Page 38 of Sundered By Fate

"The gods and their pure light did not ask you to?—"

"Your gods and their pure light are not out here fighting for us," Aric said. "I am."

The room murmured, swirling around Aric like an unsettling gale. Cyrus again tried to find his footing, but then Valerian stood, raising a hand to silence the Inquisitor.

"Thank you, Inquisitor. Allow me."

Cyrus glared at the interruption, but Valerian pressed on.

"This anomaly you speak of—explain it to us."

Aric hesitated, sensing a trap. But he had nothing left to lose. "It's an imbalance in the magical currents that traverse our realms and the leylines that feed them, caused by . . ." He risked a glance toward Olaya, but there was no use in holding back. "By certain experiments I fear have been undertaken by the Silver Tower."

Olaya shifted on her seat, but Aric continued. "It's growing more unstable with each passing day. I've seen its effects firsthand—increasing demon incursions, erratic magic, corruption and destabilization."

"And you believe the demon realm is equally affected?"

"Yes." Aric met Valerian's stare evenly. "It is a risk to everyone, whether they understand it or not."

Valerian steepled his fingers, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "A compelling story. But tell us, Aric Solarian: why should we believe you?"

A challenge, but one Aric was prepared for. "Because I have no reason to lie. I've returned here at great personal risk, forsaking my own safety in order to warn my people."

"But what if it's all part of a greater plot? To sow discord and division among us?"

Aric stiffened, bracing for a renewed onslaught from Cyrus or the other Pureblade inquisitors. But Valerian held up a placating hand.

"No," he said, with a smile that might have been genuine—Aric wasn't sure yet. "I don't think that's it at all."

He shifted in his seat and leaned forward slightly as though confiding something personal to Aric.

"I think," he said softly enough only for Aric's ears—and perhaps those sitting nearby—to hear—"you've been through far more than any one man should have ever had to endure."

The nights of endless violence and indulgence in the Ebon Spire, the demons’ eyes raking over Aric like claws as theyargued and boasted for the right to defile him. Offering himself up, debasing himself in Malekith’s cruel games, allowing himself to be pleasured and tortured equally before them, because it served a greater purpose—and because, deep down, he could deny Malekith nothing.

Fighting for his life—No. Fighting for the lives of the other humans as unlucky as him to find himself in their clutches. Forfeiting his safety so Tharivol could deliver warning back to Astaria, only for him to be killed before he reached the Borderlands. Incurring Lord Darioth’s hatred when he rescued Ruta from his vicious hunt, only to have Darioth nearly drain Aric of all of his power to try to usurp Malekith. Setting free human prisoners in Drindal and conspiring against Vizra, only for Karthax to try to assassinate him and Sylthris the Gravewhisper to set upon him for a purpose he still didn’t understand.

And through it all . . . Malekith.

Malekith, whose true aims, even unspoken, Aric was willing to defend and fight for against all odds. His kindness and compassion hidden beneath a battle-hardened, blood-tempered armor of cruelty and apathy. Malekith, who offered him the world, a world all their own.

A world Aric was still willing to fight for. For every person in this chamber, and this city, and this realm—and for Malekith, and for himself.

"I do not regret it," Aric said at last.

Valerian smiled and laced his fingers before him. "Then perhaps you can tell us more about your time among them."

Aric swallowed thickly, forcing himself to meet Valerian's unwavering stare. "What I witnessed . . . It was beyond anything I could have imagined. The demons' true nature. Their cunning, their endless ambition. Their society is not so different fromour own, and yet—" He shook his head. "The savagery that lies beneath the surface . . . The cruelty they inflict upon each other."

He paused, remembering Ruta in that terrible game.

"I tried to save the other humans I encountered," he said softly. "Those unfortunate enough to find themselves in their clutches." He thought of Tharivol, the mage he let defeat him, costing Aric a deeply humiliating, degrading evening at the demons' clutches—only for Tharivol to be killed as he fled. "I even succeeded, on occasion." He glanced briefly toward Ruta. "But every time I thought I had devised a way out, every time I thought I had convinced my captors of my worth to them, the demons found some way to twist it, to use my compassion against me."

Aric clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

"It became clear to me that simply fighting them was not enough. That alone, they could crush me. That if I was going to survive, if I was going to stop them, then the only way was to try and understand them." He squared his shoulders. "To deceive them the way they had deceived us."

"You admit that you fought with their forces when they invaded the Borderlands," Valerian said. "With the knowledge of our wards—the knowledge you possessed as a member of the Silver Tower."

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