by Rachel Jonas
The man was called forward, the one with all the gashes.
Jared Spencer.
He ambled toward the Council’s table and, again, the witch kept her palm to his back. I wondered if he’d been brought here filthy and unclothed to humiliate him, but, when his trial began, his story started to unfold.
I scanned the panel of Council and High Council members as one dressed in a navy cloak read the case aloud. The variation in color set them apart from lower-level Elders in red who were also seated among them. The one who read fell silent, studying the stack of papers for a long stretch of time before lifting his gaze again.
Without guessing, his presence alerted me right away as to who he was. This had to be the Chancellor a guard mentioned.
“Am I wrong to assume this is exactly the outcome you sought? Wrong to assume you were hoping to one day stand before us, a pitiful sight and embarrassment to lycans everywhere?” His deep voice rattled loose stones that’d fallen from the aged pillars.
“When one bridles his wolf to the point of the beast breaking free of his own volition,” he went on, “it is, typically, either the result of negligence or stupidity.” A long stare lingered on Jared, the lycan in question. “So, which is it, Mr. Spencer? Are you negligent or stupid?”
I hadn’t forgotten what my brothers told me when I first shifted, that not doing so often enough would make you morph out, and the punishment for such a thing was death.
Did they really think this guy let that happen on purpose?
However, to my surprise, he nodded.
Two of the others being held like I was, turned to stare at one another in disbelief.
“It’s true,” he admitted.
A quiet murmur surrounded the Council’s table as different ones reacted to the confession.
“If choosing not to shift, if choosing to be human isn’t possible, then … I’ve got nothing to live for.”
The one seated in the center, holding Jared’s file, didn’t move as the chatter around him continued. He stared from beneath his hood’s shadow and I imagined the look of disgust that likely lingered there.
“You have nothing to live for,” he repeated, still gazing at Jared.
Jared’s chains rattled when he shifted his bare feet over the cement floor.
“Because I don’t want this,” he said, staring at his shackled hands with conviction. “I don’t want to be … a monster.”
My brow quirked at those words, hearing someone voice aloud a thought I’d had myself. While most embraced lycanism as a gift, there were the small few of us who saw it as more of a curse.
Jared’s views, clearly, aligned with the minority.
The room was quiet again, and I was aware of each breath that left my mouth, wondering if my brothers had been right. Wondering if death was truly the only outcome.
“Very well then.” I stared as the Chancellor stood, the hem of his navy cloak dragging the ground as he rounded the table, lessening the distance between himself and the pillars where the rest of us stood waiting.
Eventually, he came to a stop before Jared. Only now did I realize how much larger these lycans were than the rest of us—who were quite large already. These members of the High Council were as foreboding as the giants who brought us here.
“In accordance with the sanctions of this sacred Council, it is with great sadness that your journey must end here. At all times, it is our duty to protect our clans. On this day, it has been decided that you, Jared Spencer, have knowingly committed an offence that threatens the safety and secrecy of our species. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
I listened to the cloaked beast’s speech and felt the cool indifference in his tone. While he spoke of sadness, there were no traces of that emotion in his words.
“No, sir,” Jared trembled.
“Very well then,” the beast said once more, giving those of us who looked on no warning before revealing a sharp, pointed blade that he’d hidden in his sleeve. The tip of it disappeared in the side of Jared’s neck, shoved violently into his flesh.
Sound gurgled from his mouth as he instinctively reached for the guards, looking to hold on to someone as his last seconds of life ticked past. The Council member stepped back to avoid Jared’s touch, staring down on him when his knees hit the cement with a loud, jarring thud. Blood poured from his mouth and wound, painting the floor a macabre crimson.
He was fading too fast. With how quickly we heal, it should have taken longer for him to die, but when his limbs went still, I knew the blade had been laced with magic.
Just as cold as the speech he delivered, the Chancellor handed the dripping blade to a guard who wiped it clean, and then placed the weapon back in the Chancellor’s possession. As he returned to his seat, the now lifeless lycan was dragged off into the shadows.
“Nicholas Stokes.”
The other three who were to stand trial shifted wide-eyed gazes in my direction.
A key clanked in the lock securing me to the pillar. The guard returned it to his pocket before yanking me toward the Council’s table. While my case was silently looked over, I closed my eyes, deciding that I’d accept my fate and take whatever I had coming to me like a man. A solid minute passed and I opened them again, seeing that the one who’d just executed a man right before my eyes held a paper in his hands—one on lined, notebook paper, written in blue ink. My brow tensed, not remembering anything but typed documents in Jared’s.
The paper lowered and the Council member glared at me. Well, at least I think he did.
“You’ve been rather busy, I see.”
My stomach sank and I didn’t respond.
“Several counts of recklessness that would justify being sentenced to the same fate as Mr. Spencer,” he added, causing me to wince.
Swallowing a lump in my throat I reminded myself of the promise I’d just made a moment ago, that I’d take this like a man.
“I’m aware, sir,” I choked out, feeling the familiar sting of bile in the back of my throat as my stomach churned.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he asked. “Any … colorful excuses to offer for this elaborate mess you’ve created? Anything to add that might change our minds here tonight?”
I thought about that, aware of the amusement in his tone when he posed the question. He may have thought my youth made me ignorant, but I knew this wasn’t possible. There was no talking them out of adhering to their strict laws and subsequent punishments.
It was written in stone even if I wouldn’t let myself accept it until now.
In this spot, standing in another man’s blood … was where I’d die.
“No, sir,” I forced out, sounding far more confident than the pile of mush I’d become on the inside.
“Very well then,” he said in the same monotone he’d uttered those very words to Jared before ending his life.
In similar fashion, he rose from his seat and made slow steps around the table. My heart was in my throat as I wished I had said more. Even if it wouldn’t change things, I should have prepared something. Seemed a shame for me to die like this with not having thought of last words.
With not having said goodbye to Roz.
The sickening feeling spread within me, and in that moment, not reaching out to her was my biggest regret. While I still believed she would’ve done something stupid and gotten herself involved in this in some way, not admitting to feelings I kept under wraps seemed like a tragedy.
But here I was.
Facing death.
“In accordance with the sanctions of this sacred Council, it is with great sadness that your journey must end here,” he recited. “At all times, it is our duty to protect our clans. On this day, it has been decided that you, Nicholas Stokes, have knowingly committed an offence that threatens the safety and secrecy of our species. Again, I ask, do you have anything to say for yourself?”
I froze, paralyzed by fear and something else I couldn’t place at the time—incompletion. My l
ife was ending like an abrupt, mid-sentence cliffhanger. The finality of it rendered me speechless again. Another missed opportunity to give my final words.
When I failed to reply, a metallic glint caught the light of a nearby torch and I glanced there, to his shriveled, white hand. He held the blade, the one laced with magic, the one that would pierce my throat, resulting in my untimely death.
He stepped closer and my knees felt unstable, like they’d give out beneath me.
Take it like a man, Nick. Take it like a man.
I braced myself, anticipating the sting of the blade breaking skin as I squeezed my eyes shut. But … that sting never came.
“You deserve to bleed out at my feet.”
The coarse words took me by surprise and my eyes popped open.
So close, I could make out his features, although just barely. His face was what nightmares are made of.
Death.
He looked like death.
I was so startled by his appearance that I nearly missed what he said next.
“Lucky for you … someone of importance doesn’t see you as a complete waste of skin.” The words came out like he was smiling, amused by my shock, my fear.
“I—I don’t understand.”
He stepped toward his table again, grabbing the sheet of paper I’d seen him reading a moment ago. The one someone had written by hand. When he turned to me again, he said two words that made everything come into perspective.
“Our queen.”
Evie.
She’d written the letter?
“And, if I’ve read your file correctly, one of your infractions involved an act that endangered her life,” the Chancellor muttered, beginning to circle me several seconds before going on. “How gracious of her to submit such a … moving letter on your behalf.”
My mind raced, stopping at every one of my infractions, everything I’d done that brought me to this point—facing my own death. I, according to our laws, had earned this.
But … she saved me? After everything I’d done? After everything I cost her?
The Chancellor stopped in front of me again and I got another darkened glimpse of his face, as if the first hadn’t been enough.
Stepping closer, he whispered. “Since the first time your name was mentioned in my presence, since I first came to know what you are … I’ve been against letting you live,” he confessed with so much conviction it surprised me he hadn’t persuaded the others to side with him.
“You’re a maverick,” he added, annunciating every syllable as he spoke them into my ear, keeping these words between only he and I when adding, “And there’s no place for mavericks in our realm.”
I breathed deep, but never spoke to defend myself.
“Nevertheless,” he sighed, stepping back and allowing the volume of his voice to carry again, “my peers have decided to vote on the matter, and to my dismay, you’ll live to breathe another day.”
Relief swept over me and I nearly passed out from breathing so deeply, staring at the blood beneath the soles of my shoes. The blood of a lycan who hadn’t been so lucky. A lycan who didn’t have connections to a compassionate, selfless girl named Evie.
Adding to the apology I owed her was a huge thank you.
“However,” the Chancellor crooned, turning on his heels to face the rest of the Council as he addressed me once more, “your deeds will not go unpunished. Death is not the only way to settle your debt.” He whirled, and I imagined a grin on that terrible face of his when he added, “I’m sure you’ve realized by now, we’re quite a clever and innovative species.”
Curiosity and dread both filled me at the same time.
“I’m sure you prepared your family for the possibility of never returning home after your trial, and you were right to do so.”
That churning in my stomach was back as I stared, waited.
He stepped close again and, upon breathing one word, my knees nearly buckled.
“Exile.”
Exile.
“Nicholas Stokes, by the power vested in me as Chancellor of this, our sacred Council, I hereby sentence you to a life of hardship among other criminals like yourself.” The words left his mouth in slow, satisfied waves. “We may have agreed to let you leave this room alive, but … I’m sure you’ll soon realize we’ve only prolonged the inevitable.”
One of the guards that held me in place snickered and a chill rushed up my spine at the sound of it. This decision brought them all so much joy, knowing I’d suffer.
“Our verdict is just, and it is final,” The Chancellor said in closing. “Good luck,” he added with amusement. “You’ll certainly need it.”
—Chapter Fourteen—
Evie
“The Isle of Rayma.”
Hilda casually chomped down on a grape after answering my question. I asked where Nick would be sent when the High Council banished him in a week. I got all the information I could from Beth when she called first thing this morning to inform me of the verdict, but the information she had was limited.
According to Hilda, this island was hidden somewhere in the Indian Ocean and had been heavily spelled with magic by a chosen few, powerful witches, including herself, many centuries ago. The worst of the worst dragons, lycans, and witches were put to death, but those who were deemed too dangerous to maintain a life among their clans and covens spent the remainder of their days on The Isle of Rayma.
Hilda stared. My eyes were fixed on the arm of the couch where I sat, but I could feel the heat of her gaze.
“If you ask me, you shouldn’t care where they’re taking him, only that he’ll be far, far away,” she added.
Over the past few days, she’d made it clear she didn’t support my decision to write the High Council. In her opinion, Nick ought to lie in the bed he made. I begged to differ. Had he messed up? Absolutely. No one felt the effects of his actions more than me, but did I think he deserved to die because of it? Absolutely not.
However, I seemed to be alone in this opinion.
Not even Elise sided with me. And Dallas being one to abide by a very black and white, eye-for-an-eye moral code, I wasn’t surprised he disagreed as well. Liam only held his tongue because we had already discussed it and he knew I felt very strongly about this.
It was quite possible I’d regret sparing Nick later down the road—if the day came that he’d fulfill his destiny—but for now, I felt compelled to do what was right. Not what was easy.
“I need air,” I sighed, standing from my seat.
Even in this ginormous house, the walls could still close in on you in times like these.
“The books will still be waiting when you return,” Hilda replied, making it clear that my unscheduled break wouldn’t get me out of work. Even though these books had nothing to do with spells or sigils. Turned out Hilda was just as vigilant about me focusing on my general studies as she was about me grasping the concepts of magic.
I rushed down the carpeted, attic stairs and quickly crossed my bedroom, bursting out onto the attached balcony. Hopefully, the cool air would clear my head.
Nick being exiled was better than being put to death, but … he still stood to lose so much. Keeping him from his friends and family wouldn’t make him a better person, wouldn’t teach him how to control whatever changes had made him so irrational lately.
Listen to me … worried about him losing his family when, a short time ago he cost me my own.
Was I being stupid? Was it ridiculous to consider his feelings and his loss … when he so callously ignored mine and went after Liam?
The answer came swiftly and I didn’t question it. The words were my mothers, and she lived by them. In situations like these, she’d say: “Never base your reaction off someone’s action.” To her, a person’s true character was revealed when they either took or passed on an opportunity to seek revenge. I didn’t really care too much what others thought of the decision, but I made the choice I could live with. The one that wouldn’t keep me up at nig
ht. The one that wouldn’t make it hard to look at myself in the mirror after.
But he was still in trouble.
I leaned against the railing, staring out at the stark-white, snow-covered terrain below, at the twinkling flecks that shimmered in the early morning sunlight.
Still, I felt trapped, like I needed to break free.
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was watching, I turned toward the trees lining the edge of our yard, the first line of foliage before stepping out into miles and miles of woods. And it hit me.
I wanted to run.
Not as my dragon … as my wolf.
There were no witnesses, so … I went for it. After setting my jewelry aside and draping my clothes over the rail, I shifted, leaping off the edge before I raced off into the woods of Seaton Falls on my own—no one watching, no one listening, no one worrying. It was just me.
Beth was right about the pain—about there being less of it each time. I’d transitioned into my wolf much more quickly now that I was familiar with it.
Mounds of snow flattened beneath my large paws as they burrowed deep with each step. Thick, dark fur kept me warm, and my keen vision gave me a clear view for miles ahead. I intended to keep running until I trekked at least twenty of them.
This, shifting into a wolf, hadn’t been at all what I expected. I mean, yeah, the initial pain was something I could live without, but running so freely, transforming into such a formidable creature … it was invigorating.
My spirits rose quickly, thinking over Nick’s fate. Exile. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but far better than the alternative. I had to let that be my comfort. Otherwise, the sadness, the finality of it all, would have consumed me.
The last interaction we had was amidst a dark, tragic time. No words were exchanged, but … I hated him then. Time and acceptance had been the only thing to change my heart, but it had indeed changed. I wanted nothing but the best for Nick, regardless of our history. Regardless of our inability to coexist without hurting one another.
There was some measure of regret that we hadn’t been able to find common ground before now, but at least he knew I fought for him. So, if he wondered if I still hated him, hopefully that gave him his answer—he was forgiven.
