“The draining ritual,” Stefan said, “usually involves one globe, appropriately colored, for each chakra. That’s why it’s fatal. Maybe it wasn’t this time because the mages tapped only three chakras, drained your power but not your life.”
His power gave his life meaning, made it vivid and full. Without the magic, he might as well be blind and deaf.
“As for why you came back to us,” Stefan continued, “near as I can tell, you did something mages haven’t been able to do since before the Burning Times. You went out of body, what our kind once knew as astral traveling.”
“What’s that?” Valeria asked.
“It’s a way to travel to distant places in moments, see what’s happening there, and even communicate, if the old legends are correct. Mages used to send messages to their kindred that way, but we lost the knack, the knowledge of the method, in the Burning Times.”
“I didn’t have any control over it, though.” Griff glanced at Valeria and winced at the guilt in her eyes. Not your fault, he reminded her silently.
A wry smile twisted Stefan’s mouth. “I wouldn’t recommend the combination of venom, vaccine, and lethal magic. We were lucky to get you back.”
“Still,” Griff said, “that could be useful.”
“Damned risky to figure out, though.” Stefan shook his head. “Without magic, maybe impossible.”
“I’ll try anything,” Griff said.
Staring into the distance, Stefan rubbed his chin. “You had no talons,” he said thoughtfully. “Your skin didn’t turn green. Then you revived, after almost an hour clinically dead, with no brain or major organ damage.”
Just magic damage, Griff thought.
“There’s something about your physiology that’s different in key ways.” Stefan shook his head. “We’ll keep digging at this. You work with your staff, try to recharge. Maybe the wall will come down. Maybe you have self-healing abilities we don’t yet know about.”
“Maybe.” Griff wasn’t betting on it, though.
“I have a friend who’s a medicine man in the Eastern Band, Cherokee Nation, up in North Carolina. He may be able to help, but we need to finish your trial first. Some of the Council are pressuring me to bring you back, wanting me to certify you fit to continue.”
Griff was sick of the Council and all their maneuvering. If not for Valeria, if not for the need to accuse that bastard, Blake, he would walk away from it all.
“Let’s get it done, then,” he said.
That afternoon, the tribunal convened in the ritual grotto. Griff watched the mages file in. If there was any justice, he’d be acquitted, but he’d stopped trusting in justice long ago.
Valeria’s warm hand gripped his. If he was convicted, could his dad get her acquitted?
You aren’t going to be convicted, she sent to him firmly, but he could feel that small worm of doubt, of dread, that nagged at her, as it did at him.
He didn’t need magic to feel the tension in the air, especially when Blake entered under guard. The guards escorted him to the High Council table. One or two of them looked at him askance.
Otto Larkin shook his head, refusing to meet Blake’s eyes, but that could mean anything.
Gerry Armitage stood before the obsidian seat, facing the assembly. “Come to order,” he called, and the room stilled.
Because of the geas he’d laid on them, only those who’d started the process with open minds, about seventy-five or eighty mages, remained in the rows of seats.
Griff’s mom and sister and his team, including Will and Stefan, stood in the walkway behind the uppermost seats with the others who couldn’t or wouldn’t vote. His dad and Hettie, as counsel to the accused, flanked Griff and Valeria, all of them standing for the verdict. None of them could vote, either, because they’d come into this with their minds set.
“All who find Griffin Rhys Dare guilty, beyond doubt, of any charged offense will now rise,” Gerry said.
Griff’s heart pounded. He couldn’t read anyone’s expressions, had no idea what they were thinking. Could evidence trump six years of prejudice?
The assembled mages shifted, some exchanging irritated glances. Halfway up the center section, a woman stood. A man farther down and to the left followed suit. Another farther up, then two mages, a man and a woman, on the right. No more.
Justice could still prevail occasionally. If a man had the right allies.
Five. Only five. Exultation rang in Valeria’s thoughts and eased the tightness in Griff’s chest.
“This assembly,” Gerry stated, “finds the accused not guilty of all charges. He is free to go. So is Valeria Banning, who was charged as an accomplice.”
With a glance at Griff, Gerry added, “I personally hope he will come back to us. Griffin, do you have anything to say?”
“I have a charge to lay.”
At Gerry’s direction, Griff took his place in the obsidian seat, hands on his knees. He looked directly into Blake’s angry eyes. Behind the anger lay fear.
The bastard deserved to be terrified, but Griff kept his voice even, letting no hint of triumph show. “I accuse Chief Councilor Gene Blake of treasonous collaboration with ghouls against our kind. I accuse him of the murders of mages who died on raids because he warned the ghouls they were coming. I accuse him of ordering my kidnapping and of turning me over to the ghouls.”
He ignored Stefan’s scowl. Stefan had wanted him to include his loss of powers, but this was for his dead, not about him. He wouldn’t have mentioned himself at all if his friends hadn’t insisted on it.
“On what grounds do you bring this charge?” Gerry Armitage asked.
“When he and Councilor Otto Larkin attempted to probe my mind, I saw into the chief councilor’s. I saw a memory of him meeting with ghouls.”
The aura glowed blue around the chair, for truth. Shock vibrated in the chamber. A clamor of voices rose.
Gerry lifted his hands for silence. Only when the last mutter died did he turn to Blake. “Your response, Chief Councilor?” he asked in a flat, neutral voice.
Blake stood. “I deny it all,” he said, staring at Griff with malice in his eyes, “and I demand my ancient right to prove my innocence in magical combat against my accuser.”
“I accept,” Griff snapped before anyone else could break the shocked silence in the chamber.
Valeria’s cry of “No” was almost lost under Stefan’s roared “The hell you do” and Will’s furious “Fuck that!”
Again, excited voices created a din as the seated mages turned to each other.
Griff met Blake’s sneer with a hard stare. The bastard knew, or guessed, Griff hadn’t regained his powers. Regardless, this was his fight. He’d find some way to win it.
“Order,” Gerry shouted. The door wardens banged the butts of their spears against the floor, the sound echoing in the vaulted space.
As Valeria ran to Griff, Stefan translocated, a breach of the rules in this chamber, to stand in front of him. “The accuser has no powers—”
“Shut up,” Griff hissed, grabbing him.
Stefan shook him off. “His powers were unlawfully stripped from him, at the orders of the accused.”
A gasp rose from the watching mages, then a babble of voices.
“Stefan, no! Stop.” Griff hadn’t wanted anyone to know, though maybe that was pointless since the traitors probably did.
“He has the right to choose a champion,” Will shouted, charging down from the back. “I volunteer.”
“So do I,” Stefan rapped out, as Valeria and Tasha cried, “I’ll do it.” Even Lorelei, who hated hand-to-hand combat as much as Stefan did, called out above the babble of spectators’ voices, “Let me!”
Valeria’s fingers dug into Griff’s arm. Her eyes pleaded with him. “Let me do this. The bastard used me, too.”
“Not a chance,” he said as his dad snapped, “It’s my fight.”
Chuck grabbed Griff’s arm. He must’ve run down the stairs. “Griff, let me knock his ass t
o hell for you.”
“Stop, all of you,” Griff shouted. Nobody else was dying for him. Or risking death on his account.
The boom of the door wardens’ spears slamming into the stone floor smothered the cacophony of voices. The echoes faded into silence thick with anticipation.
Gerry turned to Griff. “Is this true, that your powers are gone?”
“It is.” Damn Blake to hell and back again.
“Then you may choose a champion.” You should, Gerry’s level stare said. “This is a duel to the death unless one of you recants.”
“Like I said, this is my fight,” Griff stated into the tense quiet, “one long past due. I stand by my accusation, and I decline, with gratitude, all offers to serve as my proxy.”
At his side, Valeria made a stifled sound. She bit her lip, and he gave her shoulder a quick squeeze.
“Barehanded or with weapons?” Gerry asked.
Blake could kill from a distance, while Griff could now do so only at close range. But Blake would fry him in direct contact. Better to risk the amplified energy of Blake’s sword and have a chance to force some distance with his staff if he needed it.
“Weapons of choice,” Griff said. “One each, and only one. I choose my staff.”
“Sword,” Blake grunted. He stared at Griff with narrowed eyes, as though suspecting a trick.
Gerry looked up at the door warden. “Have the weapons brought and these tables removed.”
“What the hell are you thinking?” Stefan demanded.
“That I’ll win.” Griff gripped Valeria’s shoulders and looked into her pale, angry face. She had to believe him. “Somehow, I’ll win.”
“Please don’t do this,” she said.
“I’m committed now.” He cocked an eyebrow at Will. “Right?”
“Yes, damn it.” Will scowled at him.
“We just got you back,” his mother said from the circle of his father’s arm. Tears glistened in her eyes. At her side, Caro stood tight-lipped and pale.
Griff looked around at his friends’ faces, at his parents and sister. His heart ached with love for them.
He hadn’t let himself think how much he loved his family, his friends. When he’d been at constant risk of losing them forever, he hadn’t dared. But now he couldn’t avoid it, not when the next few minutes would decide whether he kept his new-won freedom or died here.
“I wouldn’t do this,” he said, “if I didn’t think I had a good shot.” He let his gaze travel over the little knot of people who cared about him. “While Blake rode a desk these last six years, I’ve regularly fought for my life. I still have the moves, even a fair amount of speed, just not the power.”
Okay, so that sounded laughable, but he plowed on. “I owe the dead.” He wanted justice for what Valeria had suffered, too, but she would discount that argument.
He set a hand to her cheek to activate the bond, staring into her wide, worried eyes and willing her to feel his resolve. “I’ll be fine.”
The doors opened. More mages streamed into the room behind the ones bringing his staff and Blake’s sword. Talking quietly, the newcomers filled the great chamber.
Griff’s heart pounded. Time to do or die. Better to fail in his quest for justice than to let anyone he loved stand as his shield.
He kissed Valeria quickly, accepted hugs from his family and slaps on the back from his friends, then stepped away from them. They walked up the stairs to the first row of seats to wait.
Griff stripped off his jacket and tie, unbuttoned his shirt collar and rolled up the sleeves. As an afterthought, he shed his shoes and socks. Bare feet had better traction on the dirt floor than dress shoes. He set his discarded clothes against a wall.
The tables were gone, but the obsidian seat remained, fixed in place as it had been for centuries. If he was lucky, it might provide him with strategic cover. Or not, but it was worth a try.
Doing two things at once in a fight, like attacking while defending, took practice. He had that skill. If Blake didn’t, the odds were more even than the traitor could know.
“Take your places,” Gerry said, indicating spots on opposite sides of the chamber.
Griff took his position, the raked dirt cool and soft under his bare soles. A stern-faced deputy reeve brought him his staff. As usual, Griff wrapped his hands around it so the P shape of thurisaz, the rune for power, and slanted H of hagalaz, power and harm into healing, lay under his palms, along the life lines.
Could he truly feel the magic in the staff, or was that wishful thinking?
As the man turned away, he murmured, “Good luck, Dare.”
Griff blinked in surprise but had no time to respond because Gerry was speaking.
“The mages assembled will ward the floor. The ward will not drop,” he said, glancing from Griff to Blake, “until one of you recants or dies.”
Griff nodded acknowledgment. So did Blake.
The traitor mage had removed his suit coat and loosened his shirt collar and cuffs. He held the sword in a relaxed grip at his side. He’d probably try to take Griff out with a lethal blast first thing.
Gerry stood by the first tier of steps. He raised his hands, channeling the assembly’s power. It rippled over Griff’s skin as the air shimmered from the ground up, forming a dome above the floor and sealing Griff and Blake in together.
“Make ready,” Gerry said.
Griff raised his staff to a guard position as Blake did the same with his sword. Blake glared at him, but Griff wasn’t watching his face. The body’s position was a better guide to intentions. If Griff didn’t read Blake’s right, he was dead.
Chapter 27
Begin,” Gerry called. Griff took a single step, as though to charge, as power sizzled along Blake’s sword and flickered into a shield around his body. The traitor’s eyes narrowed. His blade rose.
Griff dived left, behind the obsidian seat, but fire seared his thigh—energy blast. His leg screamed in pain.
His eyes teared, and he clamped his jaw shut. Had to breathe through the pain. Block it.
Blake was circling the stone, coming for him.
Teeth gritted, Griff pushed himself up. He jerked to the side as a stream of green power ripped past his face. Too close.
Blake jumped onto the seat. Lost his fucking shield—Oh, yeah!—as he slashed power down at Griff.
Griff jumped the whipping bolt. He used his staff like a bat, slammed it into the flat of the blade. Knocked it clear. Whipped the staff around to take out Blake’s kneecap.
The traitor mage screamed as the joint buckled. Griff spun the staff for a head strike, but Blake dodged. He shot a stream of green energy from his palm. Griff flung himself flat, rolled aside and into a crouch behind the seat.
As he popped up, he swung the staff at Blake’s head.
Blake ducked, his face dark with rage. He shot another stream of energy at Griff.
Griff dodged the bolt, lunged forward, punched Blake’s gut. Jabbed the staff into his thigh.
Falling, Blake shot a stream of magic at Griff’s face.
Griff dived aside, but not fast enough. The stream knocked him back against the stone chair, seared his chest. Pain roared in his head, then Blake’s hands dug into his neck. Burning. Crackling with power.
“Suffer,” Blake panted. “Die.”
The stench of burning flesh seared Griff’s nose as agony blazed in his throat. Black heat roaring in his head blocked his vision and stole his breath.
If he passed out, he was dead.
His scrabbling fingers caught his staff. He rammed one end into Blake’s chest.
Blake whoofed. He lost his grip and stumbled back a pace. Griff’s strike into his belly pushed him back. He fell to his knees. Wheezing, he shot green at Griff’s face.
Griff dodged left, but he was too slow. The bolt scalded his right shoulder. His arm blazed, then went numb. He pivoted on his good leg. Had to use the injured one to kick Blake’s face. White heat from the impact roared up the leg.
Blake collapsed. Groaned.
Griff staggered, then fell to his knees from the pain. God, if he could only draw a decent breath.
He could still deliver a deathblow with his left hand. A staff strike to the Adam’s apple, hard and precise, would take the bastard out. He shortened his grip on the staff, then rammed it backhanded at Blake’s throat.
Blake scrambled up. The blow struck him midchest with a hideous crack of breaking bone.
Blake fell backward. Panting, Griff pressed his staff to the traitor’s throat. “Confess, you bastard, or I will happily kill you.”
“Impor—portant,” Blake choked. His breath gurgled, and blood trickled over his lip. “We’re…dying out. Fewer…every generation…recessive…gene, ghouls…like rabbits, made deal like…like Alden.”
“What deal?” Griff demanded.
Blake drew a shuddering breath. “Access to…research, custody every…third…child. Engineer mage gene…dominant.”
“In exchange for protecting them.” Griff’s hands clenched on the staff, but he kept his voice level. “You alert them when mages are coming to raid. You sent Valeria’s team and Healey’s to their deaths.”
“Important…breeding center, had to relocate.” He swallowed hard. “Val…too curious.”
“You set her up, you bastard.”
“Sorry,” Blake muttered, “but…future at…stake.”
His eyes rolled up in his head. With a last, rattling breath, he stilled. The ward around the arena dropped.
Griff planted his staff and used its support to haul himself to his feet. The adrenaline rush faded, and pain blazed anew in his shoulder and thigh, in his burned neck. He had to lean on the staff to stay upright.
Valeria jumped to the floor and ran to him. With the others behind her, she gripped his arms, standing close but not touching his injured body. “You’re hurt—”
“I’m alive. As promised.” He kissed her, long and hard. I love you.
I love you, too.
Careful of his wounds, he drew her face to his good shoulder, then took a minute to savor her honeysuckle scent, to absorb the sweet pressure of her body in the circle of his arm.
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