While Kaius expounded on the charges brought against him, Marcus’s thoughts raced. Victor’s conviction proved his uncle had influence over several members of the Court. No doubt he held sway with members of the Council as well. That meant he could have gotten Marcus out of this mess and chosen not to.
The conversation Marcus had with Helen ran through his mind. She’d said he couldn’t see past the end of his nose. Chastised him for not taking the investigation of his books further. Her words echoed in his ears. “Tell me. Who do you know that has the resources to bind you to a rare demon entity from another dimension?”
His focus shifted from Kaius to his uncle. Tiberius sat between the two daises of the High Court. The gateway’s golden tree formed a halo of limbs around his head, the effect less than angelic. Since Marcus had yet to claim a mate or sire younglings, Tiberius stood to inherit the majority of his personal assets. He’d been furious Marcus invested in the casino instead of his latest project. That project was a closely held secret. Not even Marcus was privy to the research findings.
As though sensing the direction of his thoughts, Tiberius turned his head, meeting Marcus’s eyes. The same satisfied gleam shone in their heartless depths as when he’d stared at Victor, his long-time rival.
By the gods. How could Marcus be so stupid? So blind? So screwed.
Like his father before him, it seemed he’d been betrayed at every turn. Helen, Tiberius… Dove. Thoughts of his Chosen threatened to gut him, and he pushed her image down deep. It was her betrayal that hurt worst of all. With her, he feared he’d given away more than his trust.
Finally, the long-winded official brought things to a close. Kaius leaned forward, peering down his nose at Marcus. “Lord Steele, how do you plead?”
Marcus stared back at him. In this sham of a trial, his fate was already sealed. He refused to make it easy on them. If they wanted to get rid of him, they’d have to take him apart piece by piece.
He lifted his chin. “Lord Speaker of the High Court, I plead—”
“Guilty. The bastard is guilty as sin,” said a shrill voice.
The spectators gasped, murmurs of shock ringing out.
That voice. No. It couldn’t be. Marcus’s heart lodged in his throat. He swiveled his head. Next his shoulders. Hips. Finally, his feet. However, his brain was slower to catch up.
Helen sauntered down the center aisle, heels clicking on the marble floor.
“Helen?” he choked out.
In response to his grated question, she pressed two fingers to her garishly painted lips and blew him a kiss. It was an odd gesture coming from Helen.
He frowned, sliding deep into a sludgy pool of confusion. How was she here? Alive?
Large, round sunglass sat on Helen’s upturned nose. Around her scrawny neck was a familiar scarf. Beneath her taupe pantsuit, her legs moved like two storm-battered twigs. Instead of her usual swagger, she moved as though someone had cranked a mechanical key on her back.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said to the court, holding up what appeared to be a slender black box with a blinking red light. “Silly me, I had to stop for batteries. Door,” she shouted over her shoulder.
As if cued by a director, the only door in or out of the chamber swung closed, sealing with an ominous thud.
“She’s locked us in,” cried a panicked voice.
“What’s the meaning of this?” the speaker barked, thumping his fist on the table. “Guard! Seize her!”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Helen smirked, her misshapen lips cinching into a grotesque imitation of a smile. “Dove, darling,” she called over her shoulder.
No! Marcus’s heart clenched, and he slid deeper into that sludgy pool. Dove stumbled into view, clothes tattered, bruises on her arms. Those seated nearest to her scrambled from their seats. Strapped to Dove’s chest were multiple containers filled with green liquid.
Beside Helen, she dropped to her knees. Long hanks of silver-blond hair tumbled over her shoulders, obscuring her face, hiding the abject terror he imagined he’d find there. She clasped her hands in her lap, sobbing and chanting a prayer, muttering words he couldn’t decipher.
Marcus’s demon slammed into his sternum and he grunted, nearly falling. “She calls on the darkness. Do you feel it?”
He felt something. Like the burning desire to lay waste to Helen once and for all. She dared to use Dove this way? Despite his anger with his Chosen, protective urges burned through his veins. She was his. None would punish her but him. Shadows gathered beneath him, spinning in a slow vortex. Red covered his vision, his damaged flesh heating.
“You have our attention,” Kaius grated from his lofty seat. “Tell us. What is it you want?”
“To give testimony, of course,” Helen said, pushing her sunglasses up her nose. “I have intimate knowledge of Marcus Steele’s many crimes as well as Zion’s.”
The crowd gasped. Members of the court leaned forward, curiosity outweighing their sense of self-preservation.
“This is outrageous.” Tiberius shot out of his chair, storming before Helen and her quivering captive. “The woman who stands before you is a reanimated corpse. I saw her dead body with my own eyes. This deception is the work of the necromancer who kneels at her feet.” He thrust a shaking hand at Dove. “The faerie has made this woman her puppet. Helen is in her thrall, and anything she claims must be disregarded.”