AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Zamush chuckled. The guy was lucky he hadn’t been close enough to do the deed. His firebolt would have made the idiot think twice about being so careless around others.
All too soon, the mob chanted “Sychar! Sychar!” with raised fists.
Shit. This might get out of hand. He hadn’t made it far enough to Jelena when Warad-Mushtal stepped forward to address the throng.
“Citizens! There’s more.” Warad-Mushtal’s deep baritone came through the boisterous enthusiasm. “While we understand your need to see our glorious leader, I’m afraid the abuse he suffered at the hands of Murduk’s guards was severe.”
“Sychar! Sychar!” The crowd didn’t let up.
“I assure you, Sychar is fine, but recovering. We must allow him...”
The chanting stopped. Hushed silence was as loud as the prior cheers. Everyone in the room focused on the figure hobbling across the stage.
Sychar, gaunt, with a grayish tinge to his skin, remained an imposing figure as each limping step brought him closer to Warad-Mushtal at the center stage.
Abiditan’s brother came over and took hold of Sychar’s elbow to lend support.
The WOTA leader raised his bright-turquoise eyes to address his eager supporters. “My cherished friends. I stand before you because time is running out. Murduk’s announcement of martial law has put our people in grave danger. The abuse he’s wielding can no longer be ignored.” His voice came out raspy, as if his vocal cords were damaged while he was captive.
Taking a deep breath, he narrowed his eyes. The hush in the room gave him complete control. He straightened his shoulders, and his regal demeanor infused needed calm into the audience. His scraggly, shoulder-length, reddish-blond hair was a far cry from the platinum tight wavy curls of the assembled noblemen. While the loose cream tunic and pantaloons he wore were of good quality, it was a far cry from the ostentatious garments those in the room had on.
Zamush didn’t move as he listened to Sychar along with the rest of the crowd. Watching the man interact with them, his admiration for the exile grew. He didn’t need his psychic skills to recognize that the royal suffered during captivity. While the medical pods the Akurns used sped up the healing process, it was obvious the leader needed more time in it.
He stole a quick glance at Jelena’s profile a few feet away.
Her wide eyes were glued to the stage and she clasped her fists over her breasts. She gnawed on her lower lip.
His stomach sank. He’d give anything for her to look at him like that.
“I have critical news to share.” Sychar wobbled as Warad-Mushtal tightened his grip. Without missing a beat, the younger man continued. “I have irrefutable proof that Murduk is not the son of my father, King Du-Uru.”
A collective gasp before the room erupted in angry questions and shouts.
“Citizens!” Warad-Mushtal shouted. “We must have order to hear what Sychar has to say!”
The emotions in the room turned ugly. Cries of denial and revenge took over as things threatened to get out of control.
Sychar stood with pinched lips as Warad-Mushtal held him close. They brought a chair for him to sit on, but he shook his head without looking at it. He attempted to continue speaking, but the loud voices drowned out his words.
Enough of this bullshit. Zamush headed to the stage, but Jelena got there first.
She jumped onto the platform and faced the unruly crowd. With her hands raised, she narrowed her eyes. “Silence!” Her loud voice had a slice of psychic command in it. With open palms, she created a rounded kaleidoscope of ice, the iridescent colors spinning at a dizzying pace. “If you don’t let him talk, I’m going to freeze every one of you!”
The deafening arguments stopped. As one, the men in the room leaned back with wide eyes and open mouths.
“Jelena!” Katsuki’s mortified cry was easy to hear. The Naraka slapped her hand over her mouth.
With a satisfied smirk, Jelena looked over her shoulder. “It’s all yours.” Her eyes were unblinking until Sychar gave her a brief nod. A flush of rose crept up her neck and bloomed across her porcelain cheeks. She turned and faced the silent room with a glare and widened her hands until the ice dissipated into fog. She narrowed her stare with crossed arms and a wide stance.
“As I was saying,” Sychar cleared his throat. “Murduk has never been a part of the royal family. I declare his attempt at ascension to the throne as treason.”
“What proof do you have, leader?” That came from a loud voice from the back of the room.
It was met with murmurs of agreement.
“We’ve got to tell everyone!”
“Death to the traitor!”
