25. Evangeline

25

EVANGELINE

" W hat did you do, Xeros?"

In front of me is a steaming plate of dripir meat with herbs and eggs off to the side, my last waking memory strapping him to the bed so he could rest. He now sits across the room, eyeing me suspiciously.

"You were snoring very loudly," he says. "I thought perhaps there was a wild animal in here."

I shake my head, looking out the window at the rising sun.

How long was I asleep?

He steers a fork around his own plate, looking uncertainly at the food he procured, the fork scraping unpleasantly against the metal.

"You weren't supposed to get out of bed," I urge him. "You could have died. You need to be resting."

He scoffs at that suggestion.

"I'm fine," he says.

But upon noticing my fury, he adds on. "But thank you for patching me up. It was very impressive."

How could he go out into the village, knowing how weak he was?

I'm about to scold him further, just hoping he gets the message, when I notice a faintly tinged pink cloth wrapped around his wing.

I don't remember treating a wing injury. Which tells me that he must have gotten that wound in the time since I fell asleep.

"What happened to you?"

He just scoops a bit of egg into his mouth, puzzling over how to reply.

I hear a knock at the front door.

He stares at me warily, as though warning me not to answer it. Immediately, I recognize the voice of Ephemera and realize the gravity of the situation.

I can't keep her waiting, but I also can't endanger Xeros.

The knock grows more insistent and louder.

"What did you do?" I whisper.

He doesn't reply.

"Evangeline, the council will see you now."

Before she can walk away, I rush to the door, pulling it open.

"Hi Ephemera," I say casually, leaning against the doorframe as though nothing's wrong.

I realize that I'm sweaty and covered in Xeros's blood. Yet again, when the council seeks me out, I'm indisposed.

"You say the council wants to see me? What about?"

She wears the same stern expression as ever.

"You know that I couldn't tell you, even if I were privy to that," she says. "Shall I lead you there, or should we take you in later?"

She phrases the second option much more severely, emphasizing that it isn't a real option.

I look back to Xeros uncertainly.

"I'll be back later," I tell him, looking back into the house before closing the door.

He cocks an eyebrow, his head following what little glimpses he can catch of me as the door shuts.

"Glad to see you're coming willingly this time," Ephemera says, leading the way.

"I came willingly last time…"

She chuckles.

"So you did. Sorry. I get our worst cases mixed up sometimes."

I smile halfheartedly, trying to pretend as I pass children that I'm not afraid for my life. Aside from children at play, the streets are largely empty now, and I worry where everybody might have gone.

They already exiled me. What is the council planning this time?

As we enter the front door and reach the large lion knocker, Ephemera stops, casually looking down at her fingernails as though scanning them for imperfections.

"Well, don't let me hold you up," she says, a casually malicious gaze on her face. "They're waiting for you inside."

I nod, ready to be finished with this conversation, then push open the door, getting a peek at the foreboding dark room that seemingly an eternity ago, traumatized me into facing my current predicament.

I know that I'm happier now than I was when I left, or at least I am at times. But a knot forms in my stomach at the thought of facing the elders again.

I don't know how much more of this I can take.

It's just for a little while, I think. And you're stronger now than you were back then.

There are two major differences between this occasion and the last. For one thing, I have to push through a crowd of people this time, which tells me that the council gave up all pretenses of this being a private meeting. Friends and foe alike stand at the ready, prepared to judge me for my choices, often by screaming at me.

For another, as I finally make my way to the stands, Jeremiah doesn't seem elated to be punishing me. He looks indifferent this time, if not a little mournful.

This is unmatched by the rest of the council, who wear largely the same expressions as when they sent me to my death last time we met.

I still myself, clearing my throat.

I just want somebody to say something. The shuffling of parchment is unsettling.

"Evangeline," Tully says, placing papers down and folding her hands.

Her eyes burn with the light of glaring torches.

I wait for her to finish my thought, but simply nod in response.

Her attention shifts somewhere in the crowd. I try to follow her gaze, but she immediately scowls back down at me.

"This is about your pet," she says.

My eyebrows furrow in confusion, almost of their own accord.

"My pet? I'm sorry. I don't under?—"

And it dawns on me.

She's talking about Xeros.

I clench my fists, realizing that any outburst would be met with the ferocity of an angry mob.

"We need you to leash and collar him," she says. "Or that's what we would have said. Now, I think we're beyond that point…"

She trails off, her gaze again wandering into the crowd.

"I'm sorry," I repeat. "I'm not sure I understand what you're talking about."

"Justice, my lady," Harold says. "We're talking about justice. That is one of the many things we oversee and administer, as a council."

Suddenly, a voice cries from somewhere behind me.

"Look at what her pet did to my face! Are you really going to let him get away with that?"

I swear I recognize the voice, from somewhere within the past several days.

Turning around, I immediately see an unkempt man, whose cheeks appear swollen and whose nose is puffy.

"Do you have anything to say in defense of the creature?" Harold asks, appearing impassioned more as an act than out of sincerity.

I take a deep breath, just glad that the crowd has remained quiet so far, save for that one outburst.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if everybody would stop calling Xeros an ‘it' and a ‘pet,'" I say.

"We'll call him whatever we damn well please!"

I look to the crowd to try to find the source of the voice, but see nothing, as the anger intensifies.

As I really survey the crowd, I realize that I was mistaken. I see face after face contorted in rage, one even spitting into the air as I look his way.

My allies are nowhere to be seen.

Could they have really not bothered to show up?

Even many of the men I fought with are absent from the council chamber.

"I'd appreciate it if we skim over the semantics," Harold replies, drawing my attention back to the front center of the room. "We have far more pressing matters to attend to."

My fists clench tighter. As I look down, I can see the whites of my palms.

Keep your cool, I remind myself. There are times to fight, and this isn't one of them.

"Can I have more context?" I ask, trying to keep my voice as steady as possible.

"As if you don't know!"

My head whirls around again in a botched attempt to see who's speaking.

"Last night, your pet went out into the town without you," Harold says. "He was confronted by two men for violating his curfew. In response, he threatened both of the men."

"He would have killed me too," the familiar voice cries out. "If I weren't quick enough, I would be dead right now!"

I fold my hands on the podium, trying to formulate a response. I realize upon inspection that I've actually drawn blood with my fingernails from how tightly I've held a fist.

This time, it's not only my fate that hangs in the balance. I have to think about Xeros.

And although I'm certain Xeros could kill everybody in this room if he wanted to, I know it isn't his nature.

I'm also not sure it's the best solution right now.

"What were you thinking?" I ask, meeting Harold's eyes, then turning to meet the eyes of the other council members.

His mouth hangs slack.

"Pardon?"

"You say you want justice for this man, or for Xeros?" I reply. "So what did you have in mind, since you think you've formed the entire story?"

"I want him dead," the man cries out from among the audience.

I shake my head solemnly, hoping that the council won't agree with him, as many in the crowd erupt in an uproar.

"Perhaps we should put it to a vote," Polyn suggests.

I feel my jaw clench, my breath quickening.

Is this really what I get for hoping they'll see reason?

"May I ask the man a quick question?" I ask the council.

Harold folds his hand, then scratches his chin.

"That's quite unprecedented," he says. "I believe we've already heard his testimony. We're just waiting to hear the judgment of the village."

Realizing that this isn't a trial at all—not that they ever claimed it was one—my heart sinks.

I almost wonder why they asked me here at all, if they weren't going to listen to anything I had to say.

"Why don't we let her ask her a question?" Jeremiah suggests.

My eyebrow raises.

When did Jeremiah become reasonable?

Not waiting to hear a dissenting voice on the matter, my attention turns to the dumpy-looking man in the crowd, whose face is swollen.

"You claim you and your friend were out late last night, reinforcing curfew," I say, trying to hide the rage from my voice. "So do you mind telling me how he hurt his wing?"

I hope to catch him off-guard with the question.

Instead, an unnatural, cocky smile crosses the man's face.

"Well, I was defending myself, of course," he says.

The memory of the bloody wound fills my mind.

"You were defending yourself," I repeat, taking a deep breath.

I don't have any idea how to protect Xeros from these people.