Page 67 of Taking Jenny
I swallowed hard and stepped inside.
The council chamber was black marble and intimidation. A massive charcoal-gray table dominated the space. Seven men were seated, Justice at the far head. Two empty chairs—one at his right hand, and one at the near end—remained. Mal slid into the seat beside Justice. That left me with the opposite end.
“Good morning, Orne,” Justice said, his voice smooth and commanding.
I inclined my head. “Good morning, Ruler.”
“Doesn’t he look well,” Justice mused, “for a man who’s been tortured by Malice?”
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room.
Mal said, “Not all torture leaves bruises, Justice.”
Justice nodded slowly. “True. But you opened the door for him, which was oddly polite for you.”
Mal laughed. “Leftover manners from a civilized court upbringing.”
Justice considered him with narrowed eyes. “Indeed.” Then, he turned his attention back to me. “Tell me, Orne. Ever thought about running the Trial of Illiamor yourself?”
I blinked, surprised by the odd question. “That would be difficult, seeing as I’m not a woman.”
“Of course, but hypothetically speaking.”
“I haven’t given it much thought at all, Ruler.”
He leaned back, eyes sharp as glass. “Do you think an Orne would survive the trial?”
Panic churned in my stomach. I mentally sorted through the few remaining Orne women and there weren’t many. I did not like where this conversation was headed.
“It’s…possible,” I replied.
“Your people are known for their ferocity, are they not?”
“We are.”
“Do you share your clan’s ferocity?”
Where was he going with this?“I try to keep my ferocity in the bedroom, where it belongs,” I said, attempting to give him something else to think about other than my clan.
Mal gaped at me. Justice burst out laughing, slapping the table with delight. The council joined in.
“Pleon,” Justice called out. “Pour us a round of whickler in honor of our guest.”
One of the councilors—a balding man—hurried to a cabinet behind me and returned with glasses filled with the whickler.
Justice lifted his glass. “You may be unclassed trash, Orne, but that answer entertained me. And my councilors have been woefully boring lately. To you.”
They all drank. I followed suit. The whickler burned hot down my throat—brutal on an empty stomach. I coughed softly.
“Ever had any better?” Justice asked.
Lie, or tell the truth?“Best whickler ever, Ruler,” I said smoothly.
He smirked. “Mal, double his punishment for that bold lie.”
Shit.“Alright, you caught me,” I said with a laugh. “When I was a boy, an elder woman in my clan made her own. It was smoother, cleaner. Just the right hint of smoke and wood. Perfect.”
Justice leaned in. “Sounds like I need a barrel.”
