Sundered by Fate (Shadowbound #3)

Chapter 9

Nine

A s the ornate doors to the tribunal chamber swung open, Aric was struck by the overwhelming sense of grandeur within. High vaulted ceilings soared overhead, tapestries adorned every wall, each one telling a story from Astaria's rich history. And everywhere he looked, rows of stern-faced observers sat in silence, staring intently at him.

At the far end of the chamber, elevated on a dais, sat Cyrus and other high-ranking members of the Pureblade Order. Their expressions ranged from suspicion to outright disdain, though Cyrus's face was predictably a mask of steely resolve. To one side were Olaya and the senior mages of the Silver Tower, including Davin. Opposite them sat Valerian and his courtiers, watching with inscrutable expressions.

Aric swallowed hard and stepped forward into the chamber. The eyes of the assembly bore into him, but he refused to avert his gaze. He would not flinch. He would not give them that satisfaction.

Once Aric took his place at the center of the chamber, Cyrus rose to formally open the proceedings.

"Aric Solarian, you stand accused of the most grievous charges imaginable for a member of our order," Cyrus intoned, his voice flat but resonant. "You have consorted with demons, betrayed your Pureblade oaths, and risked corrupting yourself and others with dark magics."

Aric's face was a careful mask of neutrality as he listened to the list of accusations. Inside, anger surged, but he quelled it down with practiced effort. He had to remain calm if he was to stand any chance of defending himself.

Amongst the observers, Aric saw Olaya's steely demeanor. Ruta's back straightened a little when he looked her way, and Aric could only nod faintly before the Lord Regent called him forth. Davin wore an implacable look Aric would recognize anywhere—a mask intended to keep the stares of other diplomats and negotiators from swaying him, Olaya had told them years before.

For better or worse, he was not entirely without allies in the tribunal.

Cyrus continued, unaware or uncaring of the whispered conversations amongst the mages or noblemen seated on either side of the dais. "You are accused of turning your magic against our own troops on the borders." It grated; what could he expect a coward like Tharivol to say? Cyrus stilled the truth from emerging with bared weapons and surety.

Cyrus did not have his weapons now.

"The charge of forbidden magic alone would be enough to see you tried. Do you deny it?"

"I've already given my account, Lord Inquisitor," Aric said flatly. "I have no words prepared at this time."

Cyrus's eyes gleamed in the torchlight as he leaned forward. "Very well. Then perhaps you can explain to this tribunal your research into demon magic. You claimed it was in the service of our realm's defense, yet your methods and motives remain suspect."

"It is true that I was conducting research into methods of defeating the demons once and for all, and that included studying their own magic. An area of research that is sorely lacking, which never made sense to me. How can we possibly defeat an enemy whose abilities and powers we don't even understand?"

"There are good reasons we do not delve into such vile business," Cyrus said. "Its power to corrupt is too vast."

"There is nothing in it that is inherently corrupting," Aric snapped. "Which you would know, if I'd been allowed to conclude my research without interference."

One eyebrow arched over Cyrus's steely eyes. "I think what you mean to say is that without interference, you would have dared to unleash whatever monstrous concoction of demons and magic you devised upon your own people. And for what? To align yourself with the enemy so wholeheartedly? Your notes from the Silver Tower's research will be presented as evidence of your treachery and contempt."

A frisson of irritation pinched at Aric's scalp, and he realized with a start that he was digging his nails into his palms. A flush spread up over his neck, threatening to spill over his cheeks if he did not stand down, but dammit, it took every shred of willpower not to scream?—

The sigil on his sternum buzzed threateningly, and he hastily moved to recenter himself before speaking again.

Aric took a measured breath. "My studies were driven by the need to understand the true nature of this threat facing both our worlds." He met Cyrus's stare evenly. "The anomaly is causing irreparable damage—not just to our realm, but the demon one as well. If we don't act soon, the fallout will be catastrophic."

"This imaginary 'anomaly' of yours is not on trial here," Cyrus snapped. "We are here to determine whether you have been compromised by your dealings with demons."

"I am not compromised." Aric kept his voice level. "I may have been their captive, but I never gave up on my duty to protect our people."

"And yet you embraced their foul magics." Cyrus's lip curled with distaste. "You even flaunted them in Thornhaven, if accounts are to be believed."

Aric's fingers curled at his sides. "It was a necessary risk. To combat the demons' incursion."

"Or to betray us and aid their cause."

A fierce spark flared within him, heating the sigil where it lay dormant against his chest. Aric drew a breath, forcing himself to stay calm. It was happening again: that frightening pull at his consciousness, at the core of who he was?—

"You know that isn't true," he said softly.

Cyrus opened his mouth, but Aric cut him off.

"I could have used it then." Aric felt his control slipping; he leaned into the dangerous edge of fury igniting inside him. "The demons took me from them. And still I fought for us. I endured the worst the demon realm had to offer so I could bring knowledge and warning back with me. I sacrificed . . ." Aric suppressed a tremor coursing through him—an echo of Malekith's voice. Not now. Not now. "Myself. My soul. All for a chance at our collective salvation."

"The gods and their pure light did not ask you to?—"

"Your gods and their pure light are not out here fighting for us," Aric said. "I am."

The room murmured, swirling around Aric like an unsettling gale. Cyrus again tried to find his footing, but then Valerian stood, raising a hand to silence the Inquisitor.

"Thank you, Inquisitor. Allow me."

Cyrus glared at the interruption, but Valerian pressed on.

"This anomaly you speak of—explain it to us."

Aric hesitated, sensing a trap. But he had nothing left to lose. "It's an imbalance in the magical currents that traverse our realms and the leylines that feed them, caused by . . ." He risked a glance toward Olaya, but there was no use in holding back. "By certain experiments I fear have been undertaken by the Silver Tower."

Olaya shifted on her seat, but Aric continued. "It's growing more unstable with each passing day. I've seen its effects firsthand—increasing demon incursions, erratic magic, corruption and destabilization."

"And you believe the demon realm is equally affected?"

"Yes." Aric met Valerian's stare evenly. "It is a risk to everyone, whether they understand it or not."

Valerian steepled his fingers, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. "A compelling story. But tell us, Aric Solarian: why should we believe you?"

A challenge, but one Aric was prepared for. "Because I have no reason to lie. I've returned here at great personal risk, forsaking my own safety in order to warn my people."

"But what if it's all part of a greater plot? To sow discord and division among us?"

Aric stiffened, bracing for a renewed onslaught from Cyrus or the other Pureblade inquisitors. But Valerian held up a placating hand.

"No," he said, with a smile that might have been genuine—Aric wasn't sure yet. "I don't think that's it at all."

He shifted in his seat and leaned forward slightly as though confiding something personal to Aric.

"I think," he said softly enough only for Aric's ears—and perhaps those sitting nearby—to hear—"you've been through far more than any one man should have ever had to endure."

The nights of endless violence and indulgence in the Ebon Spire, the demons’ eyes raking over Aric like claws as they argued and boasted for the right to defile him. Offering himself up, debasing himself in Malekith’s cruel games, allowing himself to be pleasured and tortured equally before them, because it served a greater purpose—and because, deep down, he could deny Malekith nothing.

Fighting for his life—No. Fighting for the lives of the other humans as unlucky as him to find himself in their clutches. Forfeiting his safety so Tharivol could deliver warning back to Astaria, only for him to be killed before he reached the Borderlands. Incurring Lord Darioth’s hatred when he rescued Ruta from his vicious hunt, only to have Darioth nearly drain Aric of all of his power to try to usurp Malekith. Setting free human prisoners in Drindal and conspiring against Vizra, only for Karthax to try to assassinate him and Sylthris the Gravewhisper to set upon him for a purpose he still didn’t understand.

And through it all . . . Malekith.

Malekith, whose true aims, even unspoken, Aric was willing to defend and fight for against all odds. His kindness and compassion hidden beneath a battle-hardened, blood-tempered armor of cruelty and apathy. Malekith, who offered him the world, a world all their own.

A world Aric was still willing to fight for. For every person in this chamber, and this city, and this realm—and for Malekith, and for himself.

"I do not regret it," Aric said at last.

Valerian smiled and laced his fingers before him. "Then perhaps you can tell us more about your time among them."

Aric swallowed thickly, forcing himself to meet Valerian's unwavering stare. "What I witnessed . . . It was beyond anything I could have imagined. The demons' true nature. Their cunning, their endless ambition. Their society is not so different from our own, and yet—" He shook his head. "The savagery that lies beneath the surface . . . The cruelty they inflict upon each other."

He paused, remembering Ruta in that terrible game.

"I tried to save the other humans I encountered," he said softly. "Those unfortunate enough to find themselves in their clutches." He thought of Tharivol, the mage he let defeat him, costing Aric a deeply humiliating, degrading evening at the demons' clutches—only for Tharivol to be killed as he fled. "I even succeeded, on occasion." He glanced briefly toward Ruta. "But every time I thought I had devised a way out, every time I thought I had convinced my captors of my worth to them, the demons found some way to twist it, to use my compassion against me."

Aric clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

"It became clear to me that simply fighting them was not enough. That alone, they could crush me. That if I was going to survive, if I was going to stop them, then the only way was to try and understand them." He squared his shoulders. "To deceive them the way they had deceived us."

"You admit that you fought with their forces when they invaded the Borderlands," Valerian said. "With the knowledge of our wards—the knowledge you possessed as a member of the Silver Tower."

"It is true," Aric said. "They tricked me into giving up how we used our wards to fight off their attacks." He risked a look toward Olaya and Davin; Olaya's face was a mask of wry acknowledgment, but Davin glared with pure accusation. "But as they dragged me along on their march past the outer wards, I still did all I could to slow their progression. And ultimately, I was able to escape."

Valerian motioned to the Silver Tower's representatives. "Perhaps Olaya and the Silver Tower can provide more insight into Solarian's person." He turned toward the trio of them seated together. "I understand you know Solarian better than most, and I am sure we can trust your assessment of his character and intent."

Cyrus scowled. "This is a Pureblade investigation, and I am?—"

"Your jurisdiction does not exceed mine as Lord Regent, Inquisitor," Valerian said, an edge creeping into his voice. "These are not charges against the crown, unless you wish to level them as such."

"Aric Solarian is a remarkably talented mage, and has always been one. Ambitious, yes, but never for self-serving purposes." Olaya looked directly at him. "If he says he studied the demons' magic in order to fight them better, then I believe him entirely."

Valerian arched a brow. "But what of the danger inherent in such a task?"

"There is danger in any magic, if it is wielded without caution," Olaya said. "But I believe Aric Solarian can be trusted to use it wisely. I have trained him myself. He has always been a diligent student."

"And yet he turned to these very demons for assistance," Cyrus said. "What makes you so sure he hasn't been corrupted by them? Warped toward their cause?"

Olaya's hands tightened slightly on the edge of the podium, the only sign of her simmering temper. "We are all susceptible to temptation," she said. "But Aric Solarian has proven himself to be a man of great character."

"Great character?" Cyrus smirked. "Consorting with demons hardly seems like the mark of a man of integrity."

"It is because of his integrity that I believe we should hear him out." Olaya's dark eyes swept over the tribunal dais, meeting each member's gaze in turn. "He has seen firsthand what the demons are capable of," she continued. "And he believes he can help us defeat them once and for all." She paused, choosing her next words carefully. "But if you insist upon dismissing him out of hand without hearing what he has to say—if you make him an enemy—then you risk driving away one of our greatest allies."

Cyrus had no immediate retort.

Lord Valerian nodded, evidently satisfied. "Then let us continue." He faced the assembled observers. "Are there any other accounts of Aric Solarian's actions within the demon realm we should consider?"

"I can speak to that," a voice called, and Ruta stepped forward. She drew herself up, all dignity and warrior's grace. "I owe my life to Aric Solarian."

Aric bowed his head slightly. "You saved your own life, as much as I helped."

Ruta waved him off. "Nonsense. During my time in the demon realm, I was subjected to their cruel games—the hunting of human prey for sport."

A murmur rippled through the audience, but Ruta's voice remained steady.

"Even knowing the risk it posed to himself, Aric went out of his way to rescue me from the demons' grasp." She shifted to face Aric. "He is a valuable ally in our fight against the demons. And whatever he may have suffered while among them, it has only strengthened his resolve."

Aric fought the urge to look away. Ruta had seen him at his darkest moments—had borne witness to his capture and degradation in ways he could never forget. But her testimony brought with it a new kind of weight, a weight that tugged at the threads of his carefully constructed facade.

"He may not be quite the same man who entered the demon lands," Ruta continued, voice softening slightly. "But that does not mean he has been corrupted. If anything, it means he has grown beyond the limits we placed on him."

Davin stepped forward from his seat amongst the Silver Tower's representatives, his expression unreadable. Aric felt his heart lurch painfully in his chest at the sight of him—their shared history, so complicated and unresolved, hung heavy in the air between them.

As Davin took the podium, Aric forced himself to focus. Whatever remained between them had no place here. His future was hanging in the balance, and Davin's words could tip the scales either way.

"I've known Aric Solarian for many years," Davin began, his voice steady and sure. "And while our paths have diverged at times, I have always held him in the highest regard."

Aric's breath caught in his throat, hope fluttering weakly in his chest. But as Davin continued, that hope quickly turned to dread.

"He was a loyal and dedicated member of the Silver Tower all his life," Davin said. "A brilliant mage, with a passion for knowledge and a drive to protect our people at any cost."

Aric closed his eyes, trying to draw warmth from Davin's praise. But he couldn't afford to dwell on it now.

"However," Davin continued, his voice hardening slightly, "I cannot deny that something has changed within him since his return."

Aric sat up straighter. Eyes open once more.

"Whatever torment he may have endured among the demons has left its mark on him," Davin said. "There is an otherness to him now—a darkness that wasn't there before."

He glanced toward Aric, but Aric couldn't bring himself to look back.

"I do not believe he means us harm," Davin said softly. "But I cannot be certain that he hasn't been compromised in some way."

Aric opened his mouth to protest, but no words came. All he could do was watch as Davin's testimony cast doubt on everything he had fought so hard to prove.

With all testimonies heard and evidence presented, the tribunal fell into deliberation. The chamber buzzed with hushed conversations as the Pureblade members conferred among themselves and with the Silver Tower leadership and Valerian. Aric stood alone at the center, hyper-aware of every whisper and glance. He could sense the division among the tribunal members—some seemed inclined to believe in his continued loyalty, while others were convinced of his corruption. Through it all, Valerian remained a wild card, his intentions unclear. The tension in the room built as everyone awaited the tribunal's decision.

Aric's hands clenched at his sides, struggling to maintain his composure as the sigil on his chest throbbed.

"Surely you're not falling for this charade," Cyrus said, turning towards Valerian. "He's clearly been tainted by his time among the demons. Who knows what twisted machinations he's plotting?"

"We must not be so quick to condemn one who has sacrificed so much for our realm," Valerian replied evenly.

Cyrus scowled, folding his arms across his chest. "The evidence speaks for itself. He has dabbled in forbidden magic, consorted with demons?—"

Aric's fists tightened at his sides, teeth gritted as he tried to quell the burning rage rising within him. If only these fools would listen to him—to see reason instead of clinging to their outdated prejudices.

"You are wise beyond your years, Your Grace," Olaya said, her voice low and firm. "But if you truly fear he poses a threat, then maybe it is better to remand him into the Silver Tower's care, so that we might help him overcome any possible corruption while ensuring his abilities are not squandered."

"Indeed," Valerian said, "we stand to gain from having someone like Aric Solarian on our side. And in this fight, we cannot throw away any weapon we've been given."

Aric's head snapped up at that comment, his eyes meeting Valerian's across the chamber—and seeing something there that made his stomach flip in an all-too-familiar way.

"His knowledge of demon magic could give us an invaluable edge in our ongoing struggles," Valerian continued smoothly as he paced before the tribunal dais, hands clasped behind him. "We cannot afford to overlook any potential advantage."

Cyrus snorted derisively before turning back to face Aric directly once more; but whatever harsh words he had prepared died on his lips.

"I am ready to do whatever it takes—to face whatever consequences are deemed necessary—for my research into demon magic," Aric said fiercely, surprising even himself with how steady his voice sounded despite the fury simmering just beneath its surface now.

He straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin defiantly.

"But I will not stand by idly while my hard-earned knowledge is dismissed simply because it does not conform neatly to your narrow-minded views on good versus evil." He took a step forward then and dared look directly into Valerian's piercing gaze. "If you want any hope at all of finally putting an end once and for all to this unending conflict between our realms—then you need me."

A calculated smile played across Valerian’s lips. "Perhaps we are approaching this from the wrong angle," he said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Aric Solarian claims to have insights and abilities gained during his time in captivity. A demonstration of these alleged talents might shed light on the truth of his transformation—and prove just how valuable it could be to our cause."

A ripple of surprise ran through the chamber, followed by an uneasy silence. Aric's heart skipped a beat as he realized Valerian's intention.

Cyrus's face darkened with anger. "Absolutely not! Any use of demon magic poses an unacceptable risk?—"

"I believe we are capable of controlling the situation," Valerian said calmly.

Olaya exchanged a look with Davin and Ruta, who sat nearby on the Silver Tower's side of the tribunal, her expression unreadable. Other tribunal members leaned forward in their seats, clearly intrigued.

Aric took a deep breath, weighing the risks and potential benefits. A demonstration could serve to prove his loyalty and worth—or expose the full extent of his demonic transformation. He would have to choose his actions carefully.

"If it will help to prove my intentions, then I am willing to demonstrate my abilities," Aric said slowly. "But know that I use my magic only for our people's defense."

Valerian nodded thoughtfully, as if considering all possibilities before responding. "Very well then. Let us see what you are capable of."

Aric steeled himself, drawing on the reserves of power within. The shadows responded to his call, pooling at his feet, swirling in an ominous, inky blackness. He let them rise around him, wrapping him in a cloak of darkness that seemed to drink in the light.

But this time, he would not let them overwhelm him. This time, he would balance the dark with the light.

With a thought, he called forth his golden flame. It flickered into being in his hand, a beacon of warmth and purity amidst the shadowy tendrils. Aric willed the two magics to merge, to harmonize with one another.

The flames danced along the edges of the darkness, lighting it from within, like molten veins of gold running through obsidian. Aric guided it with precision, shaping it into something more—something powerful yet beautiful.

A ripple ran through the audience as they beheld the display. Some watched with awe; others, like Cyrus and Olaya, with obvious suspicion and disapproval. But Aric was past caring what they thought.

This was his magic. His power.

He gathered the shadows and flames into a swirling vortex above his head, then unleashed them with a roar. The chamber erupted in brilliance as the magics exploded outward in a storm of golden embers and tendrils of darkness that lashed out like serpents.

Aric held it for a moment longer before letting it dissipate. The chamber fell into stunned silence once more.

Aric's chest heaved as he fought to catch his breath. He felt drained by the effort—but exhilarated, too. This was what his magic was meant for; this was why he had endured so much.

And yet, somewhere in the deepest reaches of his heart, Aric felt the absence of a presence he had grown so accustomed to beside him. One whose praise he still craved.

"It seems we have a decision to make," Valerian said, steepling his fingers as he surveyed the chamber. "Aric Solarian has demonstrated both his potential value and his continued allegiance to our cause. But the matter of his magic remains—how best to harness it, without compromising our safety."

A ripple of unease ran through the crowd; Aric heard it in the soft rustle of fabric and the shifting of feet.

"I propose a compromise," Valerian continued, his voice calm and measured. "We will allow Aric Solarian to remain free within the city of Astaria, provided he puts his magic and abilities in service of defending the crown."

Aric's heart stuttered in his chest. He had expected punishment or exile—anything but this.

"But only under strict supervision," Valerian added. "To ensure that there are no . . . unintended consequences."

Cyrus's face turned an alarming shade of purple as he sputtered with fury. "You cannot possibly mean to let him go free! He is a danger—to all of us!"

"The Pureblade Order would do well to remember its place," Valerian said sharply, "and recall that my authority as Lord Regent supersedes your own." He looked towards Aric, unreadable. "Are we understood?"

Cyrus clenched his jaw but offered a grudging nod of assent.

Valerian turned back to the chamber at large. "Then it is decided. You are hereby granted provisional freedom within Astaria, Aric Solarian." He paused, and Aric could swear there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes as they met Aric's own. "May you make good use of it."

The assembly erupted into a flurry of protests and furious demands for retribution from the Pureblades. Olaya turned back to face them with satisfaction radiating off her in waves; Ruta exhaled heavily with relief.

Aric forced himself to move—stiffly, carefully, like an automaton—and bowed towards Valerian before making his way back towards Olaya's side.

Aric blinked, the tribunal chamber a blurry haze around him. He felt the press of congratulatory hands on his shoulders, heard Olaya's voice as though from a great distance.

"Well done, Aric. Your testimony was powerful."

Davin's hand closed over his own, thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles. "I'm proud of you, Aric. You faced them down."

Aric tried to smile but wasn't sure he succeeded. His mind was still spinning, struggling to process the surreal turn of events. He felt Ruta's arm loop through his, her steady presence grounding him.

"You did it, Aric." Her voice was a low rumble in his ear. "You showed them what you're capable of."

Aric nodded numbly. He should feel relief, gratitude—something other than the aching emptiness hollowing him out from the inside. But all he could think about was the absence where Malekith's presence had once been. Even in captivity, with miles and dimensions separating them, he had always felt Malekith's dark warmth at the edges of his consciousness.

Now that warmth was gone.

A fresh wave of grief threatened to topple him over; he stumbled slightly, but Ruta held firm. Aric drew a shaky breath and forced himself to stand taller. No time for self-pity now. There were battles yet to come—within himself as well as against the demons—and he could not afford to be weak.

As Aric turned to leave the chamber, movement in the shadows caught his eye. He froze, heart pounding, as he glimpsed a familiar silhouette.

Sylthris.

She was there one moment, then gone the next, slipping out of the hall with a grace that was almost inhuman. Aric's blood ran cold.

What was she doing here? How had she gotten into the palace?

Questions swirled in his mind, each one more alarming than the last. He thought of their last encounter in the demon realm—her veiled threats, her unsettling knowledge of his past.

Before he could move, she was gone, leaving only a lingering sense of danger in her wake. Aric's hand twitched toward his sigil, but he forced it down.

The shadow in the court . . .

Perhaps the true dangers in Astaria were only beginning to emerge.