Lord of the Night

Chapter 42: Accusation

The crowd fell silent. Most of the humans had disappeared, those rescued from the barn ushered off to sleeping quarters by the humans of Sitaklasa. Now a group of forty or fifty Guardians watched as a single wagon rolled toward the stage. The stillness magnified each sound. Wheels rumbled; horse hooves crunched gravel. I imagined I could even hear the labored breathing of the obscured Demon Prince inside.

With a final squeak, the wagon stopped.

Kardki and the other nearest Guardian peeled back the fabric of the wagon to look inside while the crowd waited in silent anticipation. Fear clenched my chest. This was taking too long. Was he too weak to move? Could he already be dead? Fuck, I never should have trusted the Guardians with him.

Then he emerged, calming my fears only slightly; he was alive, but far from lively. In the setting sun and electric lamp lights, his skin glowed sickly pale. The overhead light cloaked his face in shadow, outlining his pronounced cheekbones and shading the lines below his eyes. Disheveled inky strands clung to his forehead and neck. His shoulders slumped, and his legs swung forward in loose, jerky movements—a puppet-parody of a saunter.

As he approached the stage, a gasp rippled across the crowd, and they drew back like a receding tide. I studied the wide eyes and strained faces with bemusement and irritation. Could they not see how weak this man was? Was I the only one who saw how much effort he was using just to remain upright, and how humiliating this was for him?

I took an involuntary step forward, still not close enough to catch him if he fell but at least close enough to seek eye contact. But as he passed by me, his gaze remained fixed on the front platform.

His almost-saunter held up until he reached the stairs, and then he lost his balance. Kardki grabbed his shoulder, steadying him in time to stop him from face-planting, but his shin cracked against a wooden step. I winced. No one else seemed to notice. Isalio righted himself and carried himself up the rest of the way as if nothing had happened.

Kardki dragged a chair to the center of the stage and nodded at Isalio. He sank down jerkily, clutching the sides of the chair to support himself. When Kardki left the stage, he looked so alone, so exposed, with the eyes of enemies drilling him from all around.

I fought the urge to join him. Appearing desperate would not help my case; I needed to wait until the right moment, and I needed my arguments to sound rooted purely in logic. If I showed too much emotion, they might think I was slave-bonded—or worse, that I was falling for this Demon.

Fraschkit joined Isalio onstage and addressed the audience. "Guardians of Sitaklasa, thank you for the warm welcome. As you may have already heard, our position is more dire than ever. A purported friend and chosen leader of the Guardians has betrayed us and now serves the Demons. The Demons are now attempting to capture the strongest remaining Guardians to supply their lifeforce, thus rendering the world defenseless to their whims."

I barely recognized her voice, transformed from my emotional friend to a determined leader. In response to her words, murmurs traveled across the crowd, along with a few head shakes and tongue clucks.

"But we have not lost hope—and we maintain one advantage." Fraschkit side-glanced Isalio. "Friends, we have obtained control over the High Demon Prince, and we are gathered here to give him a fair trial. We will hear the accusations against the Demon, and we will hear from anyone who wishes to provide a defense. Then we will determine how this captive can be used to our advantage—or eliminated, if necessary."

Eliminated. So emotionless and measured; logical. My gut flipped with a sick rush of worry.

Fraschkit drew back her shoulders and broadened her stance. "I would first like to call to stage Brother Minakbar."