Page 67 of Heir of Broken Souls (HOBF #3)
Chapter 67
The Prisoner
T he prisoner keeps his head held high. Despite the iron shackles on his wrists and ankles making a gods-awful rattling noise, despite the gas-lit lamps nearly blinding him since he hasn’t seen light in weeks, the prisoner’s ego isn’t dented in the slightest.
In fact, the moment the prisoner was escorted out of his holding cell, flanked by ten guards armed to the teeth with not only steel but power, a smirk flickered across his lips.
A sneer grows along the faces of several of the guards, the tension and hatred wafting off them in waves. Yet the prisoner pays them no heed, not even when one guard’s temper flares and, without warning or care, kicks the prisoner in the back, sending him toppling to the floor with a mighty grunt.
Finally, a flash of emotion fills the prisoner’s chocolate eyes.
There and gone in an instant.
Hatred.
A muscle ticks in the prisoner’s jaw as he rises on shaky legs. No doubt from the loss of movement in the small hole they call a cell.
The prisoner is young, with an almost yellow tint to his skin. If he hadn’t been thrown into a hole with no sunlight, he naturally would have tan golden skin with dark features to match his bushy brown eyebrows and rough stubble.
When he fully straightens on his feet, he matches the height of some of the guards, standing at five foot ten with a pudgy belly and thick tree trunks for legs. If he wasn’t shackled he’d put that gleam of vengeance in his gaze to use.
The ten guards continue marching him through the tunnels to the island’s city center. The awaiting crowd gasps as he enters, their shock loud enough to make the room quake. They’re packed tightly into the space, crammed on benches and squished around the pool of water sitting inside the cave’s entrance like sardines.
Everyone wants a glimpse at the Fae on trial today. At the infamous darkness that supposedly resides within their hearts.
The prisoner grins, a devilish smirk that elicits another round of gasps. Before the guards can usher him along, he spits at the feet of the closest Fae. “Lowly coward of a creature,” the prisoner scorns.
The guard closest to him strikes out before the prisoner can blink. The slap resounds through the island below as the prisoner’s head snaps back.
“Shut your mouth, you disgusting bastard,” the guard sneers.
He blinks furiously, raising his chin as he swallows his retort.
The guards pull him along to the right of the island’s entrance, far harsher than before if that’s even possible, not caring when he trips and stumbles. If anything, they make sure he does.
After endless halls and corridors, the guards stop before a large double door that reaches the high ceilings. The deep mahogany groans as the guards stationed by the door place their hands on their hilts, dip their heads to their fellow guards, and pull the doors open.
Awaiting the prisoner are the royal families in all their glory, each representing the element of their court.
To the far left sits the king and queen of Ornx, the red gown adorning the black-haired queen matching that of her king in his red suit—the pair representing fire.
To their right follows the king and queen of Cardania, the teal and blue clothing showcasing their love for Water Court and complimenting their glorious black skin.
Even farther down, the king and queen of the house of Eden perch dressed in a fine forest green. But to the left of them, the towering thrones sit empty.
Finally, in the center, the royal family of Azalea sit poised and regal in their thrones. King Damon and Queen Elena, adorned in a beautiful shimmery silver.
Despite the vastly different powers thrumming within the room, the royals all have one thing in common—despair.
The prisoner shuffles through the silent courtroom, his eyes gleaming with delight as they rise to the royals sitting high above him on their thrones. He barely even flinches as the guards place him beside the Fae shackled to the floor with iron, a black cloth concealing her face.
King Damon rises, his sapphire eyes locking on the two prisoners.
“The royals are gathered here today for the trial of Peter and Phoebe Maloone. The once former heirs to the throne of Entrile, the house of Air.” King Damon glances to his left, at the vacant seats. “After a unanimous vote, the royals of Entrile will not be in attendance today. If there is to be a tie on the decision of your fate, we shall bring forth a jury. Do you understand?”
Silence is his only answer.
“Very well,” King Damon drawls, his gaze shifting to his right. His chin dips, and King Henry of the Water Court mirrors his movements before he rises and leaves.
Peter, without the cloth over his head, tracks the movement.
“Considering the allegations against the Maloone twins, the court has decided to do things a little…differently today,” King Damon announces.
King Henry returns to his seat, and with another subtle nod, the doors he just walked through open again and three guards stroll in.
Peter finally reacts, and Phoebe beside him, her head concealed in a black bag, snaps to attention at the sound of the guard’s boots coming to a stop before them. With no explanation, the guards roughly yank the prisoners’ arms, one on each, as the third guard pulls out a small black briefcase. At the sound of its click, Phoebe struggles against the grip the guard has on her, making two more step forward to hold her in place.
The guard removes two syringes from the case, making Peter’s eyes widen.
“A truth serum,” King Damon announces, his gaze not flickering with an ounce of sympathy as the prisoners are injected. “To make for a fair and just trial.” He takes his seat, his gaze moving to the other court royals. “Joseph, if you wish to start.”
The king and queen of the Fire Court rise, King Joseph clearing his throat while the prisoners gasp in pain, the serum taking its toll on their corrupted bloodstreams. He faces Peter, free of the cloth. He looks directly into his hate-filled eyes and asks, “Peter Maloone, do you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth throughout this trial?”
“Of course not, you filthy firebreather,” Peter spits.
Instead of getting angry, the royals chuckle.
“I think the serum is working just fine on him, dear,” Queen Alexandria says, patting her mate’s arm. The red gown makes her amber eyes shine bright with vengeance as she stares at the prisoners.
The queen of Azalea rises. Elena folds her hands in front of her silver gown, her movements graceful. “Peter, you are here today due to the evidence brought forth against you in regards to the use of dark magic. Is it correct that you have used such power?”
Peter visibly shakes, his neck turning red as a vein in his forehead protrudes. “Yes,” he grits out, the admission causing him pain.
Something shutters in Queen Elena’s gaze before she turns to the second prisoner. “Phoebe Maloone, do you admit to the crimes held against you of partaking in the dark power alongside your twin brother, Peter?”
A shrill cry rings out before her stuttering, “Y-yes.”
“And is it true you possess the ability of mind control through eye contact?”
Tension fills the room. The royals hold their breaths. Peter turns distraught as Phoebe begins to writhe in agony beside him before she screams, “Yes!”
“Due to the knowledge of the power you possess, the trial will continue with your vision covered. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.” She turns to him. “Peter, does dark magic run through your veins?”
A grunt and a spit. “Yes, you insipid bitch.”
Queen Elena doesn’t so much as flinch as she moves on. “Phoebe, does dark magic run through your veins?”
“Yes,” she grits.
“Peter and Phoebe Maloone, did you or did you not commit the ultimately treasonous act of sacrificing one of your own in a death ritual in exchange of dark magic?”
At this, Queen Elena’s voice grows cold and detached, as if she’s bracing herself for the answer she doesn’t want to hear. The answer they all dread.
“Yes,” Peter whispers. “And it felt glorious .”
Her grimace makes a certain thrill shoot through him. “Phoebe, was your participation brought on by your brother’s manipulation or of your own free will?”
“Free will.”
Queen Elena’s voice rises, a rare showing of her temper. “And did you or did you not go on to sacrifice a family of four, one of which was a three-year-old little girl?”
The royals tense in the courtroom, disgust marring their features. King Damon links his fingers with Queen Elena’s, his touch seemingly steadying her.
“Yes,” Peter and Phoebe say in unison, not fighting this time.
“You wish to do so again.”
Peter can’t help but grin. She didn’t even ask a question this time. “Of course. There isn’t a feeling on this planet quite like it.”
King Damon stands from his throne, his body vibrating with tension.
“It is a law within the lands of Aloriah to only use pure magic of the elements given from Mother Gaia. You two have not only committed the ultimate crime of using dark magic, possessing it and wielding such a horrid power, but of actively seeking out innocents and killing them in cold-blooded murder for power.” He sneers down at the twins. “We hereby sentence you to exile.”
The royals rise, uniting as one behind King Damon.
“A prison is not going to contain the abomination that you have become, so the courts have come together to set forth an agreement that will not only be sanctioned today but will be upheld for the rest of your days.”
Peter’s eyes gleam with pure undiluted hatred.
“We, the royals of Aloriah, hereby sentence Peter and Phoebe Maloone to the prison world of Adora, where they will remain until the end of time, without any opportunity of parole.”
Shock thunders through the prisoners so forcibly they visibly recoil, their hands reaching out to one another. The moment they touch, darkness swirls between them.
King Damon launches a ball of fire directly toward their hands, not caring for their pained gasps as they break apart.
“You two have not only spat on your titles but you have actively gone against everything we as a Fae race stand for.” He narrows his eyes. “Your parents have agreed to the terms and have wished you be removed immediately. Everything you need to live out your days is well within the prison world, and all communication will be cut off the moment you step through the portal.”
“This is preposterous!” Peter bellows.
“You cannot kill innocents and walk away unscathed!” King Damon bellows. “You are an atrocity to the word Fae.”
King Joseph sneers, the fire king’s hands writhed in flames. “I hope you burn for what you have done.”
As one, the royals extend their hands, swirling their magic together until it forms a mirror, one adorned with beautiful golden trim artwork.
The guards behind the prisoners quickly flank the twins, cutting off the iron shackles from the floor and their feet but not their hands.
“We’ll go down in history. None of you can say the same!” Peter bellows.
“You two are the most hated Fae to ever exist. That is not something to boast about, boy.” King Damon leans forward. “Even your own parents do not wish to remember you.”
Queen Elena flinches at her mate’s harsh words, but they can’t deny the truth of them.
King Damon leans back. “Send them through.”
At his command, the guard behind Phoebe whips the cloth off her head, revealing a young woman, the fraternal twin to her brother, with dirty blonde hair, flecked green eyes, and freckles along her nose.
Her eyes widen with true fear as the guards give them both a mighty shove, sending them through the mirror portal with a scream.