Ve'Rah Daa (The Ephemeral: Book 3)

Chapter 15

Prove me wrong, I implored. Show me you're better than the High Court.

"War?" Jeremy spat, his cold eyes cutting my way. "Who are you to speak of war?"

The insult was so ridiculous, it rendered me speechless. But then I remembered my age, my size, my gender, and most importantly, my nationality, and I suddenly realized that to any stranger, this was a very sensible question.

"That...is Alex Kingsley," Beckett said, his wispy, gravelly voice numbing the tension in every spine, chest, and scapula in the valley. He looked up from the ground with a knowing smile. "And she is, believe it or not, the sole reason Ells is still standing. Our capital would have fallen without her."

He held the crowd's attention like putty in his calloused hands. Fully prepared to mold it to his liking, just as he'd done at the trial.

"Believe me, I understand how outrageous this proposal is, especially coming from soldiers their age," he admitted, glancing at Laughlin. "Like any sane leader, you think them naïve, too bold for their skin."

The chief's glare loosened a bit, and it finally felt like we had a chance of getting through to him.

"Allying with us when you have every reason to avoid conflict...it's a tough sell. But Kingsley's spot on. The suffering you speak of will never cease with a man like that on the throne." Beckett's sympathetic gaze darkened. "You can close your eyes, but the bloodshed won't vanish, and before long, those crows will find you. They always do."

Laughlin's temper cooled slightly—a common side effect of interacting with Beckett—and he slowly scanned our group. "You've come a long way, and we appreciate your warning, but like I said, we have no intention of bearing arms again. If you want to take on the demon king, you'll have to do it alone." He turned to Cillian. "See them out, Campbell."

"No."

My eyes darted to the source of contention, and I stared at Will's menacing expression in amazement. The young exile had recovered from Laughlin's rejection, and now something else danced in his eyes. Something rebellious.

"No?" the chief repeated.

Will glared back at him, resolute and unflinching. "We've traveled days to get here. The least you can do is consult with the other clansmen. After that, you can put it to a vote, as a people."

Laughlin was astonished, and Jeremy looked about ready to rip Will's head off. He probably could too.

"We don't take orders from outsiders," the redhead seethed, marching forward to stand beside Laughlin. "And we sure as hell don't obey someone who's been branded like an animal." He nodded at the surprised arch of my brow. "That's right. I know exactly what that tattoo signifies. And I will never bow to a king who accepts the barbaric customs of his enemies."

White hot anger pooled in my belly and the meat of my fists. If that brickhead said one more defaming word about Will's character...

"I'm in no position to give you orders—that's something we can agree on," Will conceded, his tone as cool and balanced as a sheet of ice. "It's also why I'm calling for a Rite."

The crowd fell dead silent.

Their mouths hung agape, and their wide eyes flitted from Will to Laughlin, then back again. Disbelieving, perplexed.

"A Rite? You—you can't be serious," Cillian sputtered.

I glanced at Torian in confusion. He'd lost all color in his cheeks.  "What's a Rite?"  

"It's a fight among clansmen," he whispered. "If Will wins, he wins their fealty and the right to rule."

Wait.