”
“You killed him,” I said, the knowledge filling me. “You killed?—”
Celia gasped and stumbled. Ragnor caught her arm. Inside her shirt, the small white dog whimpered when she wrapped her arms tightly around herself.
“Finn,” I whispered, grief overwhelming me.
“I protected you,” Darin said to Finn. “I protected you when you were too blind to realize you needed protecting.”
Finn shook his head. “No. You killed him because Philoneas killed our father.”
There it was. The truth.
“Fine. Yes,” Darin said, his expression tightening in agreement. “I killed him because Philoneas killed Dad. I made an oath, and I fulfilled it.”
Finn closed his eyes, looking wearier than I’d ever seen him. When he opened his eyes again, he looked like his father.
Celia stepped forward, her face terrible and cold. She stared at Finn and spoke in a quiet, lethal voice. “I, Celia Bard, demand retribution for the death of Jacob Ward. I demand punishment. I invoke section three, article one. In the event of a conjurer murdered outside of combat, duel, or justice, retribution may be demanded by an immediate family member. As Jacob’s wife,”—she swallowed and lifted her chin—“as his widow, I demand equal punishment.”
His wife? His . . .? Jacob and Celia had married?
“Lia?” Ragnor paled and reached for her.
She pushed him aside and threatened Finn with her gaze.
“I demand it, Smith. As the head of your family, you must deliver justice. Or I will.” At her words, her eyes bled with dark shadows, and a strange not-illusion feeling swarmed around her.
My breath caught.
