A Time of Dread (Of Blood and Bone #1) - John Gwynne Page 0,165
her mam’s eyes then, and with a sigh she dropped her head and let go of Riv’s wrist.
‘Thank you,’ Riv said and ran on. She reached the doors to Israfil’s chamber, glimpsed a hooded figure standing close by in the shadows of an alcove, but raised voices within the chamber drew her on. She rushed through Israfil’s doors, the voices became louder, clearer. She staggered through the waiting room and burst into his chamber, the doors swinging wide, crashing into the walls, everyone within turning startled heads to stare at her.
‘It’s Kol,’ Riv yelled, ‘Kol is the one.’
She stumbled to a stop.
Israfil was standing before the dark frame of his open window, his hands clasped behind his back, face a mixture of rage and disgust. At his side stood another Ben-Elim, Kushiel, Riv recognized – one of Israfil’s high council. Other Ben-Elim were spread around the room in a loose circle, and in the centre of the room stood Kol, a Ben-Elim either side of him, each gripping one of Kol’s arms. White-Wings flanked them, a dozen, Garidas’ men, Riv presumed.
‘It’s Kol,’ Riv whispered.
Israfil regarded her a long moment, his face full of judgement and grief.
‘I know it is Kol,’ Israfil said to Riv. His expression softened for a moment as he looked at her.
‘Sit, Riv. You look as if you are about to drop.’
‘But there’s more,’ Riv said.
‘Yes, there is, far more than I ever would have thought possible. Kol has just confessed all.’
Riv swayed on her feet, wanted to tell Israfil all she knew, anyway, in case Kol had kept anything back. But a wave of vertigo swept over her, the room tilting and spinning. She reached out a hand, found a chair and slumped into it.
‘So, Kol of the Ben-Elim,’ Israfil said, eyes fixing upon the scar-faced Ben-Elim, any vestige of compassion or kindness swept away by the disgust that filled him now. ‘You confess to improper relations with mortals, more than one, over many years.’
‘I do,’ Kol said.
‘You know the punishment for this crime?’ Israfil said.
‘Crimes,’ Kol corrected. ‘More than once, with more than one mortal. Many more. And yes, I know the punishment, though I think we should talk about one more chance.’
Israfil barked a shocked laugh.
‘You will not be given a second chance. You will be executed at highsun, your head taken from your shoulders before all who dwell within these walls.’
‘I wasn’t talking about one more chance for me,’ Kol said, no hint of a smile on his face now. ‘I was talking about you.’
One of the Ben-Elim guards holding Kol released him, a glint of something in his fist, a stride to the other guard, a thrust, and the guard was collapsing, blood spurting from his throat, the first guard standing with a crimson blade in his fist. He threw the knife into the air and drew his sword, Kol grabbing the knife from the air and leaping with a burst of his wings at Kushiel.
For a moment Israfil was frozen with shock, then he was reaching for his own blade, as in the ring all about him Ben-Elim hurled themselves at their brothers, stabbing, killing.
Riv sat in her chair, stunned by what she was seeing, blood everywhere, Ben-Elim snarling, screaming, the White-Wings in the centre of the room forming a loose square, not knowing what to do, who to attack or defend. One of them gathered his wits and shouted a command, and then they were making for Israfil, the Lord Protector.
No, this is wrong, the whole world is going insane.
Shapes surged through the open window, more Ben-Elim, ones that Riv recognized from the circle that had formed around her as she’d sparred with Kol, just before she’d collapsed.
Kol was struggling with Kushiel, the two of them spiralling in the air, wings beating furiously, Kushiel gripping Kol’s wrist with the knife, pummelling at Kol’s face with his other fist. Ben-Elim that had swept in through the window grabbed Kushiel, one hacking at his wing with a sword. A scream, a burst of feathers and Kushiel was falling, Kol ripping his knife free, stabbing it into Kushiel’s torso as they fell together, again and again and again.
A hand on Riv’s arm: Aphra, with Dalmae behind her, then Bleda and his men. All of them were staring dumbfounded, their cold-faces forgotten. Other figures swept into the room, Ben-Elim, Lorina’s White-Wings, some of Aphra’s hundred too, all with weapons drawn, joining the fray. Riv glimpsed someone in cloak and cowl.