House of Judges (House of Royals Book 4) (12 page)

Without turning in my direction, Cyrus extends a hand out toward me. “Who among you swears fealty to Alivia Conrath?”

He turns toward the line, walking to the end, face to face with Cameron. “Do you, my young fellow?”

Cameron’s eyes are wide, wild. He can’t say a word, but he nods without hesitation.

“Your first re-pledge,” Cyrus bellows. And abruptly, he turns, and I see what he’s been hiding in his hand. An iron rod, one end of it glowing red. Without a moment of hesitation, he sinks the hot end of it into Cameron’s chest, directly over his heart.

Cameron cries out in pain, his body bowing away from the demented King.

When Cyrus removes the iron from Cameron’s skin, I see that it is my family’s crest. Set to the end of a branding iron. Just like the snake army brand that was planted in my father’s home.

“Stop!” I scream, lunging forward once again in my chair and burning myself. “Please!”

“Do you swear allegiance to Alivia Conrath?” Cyrus says, ignoring me and moving down to Christian.

Christian stares back at Cyrus with hate and anger in his eyes. Deep, sharp breaths pull in and out of his nostrils. But he nods his head. And Cyrus presses the branding iron into his chest.

He moves on to Markov, who swears allegiance. And then he’s on to Ian.

“This truly is a complicated situation, is it not, my good man?” Cyrus stands in front of Ian, staring into his eyes, his face all too close for comfort. “You loved this woman, but you also hate everything she is. Everything you are. But here you are, and situations certainly beget circumstantial chances of heart. Do you, Ian Ward, former hunter of vampires, Born and Bitten alike, swear fealty to Alivia Ryan Conrath?”

I swear my heart stops in my chest. The breath leaves my lungs and every limb on me goes cold.

Every person in the room holds a collective breath.

Ian’s eyes rise from the stone floor to meet mine.

Three months of hidden love. An entire House after us. The lies of a King. The weight of a race.

It’s all there in his eyes.

But after only a few moments of hesitation, Ian nods his head.

“Now this is love,” Cyrus says, glancing over his shoulder at me with a wicked grin. And gleefully, he presses the iron into Ian’s flesh. Ian’s head falls back, a hiss of pain rushing out between his teeth.

I pull against my bonds, my lower lip trembling as the tears roll down my face.

Cyrus moves on from Ian to stand in front of Raheem.

“You made the choice to risk your life for this woman,” Cyrus says, his voice detached and cold. “You made the decision to go behind my back, after centuries of working together. I would say your decision has been made.”

He presses the iron to Raheem’s chest, burning through layers of clothing. The horror in my eyes is complete as I look back at him, trying to convey through them how very sorry I am. For everything.

On Cyrus moves, making his way through Lillian, Samuel, and Trinity. Each of them pledges loyalty. They may each hesitate for a moment, and I cannot blame them one bit if they pledge out of fear for their lives. But they each have the iron pressed into their chests.

“Such loyalty,” Cyrus says when he turns away from the last of them—Trinity. “Alivia may not know what loyalty means when it comes to matters of the heart, but those who follow her certainly know the true meaning of the word.”

He stalks back toward me. The red glow on the end of the brand has faded, though I still see the waves of heat that rise from it. “A solemn oath sworn under duress circumstances. Come dawn, when your trial resumes, none of them will remember any part of this special inquisition. But they will carry the scars, the mark of loyalty, for the rest of their lives. Binding all of you together, as family.”

And Cyrus presses the iron into my chest. A scream of pain rips from my lungs, fierce and wild. I feel my flesh bubble beneath the iron, give way, and collapse under the pressure.

He pulls the iron away and tosses it into one corner of the room. With the snap of his fingers, every one of my House members collapses, as if they are dead. Guards flood into the room, one for each of them, and drag their bodies away.

“I do hope you are proven innocent tomorrow,” Cyrus says as two guards come to free me from my bonds. “It would certainly be disappointing for your House if you’re found guilty and put to death and all those scars are for nothing.”

My legs seem to have forgotten how to work and a guard drags me toward the door. My eyes hold Cyrus’ the entire time.

This is the true measure of our King. His brutality. The cold that lives in his heart.

And he’s won.

He’s broken me.

WATER DRIPS INTO ONE CORNER of the cell.
Plink. Plink.
Over and over, never ceasing. In perfect timing and rhythm. It in itself is a new torture.

I sit on the stone floor, my knees pulled up into my chest. Hard walls press against my back, and the chill in this pitch-black room is enough to sink into my bones.

I wait. In my head, I count seconds in an attempt to keep track of time, but my mind keeps going back to the hours that are slowly falling behind, when Cyrus hurt everyone I love, just to knock me down.

And it worked.

I feel cracked. Shattered.

For a while, I thought I knew what I was doing. I thought I was a good leader and could make the calls that needed to be made.

But all I did was lose myself. I became a terrible person.

All those recordings Cyrus played just brought to light how awful I really am. How I toyed with Cyrus to make my broken heart feel better. How I led Raheem on. How I let myself rebound when Ian cracked me. How quickly I doubted him.

And the things I did. Leading Cyrus straight to Jasmine because I couldn’t deal with her myself any other way. How I so quickly resorted to killing Danielle in the King’s twisted game.

I am an awful person.

I tuck my head into my arms, huddling as small as I can. I want to disappear into the center of the earth, where the core will melt me down and obliterate every cell that makes up the mess that I am. To be erased.

I’m tired of this existence.

MY BARE FEET PAD THROUGH the hallways. Turn left and my eyes focus on the platform, which bears my judges. I meet their eyes as they study me. Lillian, who rubs a hand over the new scar on her chest. Elle, who carries that blank expression she so commonly holds. Malachi looks bored, anxious to get this over with so he can return to Egypt. Dorian looks completely confident. And Cyrus, who has a glint in his eye, which tells me he’s recalling everything he just put me through.

The guards lead me to my seat, which is positioned before the masses once more.

Everyone else is already in their seats. The hundreds of residents of
Roter Himmel
. My accusers. And there, on the front row once more, is my House.

The moment they see my face, they erupt.

“What the hell did you do to her?” Christian bellows. Markov is instantly at my side, his eyes gleaming, his fangs bared. Cameron crouches beside me, his fingers gingerly touching my broken face.

My lower lip trembles. They really don’t remember what happened. Don’t remember being tortured. Why they’re branded. How the King hit me.

“Back in your seats!” A dozen guards spring from their posts, dragging my House members away from me as they each fight and rage.

“It’s okay,” I hoarsely whisper. “Please, don’t fight.”

Samuel’s eyes dart from me to Cyrus, hate and anger burning the ozone. Christian shoves a guard off of him as he makes his way back to his seat. Slowly, as each of my House members look to me for reassurance, they return to their seats.

“This is a jury, a trial!” X bellows as she steps forward, her eyes blazing. “You all will quit acting like the American savages you are and remember you are in the presence of your King.”

This only earns them more hateful stares, but the masses far outnumber my House. The air begins to quiet and the tension is held in check for the moment.

I look back at them, studying their poor faces.

They each hold an expression of confusion in one way or another when they look at me. Trinity’s hand rises to touch her chest tenderly. Cameron pulls his shirt down to expose the brand and mouths, “What the hell?” to me. I mouth back, “Long story.”

“Thank you for joining us once more.” Alexa walks into the room from a side door, her heels clicking over the floor. “A verdict will be reached today, and if found guilty, Alivia Ryan Conrath will be executed at twilight. If found innocent, she will be released, allowed to return to her home with her House members.”

I look around, and some seem nervous, but others look so confident. Dorian was so sure. And when I think about my jurors, I should have this. Lillian and Elle will certainly vote me innocent, and Dorian believes me so. That’s the majority.

But I feel nothing. Just…despair and guilt.

“Only three witnesses will be called today,” Alexa continues. “First to the stand we call Horatio Valdez.”

My eyes grow wider as a man stands from the crowd.

Surely not the same one.

He walks forward, taking the seat that faces the crowd. Short, curly hair, dark, tanned skin.

“I understand you were planted as a surveyor during the month Lady Conrath was imprisoned.”

“That’s right,” Horatio says. And his voice, it’s the same one.

Horatio was never a prisoner that entire month we were locked away down there. He was a spy.

“And while you were with Lady Conrath, did she ever say anything to make you believe she plotted a coup against King Cyrus?”

Horatio shakes his head. “Lady Conrath said very little during her time in prison until the last few days. She fought with him, quite a lot,” he points Ian out. “They certainly seem to have some issues between the two of them. That was the only time she discussed what happened in America.”

“And with what this woman said, unknowing that you were sent to listen, do you believe she committed these crimes?” Alexa encourages.

Horatio looks over at me. “No.” It’s a simple statement, filled with confidence. “She told the story, exactly as it’s been told to all of you. She was set up. Framed. While in prison, she attempted to get to know the prisoners, asked our stories. I believe Alivia Conrath to be…” Horatio pauses, searching for the right word. “Genuine.”

“Thank you for your testimony, Mr. Valdez,” she dismisses him. My brain is still reeling, trying to process this, that a fellow prisoner was really a spy. Is there anyone in this dark, red world that I can actually trust? Can a single person involved be taken at face value?

Alexa shuffles some papers behind the podium. “Our next witness has just arrived in
Roter Himmel
and brings evidence with her to present. We next call to the stand Anna Burke.”

The breath catches in my throat as I look around the room wildly for my General of security.

I hear a scuffle down the hall, and a moment later, Anna appears, dragging a woman behind her.

The woman thrashes, kicking her feet out, snapping her teeth in the air. When Anna drags her close enough, I see the woman’s glowing yellow eyes.

Two guards step forward and help Anna shackle her to a chair. The woman snaps her teeth at them, twisting and writhing, kicking at whoever comes close enough.

“Is it my turn?” Anna asks with a heavy breath once she’s secured the prisoner. She turns to me and her eyes widen in surprise. I can only imagine the sight I must be. I’m pretty sure Cyrus shattered half my face when he punched me yesterday. The bones have since healed, but I’m sure the bruises are something to behold. “Holy shit, what did you all do to her?”

Anna looks back at the judges, disgust and horror in her eyes. “Seriously, Lillian. You couldn’t make sure they didn’t beat her into a pulp?”

“It’s not her fault,” I say, my voice monotone. “She couldn’t have stopped him.”

And when I say him, every single set of eyes turns to Cyrus. Who only smiles. But no one says a word about it.

Anna shakes her head in disgust and turns back around to face the audience. “I’ve been dealing with these Bitten for a while now,” she begins. “And yeah, there are some suspicious things that make it look like Liv did this, but have any of you ever thought to ask one of them if she’s the one in charge?”

She holds her hand out dramatically to the woman who’s staring at her with death in her yellow eyes.

“Please state your name for the judges,” Alexa instructs.

The woman only spits in Alexa’s direction.

“Did Alivia create your army?” Anna asks, moving on, stalking in the woman’s direction. “Did she do this to you?” She snatches the woman’s arm, holding up her hand and exposing the snake brand on the back of it.

“I’m not telling you anything,” the woman hisses between her teeth. She yanks her arm back.

“If Alivia was in charge of this army, all the soldiers would have to listen to her, would they not?” Anna says as she turns back around. “The Bitten have to obey their Debt, the compulsion to serve the one who turned them. So, if this army was Liv’s, they’d have to listen to her. Liv, tell her to do something.”

My heart jumps into my throat when every eye shifts to me. “Uh,” I hesitate, my mind going blank for a moment. “Nod your head twice?”

The woman just looks at me with this dead look in her eyes and laughs. “When this war begins, you will fall. And you will weep at the feet of those you thought to enslave.”

Her words fall like a heavy, wet blanket on the crowd.

Suddenly, Cyrus appears behind her, and with a quick snap and pull, he twists her head right off her shoulders. It lands on the stone floor with a wet thud. A moment later, her limp body collapses to the ground.

Cyrus’ eyes glow brilliant red, his fangs extended, black veins running from his eyes, stretching down his cheeks like tiny snakes. “You dare bring a Bitten into my castle?” he glowers at Anna.

She doesn’t take a step away, but it’s obvious it takes everything in her not to do so. “I will prove Alivia’s innocence,” she says, with only a tiny waver in her voice. “She clearly has no power over them, so they obviously aren’t hers.”

Cyrus huffs heavy breaths as he stares at Anna. I’m afraid. I don’t want him to kill her, but he will only be pushed so far.

“Adjourn for lunch,” he suddenly bellows. Without another word, he turns and stalks out of the room.

It takes a moment for everyone to process the abrupt cut off. There’s a moment of silence, of held breath, before a few whispers float through the room. Which builds into a murmur and then a roar. Bodies rise from their seats, following out of the room to head into another unknown location. Moments later, the scent of a feast wafts into our room.

“You okay?” Anna’s voice comes up behind me.

I nod, though my eyes begin to glaze over. The numbness climbs up my legs, clawing its way into my chest, wrapping around my lungs. I see Ian and Raheem walk toward me, but I rise, and slowly back away. There’s fear and panic in their eyes, but I don’t have anything to give right now, and I don’t have it in me to deal with them or to reassure. So, I continue backing away. Down the aisle without looking up at anyone. Toward the doors.

I wander. Empty. Cold. Finally, I find myself in a small room with no windows. There’s nothing in this space. I sink to the floor, resting my chin on my knees.

Everything in life eventually spirals out of control.

And then, we find ourselves, here, at the bottom of everything.

I’m not sure how long I sit there. Letting everything bleed out of me. Dumping it all out. Forgetting who I am and that I am a being capable of anything, at all.

At some point a guard comes in to drag me back to the trial room. Literally, he hooks his hands under my arms, and hauls me over the stone floors, before roughly placing me back in my seat. I sit in my chair without a fight as we wait for everyone to file back in. I don’t meet the eyes I feel on my face. I stare at the floor.

But I hear Christian and Markov whispering to each other. Their words don’t process, but they sound worried. More and more people whisper, speculating.

One by one, everyone fills in. The judges take their places once more. Alexa takes the stand once again.

“As I understand it, those of the House of Conrath have one last witness they wish to call. Is that witness here?”

Everyone looks around, searching the room for who the last witness might be.

“I…uh,” Christian says as he stands. His eyes frantically search the room. “It seems our witness is running a little late.”

“Or isn’t coming.” It’s Samuel who mutters bitterly under his breath.

“The courtroom will not wait for a witness who is running late,” Alexa says, with obvious annoyance in her voice.