Griff surfaced, pain throbbing in his bones. A grunt escaped before he gritted his teeth against the agony. He tried to breathe through it.
Of course, surfacing at all was a surprise. He’d expected kill shots. Would’ve preferred them. Instead, the mages had used stun shots that battered his body but left mild, if widespread, energy burns that only delayed the inevitable.
The high security cell hadn’t changed since he’d last put someone into it. Black walls, bespelled iron over steel, recessed lights. Warding tingled on his skin. A shackle of ensorcelled iron anchored his left ankle to the wall and stifled his magic. If any cell was escape-proof, this one was.
His chest tightened painfully, and he drew in a slow breath. There was so much he still wanted to do.
At least Valeria was free and she knew he loved her.
I love you, too, Griffin, she’d thought to him. I love you.
Hearing that again was worth the agony, worth surviving to face the extremely nasty proceedings ahead. At least he could die knowing a woman like Valeria Banning could love him.
Loss raked his heart, and he drew a sharp breath against it. He’d known better than to hope, after all. But it was ironic that he should die only after finding something, someone, he wanted so very badly.
He would do what he could, take any chance, to make Valeria look like an innocent. Maybe he could convince the Council he’d manipulated her. That would piss her off, but he’d sworn she would have her life back.
Stay safe, he thought to her, though he couldn’t sense her. The wards surrounding the Collegium likely blocked contact with anyone outside them. Good thing the Council didn’t know about his bond to her. What they couldn’t see, they couldn’t use to hurt her.
He could only hope his death wouldn’t flow through that bond and harm her. Surely the mages would ward the site of his execution. They wouldn’t want to risk a last, wild burst of magic hurting any of them.
At least Todd and Missy would be safe. Unless the car’s engine had blown when he flung magic inside it to snatch Valeria. But the mages would’ve contained the damage, protected the Mundanes. He could probably trust them for that much, and, unless they were all in league with the traitor, to contain the orb. He and Valeria had accomplished something important at the end, shutting down that portal.
Maybe knowing he loved her would be some consolation. Or maybe it would make the loss worse, but he’d had to tell her. In that last moment, knowing he would never see her again, he couldn’t hold back the words.
He’d wanted to nail that bastard traitor himself, exact justice for his dead deputies. For the friends who’d died because of him. But Will would see it through. His friends would help Valeria if she let them, Stefan especially.
“Bastard’s awake,” a gravelly voice said outside the cell. “I’ll fix that.”
“Leave him alone, Mitch,” a woman ordered. “We’re doing this by the book.”
Mitch. Corin’s brother?
“Too bad we didn’t get Banning, too,” another male voice muttered.
“That stupid slut,” a deeper male voice said. “Bitch has been holding out on us. What a waste of those round tits and long, sweet legs. That ripe mouth, made for sucking—”
“Could you be any more crude, Parker?” a different woman demanded as Griff bit down a surge of fury.
“Hey,” the man answered, “mage woman, any woman, spreads her legs for a murdering traitor, she’s no better’n a whore.”
“So she’s an idiot,” one of the women replied. “Doesn’t make her a slut.”
“No,” someone else said, “but the way Healey and the Council saw them going at it at her lake house does.”
Griff winced. Shit. He’d damaged Valeria’s reputation more than he’d realized.
“Can it,” Stefan’s voice said, “and get back to your duties. You can speculate on your off hours.”
He wasn’t their direct boss, but he was a councilor. Muttering, the deputy reeves dispersed, except for the two women guarding the entrance.
The door ward dropped, and Stefan stepped through, his face bland. The ward hummed as it rose again behind him.
Because of the guards outside, Griff held back his smile of greeting. At least he’d have one last talk with Stefan.
Stefan sat by him on the bunk. “Mr. Dare, I’m here to check you as part of the admission process. Let’s get those burns tended.”
Griff cocked an eyebrow at him. “Kind of a waste of effort. Considering.”
“Procedure,” Stefan said crisply. In a low voice that wouldn’t carry, he said, “Griff, I’m sorry I ever got you into this.”
“Not your fault,” Griff murmured, peeling back the gray coverall. “Believe it, Stefan.”
Shaking his head, Stefan touched Griff’s shoulder, and healing energy flowed over the raw skin, cooling and soothing. “Sit and let me do this.”
“How long was I out?”
“About five hours. It’s almost dawn.” In a soft voice, he added, “I’m also feeding you power. You need all you can muster. They plan to put you under ritual questioning without letting you answer the charges against you first. We had a battle in the Council about that, and about your right to a lawyer under the Caudex Magi.”
“Nobody would take my case anyway,” Griff said, but an icy fist twisted in his gut. The nasty vision of him in that chair was coming true. The mages would chain him to the obsidian seat of justice with councilors probing his mind. He would either break and betray his friends, or hold, and have his brain scrambled.
He wouldn’t betray his friends.
“Guess they see no reason to bother with procedure since I’m already convicted.”
Stefan snorted. “If the three chicken-shit abstainers had voted our way, you would have your chance.”
“Not a surprise. They’re politicians.” But a tiny corner of Griff’s soul could still feel the sting of disappointment, of disillusionment, that the organization he’d served failed to live up to its principles. “Thanks for trying, though.”
“Had to take a shot.”
“What happened to the portal, to the people it ensnared?”
“Missy and Todd are safe at home. The captive souls have been liberated to pass to the next plane.” Stefan shook his head. “Tragic for them.”
“What about the people summoned for the dark of the moon?”
Stefan shrugged. “Gerry Armitage thinks destroying the orb kills the summons. Either way, we’ll know soon enough. There’s a guard there now, but the people in that circle escaped. The mages were too busy with you to catch them. They’re not a current threat. For now, Griff, your situation is priority. Lorelei’s here. Will and the rest are inbound. Val says she loves you and you’re to hang on. She has a plan.”
Valeria. Griff’s heart jumped, and his throat closed. To see her one more time, to touch her, but no use wishing for that. “Tell everyone to stand down. It’s too dangerous for them to be here, especially if I crack under questioning.”
Stefan raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure they’ll pay as much attention to that advice as you always have.”
“Bite me.” Griff smiled as he said it. He’d been damned lucky to have Stefan and the others as friends. “Seriously, no stupid chances.”
“No stupid people involved.” Along with the healing energy, Stefan fed him power. “Out of your hands, bro. Park the control freak and trust us to be smart. Will says to tell you, if Val’s plan fails, he and Tasha have a backup.”
“Magic can’t even dent these walls.”
“Will says C-4 might.” Stefan raised his voice to add, “All done here.”
“Thanks.” Griff tugged the coverall shut. “Stefan,” he murmured, “you have to stop them. When I’m gone, they’re the only hope—”
“Dr. Harper, what are you doing?” Gene Blake, chief councilor of the Collegium, glared through the door ward’s blue sheen.
Griff’s fists balled. He’d like to pound Blake for the pain he’d
caused Valeria.
“I’m tending my patient.” Stefan gave Blake a cold stare.
“We need him for questioning,” Blake said. “You’re making him better able to resist.”
Stefan shrugged. “Under the Caudex Magi, only those fit in mind and body can undergo ritual questioning.”
“This is Griffin Dare, for God’s sake, a cold-blooded killer. Nobody gives a damn. They want him dead.”
“Very likely.” His voice hard, Stefan rose. “They may not give a damn about him, but they care about us. About who we are. If we throw away the rules because they’re inconvenient, what protection do any of us have?”
“Bullshit.”
Gerry Armitage stepped into view. “Ease up, Blake.”
“Properly healing even minor wounds requires rest to complete.” Stefan spoke to Gerry, not to Blake.
“Too damned bad,” Blake snapped. “We’re taking him now.” The ward dropped. Mitch Jacobs, Corin’s brother, and three other burly deputy reeves stalked through the portal.
Stefan stepped in front of Griff. “I won’t certify—”
“Doc. It’s okay.” Griff tugged him aside. He had to protect Stefan, keep him safe to carry on the fight. “Now or later makes no difference to me.”
At least he had a fresh infusion of power. That should help him hold, protect his friends. Go with his head high.
He turned a level, cold look on Blake. “We all know where this train stops. No sense prolonging the journey. I waive any right I have to a delay on medical grounds.”
“So you consent?” Blake’s eyes gleamed as the guards moved in with their shackles.
“I don’t consent, but I know it doesn’t matter since I’m already condemned. We may as well get this part done.” While the power infusion from Stefan was fresh.
The guards drew his hands behind his back, snapped the shackles on his wrists. Another traded the wall shackle for a hobble, but with a chain long enough for shuffling steps.
I love you, he thought, even knowing Valeria wouldn’t hear it through all the Collegium’s wards.
The guards pushed him out, and he held on to the image of her. She was a gift beyond measure, a reason all by herself for him to stand firm. And he would. He would protect her.
No matter what it cost him.
Chapter 21
Standing room only, Griff noted as the guards chained his arms behind the ritual grotto’s ancient obsidian seat. How many of the two hundred or so watchers had come to have their hatred confirmed? How many might actually have open minds? He would probably never know.
The ceiling was fifty feet over his head. On three sides around him rose tiers of granite benches, all full now, with the doors behind the highest row. Below the ceiling, a mural ran around the chamber, depicting the heroic deeds of ancient mages. He’d been in this room for his ritual fledging, his acceptance as a full mage. For his appointments as a deputy reeve and then, five years later, as shire reeve.
Tonight he’d be back here to die. Unless they decided to roll right into that.
Dread rolled ice down his back. He forced himself to breathe. As a distraction, he surveyed the room. Torches in a chandelier overhead provided the only light and cast eerie shadows over the spectators’ faces.
Down the wall at his back trickled a waterfall. Earth, air, fire, and water, the four base elements, made up all the room’s furnishings. No synthetics here. He planted his bare feet on the chair’s base and reached into the earth to ground himself as best he could with the shackles stifling his power.
Most of the Council filed into the first row, six feet above the dirt floor. Stefan looked grim, Loremaster Gerry Armitage solemn, a few others neutral. Healey gave Griff a hard stare. The rest of the Council looked at him with undisguised hatred.
If only he knew which of them was the real traitor. Blake and Otto Larkin walked down to the earth floor and stood facing the assembly. “We’re met for the ritual questioning of condemned murderer and traitor Griffin Rhys Dare. As is our law, I, as chief councilor, will be one of the questioners. High Councilor Larkin was chosen by lot to be the other.”
The two men walked to obsidian squares set on either side of Griff’s seat.
Griff’s heart hammered in his chest. He fixed his eyes on a point at the back of the chamber. Control was everything. He had to keep it or Valeria and his friends were doomed, and there would be no one to expose the ghouls’ ally.
He drew a deep, slow breath, blanking his thoughts, in the instant before Blake and Larkin each gripped one of his shoulders. Their two minds pushed at his. He let them past the first barrier. No point wasting his strength on the outer shell. Instead, he drew what earth power he could, summoned fog in his mind, and spun it into a wall around his thoughts.
The councilors didn’t dillydally with questions but went straight to probing. They wanted his team. His friends. He let them find the innocents, the town, the ones they wouldn’t hurt. Not Marc.
As though sensing a weak spot, Larkin pressed. He’s holding back. Someone in that town knows something.
Griff focused on the wall of fog.
Valeria, Larkin snapped.
Griff couldn’t help it, couldn’t block it fast enough. A flash of her face, of his love for her, slipped out. Shit.
Blake and Larkin attacked that slippage.
Griff slammed his walls up. The questioners’ power built until his skull felt too full, pressure making the bones throb. Their hands tightened on his shoulder.
Sweat trickled down the side of his face. They already figured he and Valeria were lovers, but he wouldn’t give them anything else. Maybe they hadn’t caught her love for him. Or their bond.
Something there, Larkin sent. Something more.
Nothing, Griff thought. Blank. All blank. He fixed his eyes on the wall, his mind on the image of Merlin over the door. Tried to steady his breathing.
He has helpers, Blake thought. We have to root them out.
The pressure in Griff’s head spread down his neck and into his chest. His heart spasmed.
I’m no traitor. He pushed the thought at them, hurled it against their attack with all the certainty he could muster. A councilor is.
At least they had to feel his belief, not just hear his words. Larkin paused. A ripple of surprise, almost belief, leaked out of him.
Bullshit, Blake snapped. His fingers bit into Griff’s shoulder.
Blake slammed his mind against Griff’s, and Griff’s failing power faltered. Desperate, he tried to draw more.
No go. Shackles blocked it.
He tasted sweat on his upper lip, ammonia on his tongue. So much for that power infusion.
Don’t let him con you, Otto. We have to break this murdering bastard.
There was a flash of something in Blake’s mind—ghouls, in a meeting with him—then suddenly, fear and guilt flared as Blake shielded his mind. So Blake was the fucking traitor, but Griff couldn’t focus on that. If he dropped his walls, tried to reach Larkin, the questioners would rip into his mind and find everything. Hellfire and damnation—
Remember those he killed, Blake urged, and Larkin’s resolve firmed.
Power like a sledgehammer crashed against Griff’s mental walls. A wave of agonizing pain rolled through his head. He choked, barely held, his body arching in his tormentors’ hold. His blood roared like floodwaters in his ears, trickled from his nose.
The pain increased. Blinding. Lancing through his body. Cramping his shoulders, his legs, his feet. He gritted his teeth. His fists clenched on the chains as he put everything he had, everything he was, into his mental walls.
He could feel his fate now. This was the end.
At least the pain would end, too. And he would win. They would break his mind, not his will.
His friends, his love, would be safe.
Valeria’s face jumped into his mind. She would be his last sane thought. With his love for her bracing him, he waited.
Gradually, he realized he could still
think. Still had his walls up. Could hear and recognize his ragged breathing, his pounding heartbeat.
From far away came Blake’s voice, “What do you mean, you let his lawyer in? He’s not entitled—”
“It was that or the Glynn County Sheriff’s Department.” Payne’s voice. “And the Savannah Crier. And the Wayfarer Oracle. They had a report we kidnapped this bastard. Damn it, Gene, listen. We let the lawyer in or half the Mundane world pries into our business. And the lawyer’s threatening to go to the All-Shires Council.”
“The murdering son of a bitch isn’t entitled to a goddamned lawyer,” Blake roared.
“Yes, he is.” A man’s cold, hard voice came from the room’s upper reaches. “Under the Caudex Magi, he is, just as he was six years ago, and that’s the last time you insult my wife.”
Insult his wife?
It couldn’t be.
Panting, Griff forced his eyes open. Sweat trickled into them. It stung, blurring his vision. Six years had carved new lines in the tall man’s face, but Griff couldn’t mistake the strong, clean-cut features so like his own or the gray eyes looking coolly down at him.
In the doorway behind the uppermost seats stood Stuart Dare, attorney at law in both the mage and Mundane worlds. Griff’s father.
Maybe they’d scrambled his brain after all, Griff thought, and he was hallucinating. He couldn’t be walking through the Collegium hallways with his father, who seemed as oblivious to the six-person squad of reeves escorting them as he did to Griff’s shackles.
Gerry Armitage had asked Griff if he accepted his father’s representation. Griff’s need to protect his family had given way before the plea in Stuart’s usually stern eyes. Griff had said yes, so here they were.
In a charcoal-gray suit, white shirt, and navy blue silk power tie, with his bland, semibored courtroom face on, Stuart might’ve been pacing the halls of the U.S. District Court in Atlanta instead of walking beside his condemned son.
There was more gray in the black at his temples now, and Griff got no vibe from him at all. But he’d come. He’d calmly handed Griff a linen handkerchief, just like the ones he’d always carried, to wipe the blood from his nose and made the guards leave Griff’s hands free until he finished.
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