A Court of Hope and Legacy

Chapter 6

Aksel poured himself another cup of thyme tea and leaned back in the armchair crossing his legs, comfortably enjoying the warmth seeping in his hands as well as that of the morning rays on his face in his spot by the hearth, pretending utter calmness. He let the liquid cool down without taking a sip.

Hushed voices reached him from the narrow corridor beyond the closed door of the parlor. Aksel tipped his head toward Tamlin. He was staring out the window as if the landscape had turned suddenly very attractive. Aksel swallowed some cold tea and ignored the knot in his stomach.

Everyone had done their best to make him feel a wretch since he'd come back. And they had succeeded. Aksel was bristling with anger, and guilt, and doubt. It was pointless now, though, and no one truly blamed him—except his sister of course. He'd had no way of knowing what was going to happen and, even if he had been there, there was no guarantee Aksel would have gotten the information they needed.

Nyle would probably be dead anyway.

This is how he was called. The boy who had poisoned himself and died in name of a cause he had possibly been lured into joining. Tamlin had known him, Keran had been his friend; they were sure of Nyle's goodness. But as Aksel saw it, the boy must have been stalwart in his convictions to elude Tamlin's glamouring and go as far as to kill himself to protect his fellows.

Marcus and his wife finally resolved themselves to enter the room. They were the portrait of mournful parents: a glassy-eyed, woeful mother and a betrayed but otherwise suffering father. The two sat on the couch facing Aksel, hands clasped together. Marcus was the first to speak.

"You must understand, just a night has passed, we're not ready to—"

"I'm not here to condemn anyone," interrupted Tamlin, moving away from the window to place a comforting hand on Marcus' shoulder. "Time is vital, now more than ever. We must stop these people, stop them from corrupting the minds of young Fae like your son, Marcus. I understand your grief, believe me, but I need to know everything you can tell me about Nyle. I knew him since he was born and I'm certain he wouldn't have done this without someone whispering venomous words into his ear."

Tamlin sat down beside Marcus and urged, "Was there anything unusual about him? Was he hanging out with someone new? Did he ever talk about humans, or mention some place he used to frequent lately?"

The wife of Marcus burst into tears.

Aksel put his cup down on the table just to divert his eyes and give the woman a sliver of space.

"I'm sorry," rasped Marcus over her sobs. "We don't know anything at all. Nyle has—had—been distant and acting weirdly for some time. We had no idea where he spent his time or with whom. We didn't see him much lately." The man cleared his throat with a cough, unable to resume his speech.

Tamlin squeezed his shoulder again in sympathy and declared, "I'll make him justice, Marcus, I promise. I'll find those rascals and punish them as they deserve."

Marcus was nodding; and Tamlin didn't look intentioned to probe him further.

Aksel had kept a respectful distance from the verbal exchange as well as from the minds of the High Lord's friends, but he needed to clear any reasonable doubt.

Trust was not a weakness he allowed himself that easily.

Invisible, crystalline shards as hard as diamond slithered forward in the air and dug in like icy thorns as Aksel projected his mind toward the wife of Marcus.

She was so desperate that penetrating her consciousness wasn't much different from sticking a needle into her skin—swift and painless. She didn't even notice it.