Page 106 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

We turned down a long, torch-lit corridor that spilled into the main judicial hall.

Thrall Squad was lined up there, every one of them tense, standing straight in their armor. Jax’s jaw clenched when he saw me, but he didn’t speak. Riven’s eyes followed my every move like she was calculating a dozen possible outcomes.

The guard leading us stopped and pointed to a heavy wooden door with an iron crest bolted at the center.

“She goes in first.”

Zander moved as if to follow, but the guard raised a hand.

Don’t,I told him through the bond,Let’s see what they’re playing at.

I stepped past the threshold and into the room beyond, the air cool and heavy.

And the door closed behind me with a hollow thud.

The room was dimly lit but lavish in its appointments, an intentional contradiction meant to unsettle. Rich tapestries lined the walls, and an incense I didn’t recognize hung thick in the air. The Court Inquisitor sat behind a polished mahogany desk carved with runes I didn’t pretend to understand.

He was older, with silver threaded neatly through dark, slicked-back hair. His beard was sharp, trimmed to a precise point that matched the sharp line of his cheekbones. His robes were ornate, deep-crimson edged in black, with golden embroidery that traced ancient judgment sigils across the sleeves and collar. Not a single fold was out of place.

He didn’t rise when I entered. He simply motioned to the wooden chair across from his desk.

“My name is Judiah. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ashlyn.”

“That’s not what I hear,” I said coolly, after sitting.

“This discussion is informal… for now,” he said, folding his hands. “Please answer my questions honestly. I will know if you are lying.”

His voice was soft, polished. But it carried the burden of someone who had destroyed people with nothing more than a whisper.

I sat straighter in the chair, keeping my hands visible, steady.

He didn’t glance at the parchment on his desk, though there were at least a dozen documents stacked neatly in front of him.

“Now,” he said, his eyes narrowing, “tell me about your father.”

I didn’t flinch. “We’re no longer on speaking terms. He ordered a hit on me when I refused to do his bidding.”

The Inquisitor’s lips thinned, his fingers tapping once against the wood. “That is not what I heard,” he said, irritation creeping into his tone. “Despite you believing what you said.”

I met his gaze head-on. “My sister tried to assassinate me. There’s no other way to take that.”

That gave him pause. His mouth tightened, not in anger this time, but discomfort. Like the truth tasted worse than the lie.

He shifted, picked up a pen but didn’t write.

“Tell me about your mission. Your trip to Thubia.”

I gave him what he asked. No embellishment. No games. I told him how we were called by Foran, how Dorian was injured, how we responded, and the Blood Fae’s ambush. I left out nothing, especially not the wave I called, or how they avoided me like I was something marked.

He didn’t interrupt, but I could feel his attention tightening like a noose.

When I finished, he didn’t ask any follow-ups. Didn’t thank me. He just stared for a long moment.

Then, abruptly, he stood.

“You may leave.”

I rose silently, not bothering with formalities.