Page 89 of Sundered By Fate

But the soldiers closed in, their weapons gleaming in the dim light. Aric felt his grip slipping, his control shattering. He couldn't lose Malekith—not again.

He turned back to Malekith, their eyes locking. So many words they needed to say, so much that needed to be resolved. But there was no time, no space for it now.

Aric took a step back, the flames around him receding. He felt the soldiers' hands on him, the cold metal of the inhibitor cuffs snapping into place again.

"Aric." Valerian's voice was a vise. "Tell me why you protect this demon."

It was too cruel, too impossible, that Valerian could speak to him in such tones. As if they hadn’t kissed, hadn’t danced, hadn’t shared so many unspoken truths. As if Valerian’s touch had never made his heart stutter in his chest. But the Valerian he had known was gone, had never existed—and for that, Aric hated him.

He scanned the faces around him—the Pureblade knights, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. The Silver Tower mages, their fingers twitching with spells ready to be unleashed. All of them watching him with confusion, with suspicion, with a growing sense of betrayal.

"I don't . . ." Aric's voice was raw with emotion. "He's . . . He's not what you think."

Olaya broke ranks, her silver robes billowing around her like storm clouds. "How did you do it, Aric?" she demanded, her voice low and fierce. "How did you close those rifts? What power have you been consorting with, to wield such might?"

The other Silver Tower mages murmured in agreement, their eyes bright with suspicion. Aric felt their judgment pressing down on him, a weight he could barely stand.

"I . . . I don't know," he said, words small and thin. "It's a power I just found myself drawing on. As if necessity brought it forth. I barely understand myself."

"Then why?" Ruta asked, stepping forward, her eyes blazing. "Why keep it hidden from us? Why not share it, if it could help us against the demons?"

Aric's thoughts whirled, trying to find a way to explain, to justify. "I thought . . . I thought it was best," he said finally. "That it was too dangerous, too powerful, for anyone to know."

"Too powerful for anyone but you, you mean," Valerian sneered. "Tell us the truth, Aric—that it's a power you've been hoarding for yourself, to use against us as you see fit."

Aric shook his head, but the doubt was a poison, choking him. How could he make them understand the truth, when he'd kept so much from them already?

"I only wanted to help," he said, his voice breaking.

"I'm not the enemy here," he said, trying to force strength into his voice that he didn't feel. "The demon is. And we need him alive."

Ruta snorted. "So he can kill more of us?"

"No." Panic rose like bile in Aric’s throat. "So we can interrogate him. Find out what he knows."

Malekith hadn't moved, hadn't spoken. His silence was a weight, pressing on Aric's chest.

"What good is that?" Olaya said, her voice weary. "He's a demon. He'll only lie."

Aric cast about for a better argument, but found none. "We can't just become executioners. Not without even trying to learn what he knows."

Until we learn what was done to him . . .

"Aric, please," Valerian said, and even he sounded exhausted. "Think of what's best for our realm."

Aric's shoulders sagged. He couldn't see past the haze of fear, of love, of desperation. All he knew was that he couldn't let them take Malekith from him.

Aric closed his eyes, his tears falling like embers into the snow.

"I can't," he whispered.

The crowd began to murmur, their tone darkening, and Aric's heart clenched.

"Step aside." Valerian’s voice was firmer now. "Or we'll make you."

Valerian advanced, his hand on his sword hilt. "Aric. Think of the city. Think of your duty. Do not let this demon turn you against us."

Aric's pulse thundered in his ears. Too many eyes on him; too many lives at stake. Malekith's life.

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