Page 30 of Trial By Fire

Aric’s blood turned to ice. His mind raced, trying to come up with a plan, a way to turn the situation to his advantage. But Vizra was already ahead of him, and the trap was closing in.

“I have eyewitnesses who can testify that they saw the human mage using his powers to aid in the prisoners’ escape,” Vizra continued. “It is clear that he has been working against us all along, a spy in our midst.”

Aric’s heart pounded in his ears. He had helped a few prisoners escape, it was true, but he had been careful, taking every precaution to ensure that his actions went undetected. So how had Vizra found out? Who had betrayed him?

“I did—no such thing,” Aric cried. “And I helped you—I deciphered the weapon they used against us, Iwarnedyou about it, I cannot help that you chose to press on?—”

“You tried to dissuade us from striking. You tried to convince us it was not worth an attack. Thankfully, the Sovereign in his wisdom urged us to press on. But the damage you’d sowed had already been done. The human prisonersyouset free warned Brenville of our approach.”

He risked a glance at Malekith, but the demon prince’s face was a mask, his expression unreadable. Aric’s mind raced. If he was going to get out of this, he needed to think fast.

But before he could speak, Vizra turned to Zaxos, her head bowed in supplication. “My Sovereign, I present this evidence to you, and leave the judgment in your hands.”

The chamber was silent for a long moment, the demon lords gathered around the dais waiting with bated breath. Then a chill wind rippled through the chamber, tugging at the hems of their robes and extinguishing several of the torches. Aric shivered, hisskin prickling with gooseflesh as the air grew thick and heavy, like the moments before a storm.

“Vizra,” a voice whispered—at first in Aric’s ear, then all around them—and Aric shivered. “You have done well.”

Aric’s head snapped around, but there was no one there. No one, that is, except for the shadowy figure that had appeared behind the demon Sovereign. Sylthris the Gravewhisper, the demon Sovereign’s spymaster, her pale skin glowing in the darkness like a wraith.

Aric’s heart pounded in his ears as he turned back to Zaxos. Sylthris bent forward to whisper to the Sovereign for a long minute that seemed to stretch into an eterity. The Sovereign’s face was carefully blank, but his eyes glittered with amusement, and Aric knew then that he was lost.

“Then the traitor must be brought to justice,” Zaxos said. He rose from his chair, his robes billowing around him, and the air in the chamber crackled with power. “I will not tolerate treachery in my ranks.”

The demon guards flanking Aric moved forward, their weapons at the ready. Aric’s heart pounded in his ears, and he tried to summon up his magic, but the shackles on his wrists and the thick wards around the chamber sapped his strength. He was trapped, with no way to defend himself, and Vizra’s smug smile only deepened as she saw his struggle.

“Seize the human,” Zaxos said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “He will face judgment for his crimes.”

“Wait.” Aric’s voice was a thin, reedy thing, but he forced himself to stand, to face the gathered court. “I can explain.”

Vizra’s eyes flashed with anger, and the guards closed in around him, their claws unsheathed. But Malekith stepped forward, placing himself between Aric and the guards.

“My Sovereign,” Malekith said, sinking to one knee. “I take full responsibility for the human’s actions. He has been undermy authority. He already aided us with the wards, and he was assisting Vizra with deciphering the new schematics we found in the Silver Tower’s garrison?—”

“Silence, Malekith!” Zaxos rose from his seat, his voice a deafening roar. “You have no authority here.”

As the guards closed in, Aric locked eyes with Malekith. In that moment, a wordless communication passed between them—a mix of fear, regret, and something deeper that neither was ready to name. Malekith’s hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out, but he remained still, bound by duty and the weight of Zaxos’s command.

“I’m sorry,” Aric mouthed, his voice lost in the rumble of the chamber.

He had never meant for any of this to happen. His only goal had been to protect his people, to find a way to end the war without more bloodshed. But in his pursuit of that goal, he had only brought more pain and suffering down on their heads.

The guards seized Aric roughly, tearing him from the chamber and shoving him to his knees. He cried out as they bound his hands with thick, rune-etched shackles that sapped his magic, leaving him defenseless. He struggled against their hold, a surge of panic and desperation flooding through him. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not when he was so close to finding a way to end the bloodshed.

“Malekith,” he called, his voice a raw, torn thing. “Please. You have to believe me.”

But Malekith had turned his back on him, his face a cold mask. Aric’s heart shattered at that final glimpse of the demon prince—the anguish in his eyes, the raw vulnerability that he had bared to Aric, all gone. With a strangled cry, Aric let the guards drag him from the chamber, and the only sound that filled the air was the clank of his chains on the stone floor.

Ten

The first thing Aric became aware of was the throbbing in his head.

It was a dull, insistent ache, like a hammer pounding against his skull, demanding to be heard. Groaning, he tried to lift a hand to press against his aching head, only to find his arms wouldn’t move. His eyes flew open, the sudden brightness sending spears of white-hot pain lancing through his head, and he let out a pained cry.

Aric’s vision swam, the outlines of his surroundings blurry and indistinct. He was sitting on the cold stone floor of a cell, the air dank and musty, the only light filtering in from a high, narrow window set in the stone wall high above. The cells, he realized with a jolt, were the same makeshift dungeons beneath Drindal where he and Malekith had found the human prisoners just a few nights before.

The sight of the cells, the memory of the terrified and defiant faces of the prisoners, lit a fire in Aric’s veins, momentarily overpowering the pain and disorientation clouding his mind. How could he have been so foolish, so reckless to lead the demons into a trap, then allow himself to fall right into Vizra’s snare?

But as the pounding in his head grew louder, the memories came flooding back. The confrontation with Vizra, his arrest, the desperate, futile struggle as the guards dragged him away from Malekith. His heart ached as he recalled the look on Malekith’s face, and he cursed himself for being such a fool.

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