Vindicated by Bella Klaus
Chapter Eleven
Panic struck my heart like a bolt of lightning, making me spring out of the hospital bed. Little round balls of chocolate rolled across the floor, and I sent Mera a silent word of apology for wasting her gift.
I picked up the burning parchment and glanced around the room, looking for my clothes. The white wall behind my bed was bare and the one in front of it only displayed useless holographs. A growl reverberated in the back of my throat. What on earth was wrong with these people?
“Shit.”
My gaze dropped to my white hospital gown, a shapeless rectangle of fabric that covered me down to my calves, but hardly looked authoritative. Who cared when Fenrir’s freedom was at stake?
Shoving aside the need for propriety, I jogged toward the exit. King Hades must have set up the trial the moment he discovered I’d employed an advocate.
Professor Fizzil stepped into the room with his hands clasped. “Your Majesty,” said the healer. “I have an update—”
“It’s going to have to wait.”
I barreled past him and sprinted out of the door, down the hallway lined with transparent patient booths, and toward the mirror room.
As I flung the door open, my nostrils filled with the scent of ape musk, and a pair of orderlies in white scrubs stepped out from the shadows.
They each stood at least seven feet tall with the sloping foreheads, shrunken cheeks, and small eyes of gorilla shifters. I’d never seen them around Lunaris, but I hoped they recognized me as the Shifter Queen. From their heavy scowls, it looked like they didn’t.
“Where are you going?” said the smaller of the pair, a red-haired man with thick brows. “No patients allowed in the mirror room.”
I ground my teeth. “Excuse me, please, I need to leave.”
He raised a massive palm. “You haven’t been discharged.”
“Yes, I have,” I snapped.
His companion tilted his head to the side. “Then why are you wearing a hospital gown?”
My lips formed a tight line. That was an excellent question. I shoved it aside and pulled back my shoulders. “Do you know who I am?”
Professor Fizzil appeared at my side. “Your Majesty, may I suggest you return to your room?”
“Tell these two to step aside,” I snapped. “There’s no way I’m shifting for you until after my important appointment.”
“Please don’t make this matter difficult,” the healer said, his brow furrowing.
I shot the professor my most withering glower. “I thought you’d have returned to the University of Logris by now. Instead, you’re holding me here against my will.”
His features shuttered. Perhaps this was his veneer of professional calm. I didn’t care. Fenrir’s trial had just begun, and I was missing it because these wankers wanted to keep me in the hospital and pressure me into getting rid of the only leverage I had against the Supernatural Council: my connection to Marchosias.
Professor Fizzil stepped back. “Your Majesty, you had a breakdown earlier—”
“No, I lashed out because a bunch of bastards framed my mate,” I snapped.
The healer glanced over my shoulders at the two orderlies, and gave them a sharp nod. “Please escort this patient to her room and dial the atmospheric controls for maximum sedation.”
“Right then.” The larger of the gorilla shifters clapped his massive hands together. “Are we going to have to bundle you back into bed, or will you walk back with us like a queen?”
“Neither.” I pushed my magic into the burning piece of parchment.
Fire flared from the round disc, making the orderlies step back. It spread up my arm, and engulfed my shoulders and neck and head, drowning out Professor Fizzil’s shouted protests.
Heat seared through the outer layer of my skin, through my muscles, into my bones, and warmed them to the marrow. It wasn’t quite like being burned alive as I’d imagined but more like falling asleep outside on the hottest day of the year and feeling thoroughly cooked by the sun.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I held my breath, trying not to inhale the overwhelming scent of brimstone, and waited for the magic to take effect.
“So you see, Your Majesties—” A male voice stopped speaking.
I opened my eyes, but flames filled my vision and the intense heat made them dry. Squeezing them shut again, I waited for the temperature to drop and the scent of brimstone to clear. When I peeped out to check my surroundings, I found myself standing behind a wooden desk.
Straight ahead were the shocked faces of the Supernatural Council, each of them sitting on golden thrones within a tall dais made of mahogany.
My lips curled into a triumphant smirk. “Too bad you bastards couldn’t keep me away.”
I glanced around a courtroom similar to the one where they’d tried Beowulf for my murder. This one was smaller than the other, lined with walnut wood instead of mahogany, and illuminated by crystal chandeliers.
Minos stood at my right, his face frozen in mid-speech. To the far left, a man in a black suit stood behind a table identical to ours. With his rigid posture and stunted gray wings, he had the self-righteous look of a prosecution lawyer.
The Angel King rose from his throne, the feathers of his wings ruffling with indignation. “What is the meaning of this? You are inappropriately dressed.”
A cool draft blew across my skin. My gaze dropped to my body, which was naked, save for a thin covering of soot. With a noisy gasp, I clutched my forearm over my breasts and plonked myself into the seat.
“Tut, tut.” King Hades waggled his finger, his grin as wide as Marchosias’. “I say we should find Fenrisúlfr guilty for sending his mate to court in such delectable disarray.”
“What are you doing here, Queen Lydia?” asked the Angel King. “Your participation is required at the hospital.”
“Don’t think I’m going to sit back while you condemn an innocent man.” I folded my arms across my chest.
Mera raised her hand. “Usher, could you provide Queen Lydia with a robe?”
Heavy footsteps rushed toward me from behind. They belonged to a stout man wearing a red jacket with gold piping that looked like it had been torn off the back of Queen Elizabeth II’s beefeaters. He rushed down the left of the dais and disappeared through a door.
Nobody spoke for several moments, and I glanced over my shoulder toward the back of the room for a glimpse of Fenrir, but all I found were two rows of leather chairs.
“Why did you arrange the trial at such short notice?” I asked. “Was it so the advocate I hired wouldn’t have time to prepare a defense?”
The Angel King leaned forward in the middle throne and steepled his fingers, acting like he was in charge. On his right leered the Demon King, and next to him, the Fae King smirked. The Witch and Mage Queens sat on the thrones beside the faerie pretty boy staring at me through startled eyes.
I turned my gaze away from them, passing the empty seat to the Angel King’s left. Mera and King Valentine sat at the far end and scowled. My heart softened. It looked like they’d set themselves apart from the other monarchs as a form of protest.
“Miss Gerrison.” King Hades tilted his head to the side, his eyes sparkling. “How delightful it is to see you. This is more than I’d ever hoped.”
His faerie henchman snickered.
I ground my teeth. This was probably his attempt at revenge for not jumping at his suggestion to supply him with Norse blood. Between him and the Angel King, this entire Council was corrupt. Three of the members were assholes who liked to play games, two were hopeless cowards, and the other two tried to do the right thing, but were outnumbered.
“Here we are.” The usher emerged from behind the door with a white robe, jogged toward me and placed it in front of the table with a bow.
“Witch Queen,” said Mera. “Could you provide a screen so Queen Lydia can get dressed in privacy?”
“Request denied,” King Hades snapped.
The dark-skinned woman’s gaze darted from Mera to King Hades before she pulled out a wand and erected an opaque barrier around the defendant’s table.
Grumbles filled the front of the courtroom, which were mostly the Demon and Fae Kings complaining about meddling witches. Ignoring them, I slipped on the white gown, rose off the seat to let it slide down my bottom half, and turned to Minos.
“Have I missed anything?” I asked.
“Just a witness account of the deceased’s supervisor, Your Majesty. Apparently, he was an exemplary reaper with a promising future.”
“That’s not what I heard,” I said.
The older man raised his shoulder. “Such tactics only serve to establish sympathy toward the dead man and animosity toward the defendant.”
“Since everyone already knows which way they’re going to vote, a trial like this is a farce.” I drummed my fingers on the desk, my knee bouncing up and down.
“That may be so, Your Majesty. However, my job is to cast enough doubt to provide King Fenrir a means to appeal a guilty verdict.”
I reared back. “What?”
The advocate deflated. “The Supernatural Council tends to relegate appeals to a lower court presided over by legal professionals,” he said in a low voice. “If certain members want to find him guilty, there is little that I can do to help him at this stage.”
My heart sank to the marble floor and skidded across the courtroom, already feeling trampled by the likes of the Demon King. How could they go so far as to condemn Fenrir just to have a mortal and more pliant shifter monarch?
“Bring the defendant,” said the Angel King.
The opaque barrier around us faded, and a shard of light appeared in the middle of the courtroom. Fenrir stood within it, his hands pressed to the barrier, his eyes white with rage.
My chest tightened and I swallowed back a sob. Seeing him trapped within such a confined space tore me apart. That prison was worse than the pocket realm, worse than the time I had found him in chains.
“Fenrir,” I whispered.
Our eyes met from across the courtroom. Even though I couldn’t feel him through our bond, the longing to be with him tore through my soul. I sucked in a deep breath and pushed down the ache in my heart. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart. Only two people in this room were completely on our side, and I owed it to the man I loved to stay calm. No matter what, I couldn’t let them find Fenrir guilty.
The man at the table next to ours rose. “Monarchs of the Supernatural, I call my next witness.”
A door creaked open, and footsteps click-clacked from behind us. I turned to find a stunning woman with ivory hair that contrasted with her tanned skin. She wore a slim-fitting black dress with a floor-length coat that looked like it had been made from the pelt of a white wolf.
“Who is that?” I whispered.
“Her Majesty, Queen Hel of the Sixth Faction,” the advocate replied in a low voice. “She often wears glamours for official functions outside her realm.”
“Of course it is.” I glanced at Fenrir, who leaned against his prison, his expression pained.
A quartet of men even taller than the gorilla shifters stepped into the courtroom behind her, each dressed in the standard bodyguard attire of black suits with matching ties.
I held back a snarl. They were probably those red-skinned dickheads who accompanied her everywhere.
Her steps slowed as she reached the table, and she stared down at me with her upper lip curled into a snarl. “You again,” she said in a voice that clearly came from the rotted side of her face. “When Fenrir is back under my command, I shall send your soul to a Faction of Hell where you can never meddle in the matters of the Norse gods.”
I raised my chin and glowered into her jewel-green eyes. “Fenrir is my mate.”
She sniffed. “Not without my permission.”
My gaze darted to Fenrir’s, whose face twisted with fury. A growl reverberated in the back of my throat. What gave that stupid cow the right to dictate the life of a fellow god? Every instinct in my body thrummed with the urge to lash out. Both at her and at the bastards keeping Fenrir and me apart.
Minos placed a hand on my forearm, leaned into me, and whispered, “No outbursts, Your Majesty, lest the Council find you in contempt of court.”
“Right.” My shoulders sagged, and I slumped back in my seat.
Queen Hel walked to the center of the courtroom and shouldered off her fur coat. One of the men in her entourage scurried forward to gather it in his arms.
“Please state your name and occupation for the court,” said the angel.
Fenrir’s sister rattled off a list of accolades that she’d probably gathered in the past two-thousand years since she’d stabbed her entire family in the back. I slid down my seat and stifled a yawn. She certainly enjoyed the limelight.
“And what is your relationship to the defendant?” he asked.
She placed a hand over her chest. “I was the person who apprehended him in a plot to bring about Ragnarök.”
The prosecutor rubbed his chin and frowned. “Ragnarök, Your Majesty?”
I turned to Fenrir and rolled my eyes. Even the humans had heard of the Twilight of the Gods. Some of them had even made operas about it. From the way his lip curled, Fenrir was thinking the same.
Hel spouted off a long-winded story about Loki murdering a Norse god and being sentenced to an eternity of having snake venom dripped into his eyes. She placed a delicate hand over her mouth and chuckled. “Every time Father flinches, it causes an earthquake.”
Fenrir slammed his hands against the shard of light, his lips moving.
My chest tightened. “Aren’t you going to give Fenrir a chance to defend himself against these accusations?”
“No.” The Demon King turned to Queen Hel and offered her a warm smile. “However, I would like to hear more of this fascinating tale.”
Her story droned on, becoming more and more convoluted until everyone’s eyes glazed over, including mine and Fenrir’s. I glanced at the dais, at King Hades, who usually didn’t tolerate bullshitters, but he nodded at the right places, encouraging her to continue.
My nostrils flared, and I gazed through the shard at Fenrir. King Hades was only tolerating her because he wanted an alliance with the Sixth. That, or he’d erected a glamour and had already fallen asleep.
Eventually, Queen Hel got to the part about Fenrir. She placed a hand over her chest. “He was about to swallow Odin when I stopped him.”
Fenrir bared his teeth in a silent snarl.
Minos cleared his throat. “Your Majesty, King Fenrir is on trial for the murder of the reaper Pieter Dantic.” He made an exaggerated show of sorting through blank pieces of paper. “I see no recorded arrest or accusations of mythological events that allegedly took place millennia ago.”
Queen Hel’s eyes flashed a vivid green. “I’m establishing Fenrir’s murderous nature.”
I waved a hand, bringing all the attention of the Council Members to me. “When was my mate supposed to have committed these acts?”
“Two thousand years ago,” Queen Hel replied.
My features stilled. It was hard to believe someone with such an elevated position could utter such transparent and disprovable lies. I turned to the Angel King and asked, “Does anyone know what happened around that time?”
The white-winged wanker stiffened.
From within the shard of glass, Fenrir nodded and encouraged me to continue.
I sat straighter in my seat. “Fenrir told me the angels caused a supernatural disaster called the Great Divide.”
King Hades choked a laugh and nudged the Angel King. “Any ideas?”
“I can confirm that no Norse gods were involved in the Great Divide,” the angel mumbled.
“Then I motion to make Queen Hel’s testimony inadmissible,” said Minos.
The Angel King sagged on his throne. “Thank you, Queen Hel, that will be all.”
She flinched. “That’s it?”
“You are free to take a seat in the public gallery.” He gestured at the row of empty chairs against the back wall.
My gaze met Fenrir’s, and his eyes softened. Perhaps we had a chance of proving his innocence.
Queen Hell rose from her seat with her nose in the air and sashayed toward the prosecutor’s table. “When Fenrir is found guilty, he will be released into my custody. He is, after all, a fugitive of the Sixth Faction of Hell.”
I ground my teeth, wishing she wasn’t a goddess. At least then, I could tear that half-rotted head off her scrawny neck.
Minos rose. “Unless the prosecution has any more witnesses, I will make my case for the defense.”
Sitting straighter in my seat, I glanced across the room at the other lawyer, who shook his head.
Minos walked around the table and paced up and down the width of the dais, his chest puffed out like a rooster’s. I gave his courtroom theatrics a nod of approval.
“Now, Kings and Queens of the court, we have all seen the video evidence Reaper Dantic’s supervisor handed over as evidence of my client’s guilt.”
He paused to turn to the faces of the Supernatural Council, who each nodded to confirm that they had watched the video. After a pause, he raised a finger. “There are two things the prosecution has failed to take into account in bringing forward this erroneous accusation.”
“Objection.” The angel prosecutor rose off his seat. “The video clearly shows Fenrisúlfr decapitating an innocent reaper.”
Minos rested his hands over his huge beard. “I will come to that in a moment.”
The prosecutor sat, his features etched in a frown. I bit down on my bottom lip, my gaze meeting Fenrir’s blank stare. It also looked like he was waiting to hear how Minos would convince the court that the reaper’s death was an act of self-defense.
“On the night of the Spring Equinox, Lydia Gerrison was sacrificed to King Fenrir in a shamanistic ceremony.” Minos paused for dramatic effect before continuing to pace. “Now, it is illegal for one member of our society to slaughter another in the name of a god, but there is nothing stated in supernatural law that the god cannot collect his tribute.”
“Get to the point,” King Hades snapped.
Minos tilted his head to the side. “All will be clear in a moment.”
“I should hope so, because Fenrisúlfr is not on trial for the atrocity committed against Queen Lydia.” The Angel King offered me a sympathetic smile.
My nostrils flared, and I could almost hear Fenrir’s rolling growl in the back of my head. If that bastard really cared, he wouldn’t have imprisoned my mate. Nor would he have trapped him in a shard of light.
Minos stopped in front of the Angel King and rocked back and forth on his heels with the confidence of an advocate accustomed to winning difficult trials.
“Reaper Dantic was attempting to ferry King Fenrir’s property to the Fifth Faction of Hell.” He wagged his finger. “In ancient times, stealing from a god carried the penalty of death.”
“Objection.” The prosecutor rose off his seat. “How do we even know Queen Lydia was sacrificed?”
“Her death was the subject of another case we presided over,” King Valentine said with a sigh. “Please refrain from objecting every time your opponent makes a valid point.”
The prosecutor angel’s cheeks turned pink, and I stifled a smile. Someone needed to highlight his dickish behavior.
Minos clapped his hands together in an almighty sound that made everyone flinch.
“I have established that Reaper Dantic attempted to steal from a god.” He turned to King Hades. “In the days of Mount Olympus, what would have happened to a mortal who tried to pilfer Zeus’ lightning bolts?”
“No comment,” King Hades muttered.
Minos turned to the prosecutor’s table. “What penalty would theft from Odin carry?”
Queen Hel bared her teeth in a snarl.
“You see?” Minos folded his hands over his belly. “Anyone who has read a history or mythology book understands that the precedent exists for the theft of a god’s belongings.”
I turned to the prosecutor’s table, waiting for him to leap up like a jack-in-the-box, but his shoulders sagged.
My gaze darted to the shard of light, where Fenrir leaned against his prison, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Rage burned in his eyes and mirrored the resentment simmering in my gut. If they released him now, he’d probably end up back in court for the slaughter of the Supernatural Council.
Minos cleared his throat. “And this brings us to my second point. Not only did Reaper Dantic imprison King Fenrir, but he slashed him across the chest with his occupational blade.”
“Reaper scythes cannot kill gods,” King Hades said with a yawn.
“Was Pieter Dantic aware of that?” Minos asked. “From a legal standpoint, he was guilty of assault with a deadly weapon.”
“Objection!” said the prosecutor angel.
I shot him my filthiest glower before turning to Fenrir, whose nostrils flared.
“Yes?” The Angel King offered the prosecutor a hopeful smile.
“Since Pieter Dantic is deceased, we cannot ascertain his motives.”
“Not without calling his soul down from Heaven.” Minos turned to the Angel King.
Silence stretched across the courtroom for uncomfortable seconds. I shifted forward in my seat and scowled, waiting for the Angel King to refuse Minos’ implied request. Fenrir’s expression turned from furious to pained, and he stared at me with a yearning that made me wish this trial would end.
“Well?” Mera snapped. “Call him down and ask why he attacked King Fenrir with a weapon enchanted to tear souls out of bodies.”
“Pieter is not a resident of Heaven,” the Angel King said in a small voice.
I sat up in my seat, my eyes widening. Had I heard that right?
Minos leaned to the side and cupped his hand behind his ear. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but this humble advocate has trouble with his ears.”
The Angel King’s nostrils flared, and pink spots appeared on his cheeks. “Pieter Dantic’s soul was sent to Hell.”
My jaw dropped. “But reapers are low-level angels.”
“Wait a minute,” said Mera. “A moment ago, his supervisor was telling us he was great at his job, even though the video evidence showed him being threatened with probation. Was Reaper Dantic a valued reaper or not?”
The Angel King’s lips formed a thin line. “All life is sacred, regardless of whether a person was competent at their employment.”
Mera leaned forward in her seat and made eye contact with King Hades. “Well, then? Summon him from Hell to give evidence.”
“Request denied,” the Demon King said with a smirk.
Fenrir bared his teeth and slammed both fists on his prison’s wall. I wanted to throw my head back and howl at the Council’s unfairness. If the angels hadn’t deemed one of their own worthy enough for an afterlife in Heaven, why was Fenrir being punished for killing him in self-defense?
An idea slotted into place. I turned to Fenrir, trying to convey a sense of confidence before raising my hand. “Can I ask the court a question?”
“Yes?” the Angel King said, his voice weary.
“Since Queen Hel is here, is anyone going to ask why she keeps attacking Logris?”
“An excellent question,” King Valentine said.
The Angel King’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure I follow your line of questioning.”
“Let me put it to you straight,” I snapped. “Is this trial a way to hand over my mate to Queen Hel, so she can stop trying to invade Logris?”
Fenrir stiffened.
“I don’t like what you’re implying.” King Hades curled his hands into fists.
“Because it’s the truth?” I asked.
The Fae King made an exaggerated yawn. “I motion that the Council silence this interloper before we hold her in contempt of court.”
“Well, I motion that you—” My voice cut out.
I turned my glower to King Hades and his angel counterpart, but neither of them gave me any indication that they’d silenced me. It was probably the Angel King, then. King Hades would have at least smirked.
Minos rubbed his hands together. “I would like to motion for a dismissal. Clearly, my client’s imprisonment is a case of supernatural politics. And if one of the judges refuses to release vital evidence—”
The door behind us flew open with a bang that made everyone jump.
“Lydia Gerrison wasn’t sacrificed to Fenrir,” said a voice from the back.
All the fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I twisted around in my seat to find a thin figure walking toward the courtroom. His honey-blond hair was slicked back with a middle parting, and his beard was fashioned into a greasy goatee.
From his ill-fitting suit, he looked like he belonged in more casual clothing, but something about him was disgustingly familiar.
As he walked toward me, he grinned, baring a mouthful of broken teeth.
Bloody Hell.
It was Grog.
And he’d once again returned from the dead.
