Page 92 of Between Imminent Fates

Drake, Aidan, and Jeremiah also stood solemnly in the massive dome that functioned as Nero’s gathering space. Much to everyone’s relief, Zeke had elected to stay away. That man seemed to be fighting a losing battle with grief, and he was driving himself into the ground as a result. One sovereign over more than thirteen hundred minds was an unenviable role.

The Sylth clan had nowhere near that number, and still Derikles found himself overwhelmed by the network. An influx of grief poured through the bonds to his clansmen, weighing on the crudely developed valve he had created. At times, he couldn’t discern whether the continual fog of the grey emotion was his or someone else’s.

Rukia’s grief was the sharpest. No matter how many times he reinforced the block between them, it sliced through. After seeing Isaiah’s message, her emotions had twisted. A swell of bitterness and anger had risen alongside her grief.

It made being away from Sylth clan lands harder. Though every one of Isaiah’s lieutenants were supporting Rukia and Isaak, they continued to deal with their own emotional fallout. Derikles’ absence simply shined another light on the gaping hole Isaiah had left behind.

“Shall we?”

All of them entered the room where Rayn was handcuffed to a chair. Nothing but contempt rolled off the traitor as he sneered at them. The flesh wound he’d received on the battlefield had mostly healed, even without much treatment from a Raeth healer.

Rayn was young for a Raeth, probably no more than a century and a half old, but strong nonetheless. Derikles could discern it based on his psychic signature—and the fact that he’d psychically poisoned Remmus nearly to his death.

“We’re going to start simply, Rayn,” Nero began. “Why did you turn against your own kind?”

“What hasmy kindever done for me? And who are you to question my decisions?”

The sound of his own grating teeth echoed in Derikles’ ears. Rayn, with his pitch-black hair and clear blue eyes, had the type of arrogance that only came from a lifetime of selfishness.

“We know who you are, Rayn,” Nero lied.

“Do you? Then do you also know that Isaiah, your beloved hero, murdered my entire clan? That he came and killed them all in cold blood?”

Derikles reeled in shock. Nero was better at disguising his reaction, but the claim clearly took him aback as well. They all turned to Remmus, who spoke in low tones.

“He believes that to be the truth.”

“Of course it’s the truth!” Rayn barked. “I was twelve when he murdered my sovereign, my parents, my brother—I watched as that psychopath executed them all.”

One look at Remmus confirmed the words were true.

“You say it was in cold blood,” Nero probed. “That your clan had done nothing to provoke him?”

A hard stare was Rayn’s only response, the look of a man who’d shut down and would allow no further discussion. Zia strode forward to stand beside her sovereign.

Rayn’s glare settled on her dismissively. “What, you going to pull it out of my head? I’ll warn you: whatever you’re hoping to find, it won’t be Isaiah’s innocence.”

Derikles bared his teeth, ready to confront the traitor. Before he even got a foot toward him, a hand gripped his shoulder. “Stay, Derikles. We need him alive if we’re to pull the memories from his head.”

Shrugging off Aidan’s grip, Derikles seethed.

His sovereign wouldn’t have butchered an entire clan without provocation. Isaiah wasn’t heartless, no matter what the traitor said about him. The only time he’d ever wrought that type of destruction was—

Derikles froze.

Circe.

“You were part of the clan that abducted Circe and her mother,” he growled, stalking forward to stand in front of the traitor. “The monsters who forced an adolescent to findmerjhasfor their own sick purposes. Then when she went into energy drought, your people killed her mother in front of her as punishment. She had nightmares for years!”

Fisting a hand in his shirt, he jerked Rayn taut against his bindings. “Isaiah took vengeance because your clan abducted two of his people and tortured them. That blood was ontheirhands.”

Derikles shoved him back against the metal chair, unable to look at him any longer. He stalked back toward the wall and leaned against it with a growl. Realizing how much evil had come about because of Rayn’s twisted interpretation of Isaiah’s actions made his blood boil.

“You were a child, yes?” Nero asked.

Rayn still clung to his sneer. “Twelve.”

The only redeeming thing about Rayn was that he’d been a youngling at the time of Circe’s capture—only a few years her junior. He likely hadn’t participated in her torture or abduction. That fact alone kept Derikles from eviscerating him where he sat.

---