Page 37 of Sundered By Fate

Nine

As the ornate doors to the tribunal chamber swung open, Aric was struck by the overwhelming sense of grandeur within. High vaulted ceilings soared overhead, tapestries adorned every wall, each one telling a story from Astaria's rich history. And everywhere he looked, rows of stern-faced observers sat in silence, staring intently at him.

At the far end of the chamber, elevated on a dais, sat Cyrus and other high-ranking members of the Pureblade Order. Their expressions ranged from suspicion to outright disdain, though Cyrus's face was predictably a mask of steely resolve. To one side were Olaya and the senior mages of the Silver Tower, including Davin. Opposite them sat Valerian and his courtiers, watching with inscrutable expressions.

Aric swallowed hard and stepped forward into the chamber. The eyes of the assembly bore into him, but he refused to avert his gaze. He would not flinch. He would not give them that satisfaction.

Once Aric took his place at the center of the chamber, Cyrus rose to formally open the proceedings.

"Aric Solarian, you stand accused of the most grievous charges imaginable for a member of our order," Cyrus intoned,his voice flat but resonant. "You have consorted with demons, betrayed your Pureblade oaths, and risked corrupting yourself and others with dark magics."

Aric's face was a careful mask of neutrality as he listened to the list of accusations. Inside, anger surged, but he quelled it down with practiced effort. He had to remain calm if he was to stand any chance of defending himself.

Amongst the observers, Aric saw Olaya's steely demeanor. Ruta's back straightened a little when he looked her way, and Aric could only nod faintly before the Lord Regent called him forth. Davin wore an implacable look Aric would recognize anywhere—a mask intended to keep the stares of other diplomats and negotiators from swaying him, Olaya had told them years before.

For better or worse, he was not entirely without allies in the tribunal.

Cyrus continued, unaware or uncaring of the whispered conversations amongst the mages or noblemen seated on either side of the dais. "You are accused of turning your magic against our own troops on the borders." It grated; what could he expect a coward like Tharivol to say? Cyrus stilled the truth from emerging with bared weapons and surety.

Cyrus did not have his weapons now.

"The charge of forbidden magic alone would be enough to see you tried. Do you deny it?"

"I've already given my account, Lord Inquisitor," Aric said flatly. "I have no words prepared at this time."

Cyrus's eyes gleamed in the torchlight as he leaned forward. "Very well. Then perhaps you can explain to this tribunal your research into demon magic. You claimed it was in the service of our realm's defense, yet your methods and motives remain suspect."

"It is true that I was conducting research into methods of defeating the demons once and for all, and that included studying their own magic. An area of research that is sorely lacking, which never made sense to me. How can we possibly defeat an enemy whose abilities and powers we don't even understand?"

"There are good reasons we do not delve into such vile business," Cyrus said. "Its power to corrupt is too vast."

"There is nothing in it that is inherently corrupting," Aric snapped. "Which you would know, if I'd been allowed to conclude my research without interference."

One eyebrow arched over Cyrus's steely eyes. "I think what you mean to say is that without interference, you would have dared to unleash whatever monstrous concoction of demons and magic you devised upon your own people. And for what? To align yourself with the enemy so wholeheartedly? Your notes from the Silver Tower's research will be presented as evidence of your treachery and contempt."

A frisson of irritation pinched at Aric's scalp, and he realized with a start that he was digging his nails into his palms. A flush spread up over his neck, threatening to spill over his cheeks if he did not stand down, but dammit, it took every shred of willpower not to scream?—

The sigil on his sternum buzzed threateningly, and he hastily moved to recenter himself before speaking again.

Aric took a measured breath. "My studies were driven by the need to understand the true nature of this threat facing both our worlds." He met Cyrus's stare evenly. "The anomaly is causing irreparable damage—not just to our realm, but the demon one as well. If we don't act soon, the fallout will be catastrophic."

"This imaginary 'anomaly' of yours is not on trial here," Cyrus snapped. "We are here to determine whether you have been compromised by your dealings with demons."

"I am not compromised." Aric kept his voice level. "I may have been their captive, but I never gave up on my duty to protect our people."

"And yet you embraced their foul magics." Cyrus's lip curled with distaste. "You even flaunted them in Thornhaven, if accounts are to be believed."

Aric's fingers curled at his sides. "It was a necessary risk. To combat the demons' incursion."

"Or to betray us and aid their cause."

A fierce spark flared within him, heating the sigil where it lay dormant against his chest. Aric drew a breath, forcing himself to stay calm. It was happening again: that frightening pull at his consciousness, at the core of who he was?—

"You know that isn't true," he said softly.

Cyrus opened his mouth, but Aric cut him off.

"I could have used it then." Aric felt his control slipping; he leaned into the dangerous edge of fury igniting inside him. "The demons took me from them. And still I fought for us. I endured the worst the demon realm had to offer so I could bring knowledge and warning back with me. I sacrificed . . ." Aric suppressed a tremor coursing through him—an echo of Malekith's voice.Not now. Not now."Myself. My soul. All for a chance at our collective salvation."

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