Book 3 in The Ephemeral series.
After the attack on Havenbrooke, Alex Kingsley―a social outcast turned war hero―is now the most powerful woman in Ells. But her life, along with Will's future and the fate of 2,000 demonic prisoners, rests in the han...
Kids made the best gossips, and their memory was impeccable. With the young and impressionable in attendance, my findings would never peter out.
Rover stared at the pile of books and documents I'd stacked at my feet. Then he peered at me, nervously wetting his lips. "Alex...what do you know?"
I snatched my gloves off the desk and passed him a sinister smile. "Enough."
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Two hours later, the gallery was packed to the brim with soldiers, civilians, refugees, and confused, restless children. The attendees filled both stories, and the crowds even spilled out the doors into the hallways, where federates stood guard and restricted access to the building.
Behind me, a line of armed soldiers separated the spectator area from the rest of the chamber, and although Rover said the security measure was intended to preserve the peace, we both knew it was redundant. There was no need for guards when I was fully capable of turning this whole congregation into memory pudding.
All it would take is a handprint.
Still, it was amusing to see Havenbrooke's no-weapons policy crumble overnight. I'd known it was only a matter of time before the city's pretty polish lost its luster.
I stood at the defendant's table once again, flanked by Rover and Siren, and this all-too-familiar courtroom made me feel like the last thirty days had all been a dream. Like I'd never won my case, and I was still on trial, defending my right to exist.
In some ways, it felt like nothing had changed at all.
Well. Except Siren's massive stomach, maybe. The woman looked like she was about to rupture, even though her calm, calculated appearance betrayed nothing of the sort. Victor, on the other hand, exuded peak anxiety. He guarded her shadow, keeping a watchful eye on his wife and any perceived threats in the room. His hand rested on his dagger frog, and I knew he wouldn't hesitate to wield his knife if the situation called for it.
Of course, Siren being Siren meant he wouldn't have to.
Across the way, Mason and I brushed gazes—his expression resolute but understandably wary. He and Beckett huddled around the plaintiff's table with Sol, Grismond, and Claus, and I smiled at my troop of battle-born brothers, all standing here in solidarity with me. Not because I was Tom's sister, but because we were comrades, and this spate of welts had grown to respect me as an asset, a friend, and an unruly foster child.
My whole life, I'd often acted alone when confronting authority. I couldn't count the number of times I'd been called a child, a breeder, or a naïve little girl. And perhaps my superiors were right to ignore the rash demands of an impassioned teenager. But now...now I had grown men willing to elevate my voice, and in a world where a man's word held infinitely more value than mine, that support meant everything.
My gaze trailed to the right corner of the room, and my smile faded. Between the jury box and the bench, the nation's public servants and their families assembled in a paranoid cluster, surrounded by loyal sentinels. General Iver and Colonel Burroughs, my Long-Nosed nemesis, joined them, as well as other useless, senile members of the Command.
