Page 36

T he morning air bit with an unexpected chill as we approached the Council Hall, a thin mist clinging to the cobblestones.

I had risen before dawn, bathed in water that never quite warmed, and dressed with careful precision.

The blue dress Hobbie had suggested hung properly on my frame—not too formal, not too casual.

I had pinned my hair neatly at the nape of my neck, a style that felt both familiar and foreign, like slipping into a uniform from another life.

"Are you warm enough?" Uldrek asked, his voice low as we climbed the stone steps.

"Yes," I answered, though I felt cold to my bones, not from the air, but from what lay ahead.

The Council had allowed Uldrek to accompany me as a silent companion—a concession that surprised me. He wouldn't be allowed to speak, but he could be present. It was a small mercy, but I would take it.

Hobbie had remained at the cottage with Ellie, her small face unusually solemn as we left. "Be direct," she'd said, straightening my collar one final time. "No apologies."

Now, I stood before the great chamber doors, adjusting the satchel strap where it pressed into my shoulder. Inside lay the archive copies from the Civic Vault—the proof I'd gathered, meticulously prepared. My hands trembled slightly, and I curled them into fists at my sides.

Uldrek noticed. Of course he did. He brushed his knuckles against mine. "I'm right here," he murmured.

Before I could respond, the doors swung open. A clerk in formal robes stood in the threshold, expression neutral.

"The Council is ready," he said, stepping aside.

I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and walked forward.

The chamber was just as I remembered: three stories tall, its domed ceiling swallowing sound and turning whispers to echoes.

At the far end of the hall, a half-circle dais loomed.

Seven high-backed chairs rose above it, carved from dark wood and set with the Council’s sigils.

Councilor Thenholt sat at the center, his silver hair gleaming in the morning light.

Beside him was Councilor Thorne—sharper in profile than I remembered, her gaze flicking over the room with hawk-like precision.

Banners bearing the crest of Everwood hung motionless overhead, heavy in the still air. The gallery behind us was sparsely populated—clerks, a handful of observers, none familiar.

Gavriel was not among them. Relief passed through me like breath, but it was short-lived. He would come. This was merely a reprieve.

The clerk directed us to a small table positioned before the dais. Two chairs had been provided—one for me, one for Uldrek. We sat, and I placed my satchel carefully on the table.

Thenholt cleared his throat. "This hearing will now commence in the matter of Duskryn versus Duskryn. Declaration of magical coercion, filed eight days past." He looked directly at me then, and for just a moment, something softened in his expression.

"Mrs. Duskryn," he said, the name spoken with a kind of measured respect—as if he knew the weight of it and chose to carry it gently. "You may present your case."

I stood, oddly calm now that the moment had come. "Thank you, Councilor." My voice sounded steadier than I felt. "I am here today to testify regarding the illegal use of dark magic against me by Gavriel Duskryn, my former husband."

A faint murmur rippled through the gallery, quickly silenced by Thenholt's raised hand.

"Specifically," I continued, "I accuse him of using a forbidden artifact known as the Seal of Veritas to manipulate my thoughts, emotions, and perceptions.

This artifact, confiscated during the Shadowfall War, was meant to remain in secure holding.

Instead, it was illegally removed and given to Gavriel Duskryn by Councilor Darius Evrit during the early reconstruction period. "

I withdrew the archive copies from my satchel and placed them on the table.

"I have documentation from the Civic Vault here confirming both the nature of the artifact and its transfer.

The records indicate it was checked out 'for experimental verification of efficacy' but never returned to inventory. "

Councilor Thorne leaned forward. "These are serious accusations, Mrs. Duskryn. Can you describe the effects of this alleged coercion?"

I nodded, keeping my gaze steady. "The Seal of Veritas is designed to compel what the wielder defines as truth.

In my case, it was used to subtly reshape my perception—making me doubt my own memories, fear things that posed no threat, and accept his version of reality even when evidence contradicted it. "

I paused, gathering my thoughts. "At first, the effects were mild.

I would find myself agreeing to things I had initially opposed.

I would suddenly question decisions I had been certain of.

Over time, the influence deepened. I began to lose hours—whole conversations I couldn't recall clearly.

And when I questioned these gaps, he would insist I was being forgetful or irrational. "

The chamber had grown very quiet.

"The most insidious effect," I continued, "was on my sense of self. I began to believe I was incapable of functioning without his guidance. That my instincts were flawed. That my fear was weakness, not warning."

Thorne's expression remained neutral, but I saw something shift in her eyes. "And how did you come to suspect magical influence rather than more... conventional manipulation?"

"I didn't," I admitted. "Not until I was free of it.

When I fled with my child, I assumed I was escaping an abusive husband—not dark magic.

It was only after I settled in Everwood that I began to recognize the patterns.

And recently, when protective charms around my home began to burn without cause, I sought answers in the Archives.

That led me to the Civic Vault and to the discovery of these records. "

I gestured to the copies on the table. "The description of the artifact's effects matches exactly what I experienced. And its removal from inventory coincided with the period when his influence over me began to intensify."

Thenholt nodded gravely. "May I?" he asked, indicating the documents.

"Of course," I replied, passing them to the clerk, who carried them to the dais.

As Thenholt began to examine the papers, I continued. "What makes the Seal particularly dangerous is its subtlety. It doesn't force compliance—it simply... adjusts what feels true. He shaped my thoughts. My fears. My memories. I’d lived under its weight without ever seeing it. Until I left."

The gallery went utterly silent at those words. I could almost feel the collective intake of breath, the weight of what I was describing settling over the room.

Councilor Thorne was about to speak when the chamber doors swung open. I didn’t need to turn. My body knew before my mind caught up—a cold flush down my spine, the prickle at the back of my neck. The kind of fear that teaches you to shrink before you’re even aware you’ve moved.

I kept my shoulders square through sheer will.

"My apologies for the delay, honored Councilors," came Gavriel's voice—smooth as ever, pitched to carry without seeming to project. "The summons reached me with very little notice."

I turned then, unable to resist seeing him after all this time.

He looked exactly as I remembered. Immaculate in dark formal robes, not a crease out of place.

That same rich brown hair, silver just touching the temples—effortless.

Intentional. He moved with the same easy confidence that used to pass for charm back when I’d still been trying to earn his approval.

What struck me most was how unchanged he appeared. I had transformed in our time apart—had rediscovered pieces of myself I thought long lost, had built new strengths, new connections. But Gavriel looked as if he'd stepped directly from my memory, preserved in amber.

He met my gaze, and his expression softened into something that might have passed for regret. "My dear," he said quietly. "I'm sorry it's come to this."

My stomach turned. I remembered that voice. I remembered how it used to sound like safety.

"Lord Duskryn," Thenholt addressed him formally. "Please take your place. The petitioner has presented her initial statement."

Gavriel inclined his head and moved to the second table, which was positioned opposite mine. His aides remained standing just behind him.

"Now," Thenholt continued, "you are called to respond to the charges of magical coercion through use of a restricted artifact. How do you plead?"

Gavriel's smile was slight but confident.

"With all respect to the Council and to my wife, these allegations are entirely false.

Magical coercion?" He shook his head, the gesture one of sad disbelief.

"I understand that the dissolution of a marriage can be painful, and that it may be easier to assign blame than to accept natural drift.

But this?" He spread his hands. "This is beyond reasonable. "

His voice was perfect. Just enough wounded dignity to suggest generosity. I saw it work—Council members shifting, softening. I used to fall for that, too. That tone that wrapped the lie in silk and made you feel foolish for ever asking the question.

"Lord Duskryn," Councilor Thorne spoke, her tone sharper than Thenholt's. "The petitioner has presented documentation regarding the artifact in question. Are you familiar with the Seal of Veritas?"

A flicker—brief enough that I might have missed it had I not been watching so closely. Gavriel's composure wavered for just a moment before he recovered.

"I am aware of various artifacts recovered during the war," he replied smoothly.

"As a supporter of the reconstruction efforts, I naturally took an interest in such matters.

But I have never possessed such an item, nor would I employ dark magic against anyone," he said, turning his gaze to me, warm as frost. "Least of all my own wife. "