A Time of Blood (Of Blood and Bone #2) - John Gwynne Page 0,58

abomination,” Sariel hissed; voices in the crowd called out their agreement.

Cries calling for Riv’s execution rang out, her head snapping in the direction of the voices, searching for them. A white-haired Ben-Elim, about him a dozen White-Wings, men and women who had journeyed to Drassil with Sariel. She glared at them, tried to breathe deep and slow, knowing full well what would happen if she let her anger overwhelm her.

Rage.

Pain.

The executioner’s block.

“Many of you know me,” Riv said, a tremor in her voice, part rage, all emotion. She looked around, saw thousands of faces staring back at her, shouts drowning her out.

“LET HER SPEAK,” Kol bellowed, and silence settled. “Listen to her, before you judge,” Kol said, calmer.

Riv took a deep breath, gulped. “Many of you know me,” she repeated. “I have lived here, at Drassil, my whole life. I have dreamed of becoming a White-Wing, of standing in the shield wall, of serving the Land of the Faithful, protecting its people, fighting against the evil that is the Kadoshim in our Great War. That is who I am, in here.” She put a fist to her heart.

“Who is your father?” Sariel snapped. “Who committed this obscenity?”

“She does not know,” Kol said, stepping forwards. “And it does not matter. Many here know Riven, have grown up with her, taught her or trained beside her in the weapons-field. Marched on campaigns with her.” He stopped, looking around at nodding heads.

“She is an abomination, evidence of a great sin,” Sariel said. He was staring at Riv with disgust, eyes wide, drawn to her wings.

“Aye, she is evidence of the sins of her father, mayhap,” Kol said before Riv had a chance to say anything. “But she is not guilty of that sin herself. How can she be held accountable for the crime that another has committed, long before she was even born?”

Riv’s eyes scanned the crowd, saw expressions shifting, thoughtful, even a few nodding heads.

This is hopeful, she thought.

She looked at Sariel, who was staring death at her.

Not so hopeful.

“She has wings,” Sariel snarled.

“So, she has wings now.” Kol shrugged. “She is the same person that we have all known for seventeen years. She was not evil before; she has not become evil overnight. If there is any sin, it lies with her parentage, not her. She is innocent, guiltless. How can any one of us be held accountable for our parents’ deeds? If that were so, every wrongdoing that has a judgement meted out would be inflicted upon the children of the wrongdoer. If a man commits murder and goes to the gallows for it, do we hang his sons and daughters, too? If a woman steals, do we cut off the right hands of her children?” Kol paused, allowing the implications of his words to sink into the crowd.

“I have marched on a hundred campaigns with my sister’s hundred,” Riv said. “Wished only to serve Elyon. I am one of the Faithful. I am a White-Wing, but with real wings.” Riv grinned at Sariel, allowed her anger that small pleasure.

Sariel returned her stare, pinpricks of colour flushing his cheeks.

“Sariel, we Ben-Elim are Elyon’s representatives on the earth,” Kol continued calmly, sounding like the voice of reason, his voice inflected with hints of friendship, as if he were an arbitrator in a dispute, “and Elyon is just and fair. He would not condemn the innocent.” He raised his arms to the crowd. “He would not condemn Riv for a crime she has not committed, or any others like her. And neither will I.” He looked at Sariel. “Would you?”

“Yes,” Sariel said without pause or thought.

People in the crowd gasped, some jeered him.

Kol shook his head sadly, playing every inch the disappointed moral high ground. “Let the people decide,” Kol said. “And, also let them decide who is to be their Lord Protector.” He unfurled his wings, beat them and rose into the air, hovering above Sariel. “Today you have the chance to choose your own future,” he shouted to the host that filled the Great Hall. “Today you make your own history.

“Would you condemn Riv to death for the sins of her father? Whoever he is.”

A silence, growing longer, Riv feeling she was standing on the brink of an abyss, one foot hovering over it, unsteady.

“Let her live,” a voice cried out. Riv’s head snapped towards it, and she was looking straight at Bleda. He returned her gaze and said it again—shouted it this time—and Ellac joined his voice to Bleda’s,