mine under the table. It burns hot as lava, and I smell the hint of burning forests on the air before his power sucks inward, locking down until he doesn’t even register on my senses.
The absence of his overwhelming warmth leaves me bereft, though I understand the need. Tobias’s thoughts must be clear, which means locking down his emotions.
Lord Marius raps his knuckles on the podium, and the sound cracks through the room hard enough to make my bones ache. “Victor Hesse, begin your questioning.”
The mortifer demon steps out from behind his table and bows once more to the judges before he turns and gestures at our table. “Mr. Poe, if you will take the stand?”
My brows sweep together in confusion for a moment before a section of the floor rises to the side of the dais. It forms a smaller podium that Julian walks to. The new position puts him on display for everyone in the room.
Victor Hesse paces over to him. “Mr. Poe, you were contracted to assist Domnall MacAteer in the event he needed to offload the tainted magic he consumed during his hunts, correct?”
Julian shakes his head. “No.”
The bones in his neck pop loudly as Victor Hesse tips his head to the side. “I have a copy of the contract, if you need your memory jogged?”
Julian gives him a steady stare. “You used the past tense, but I am currently contracted to Domnall MacAteer. Unless the contract is dissolved by the will of the council, mutual agreement, or through the permanent death of myself or Domnall MacAteer, it remains active.”
“Yes, of course. My apologies for the lack of clarity in my question.” Victor Hesse paces in front of the stand. “But this does bring me to my next question. You were—again, my apologies—you are contracted to Domnall MacAteer, and yet, for a period of two-hundred years, you had abandoned your post. Why?”
Julian’s expression flickers before blanking out once more. “Witchcraft was on the decline as more and more humans lost the ability to access the ley lines. There was less work, so I requested a vacation.”
“Of two-hundred years?” Disbelief fills Victor Hesse’s voice. “That’s hardly a vacation.”
“When you’ve lived as long as Domnall has, it’s merely a blip in time. Something you may understand once you have a few more centuries under your belt,” Julian says drily. He doesn’t wait for a response before he continues. “Domnall was aware of my location. He only needed to call on me, and I would have returned to his side. As I did when he began his hunt in my city.”
“Because he called for you?” Victor Hesse clarifies.
Julian’s lips tighten. “No, I heard he was in town and sought him out.”
Victor Hesse walks toward his desk, his tone curious. “Because you wanted to return to your post as his vessel?”
“It is an honor to do the council’s business,” Julian states, his tone flat of emotion.
“Interesting that you say that.” Victor Hesse pulls a folder from his briefcase, stuffed thick with paper, and strides back to where Julian sits, extending it to him. “Do you know what these are?”
Reluctant, Julian takes the folder and opens it, skimming the top sheet before flipping through the rest. He closes the folder and sets it on the edge of the stand. “They’re grievances I filed.”
“Against whom?” Victor Hesse asks.
Julian blinks slowly. “Domnall MacAteer.”
He lifts the folder once more. “There are over a hundred grievances in here, all with the same complaint. Please tell the court what that is.”
“Torture during energy exchange,” Julian says, his voice flat.
“Torture during energy exchange.” Victor Hesse taps the folder against his palm. “And yet, as soon as you heard Domnall MacAteer was in town, you ran to his side. Because you couldn’t wait to be his vessel once more, to subject yourself to his torment.”
Julian keeps his stare level. “It is my honor to do the council’s business.”
“A council who repeatedly denied your grievances for the greater good of our people.”
Julian bows his head stiffly to the demons at the podium. “It is their right to pass judgment.”
“How long did you work as a vessel for Domnall MacAteer?” He waves a hand. “Not including the time you were on vacation.”
“Seven centuries,” Julian responds tightly.
“Seven centuries of being tortured,” Victor Hesse stresses.
“It wasn’t always like tha—”
“And yet,” he cuts my cousin off, “you want us to believe, for the honor of the council, that you willingly returned to the side of the man who tortured you for seven-hundred years?”