Dreadgod (Cradle Book 11) (2)

Only three kept their hands down and their disapproval clear: the Fox, the Hound, and the Titan…who always voted as Makiel did anyway.

Four to three.

Gadrael slid down from his seat and placed a hand on the back of Ozriel’s neck. The clasp holding the metal band over his mouth unsnapped, with a subtle release of power that echoed silently through the courtroom. This artifact was worthy of holding a Judge.

Ozriel let out a breath of relief. “Whew! Thank you, Gadrael. You know, I never asked you, but now that I have the chance: how do you care for your horns?” He nodded to the row of short horns that served Gadrael instead of hair. “Do you polish them? I have to assume you wash them. Come to think of it, I never looked into why your people had horns in the first place. Was it a defensive adaptation, or—”

The back of Gadrael’s hand, covered in his gauntlet, cracked against Ozriel’s chin.

“—some kind of cosmetic mutation?” Ozriel continued without missing a beat. His skin was unmarred. “Oh, I see you found the kindness in your soul to help me work the muscles in my jaw! My thanks. A century or two in that thing and I would have gotten sore.”

“How dare you speak to me?” Gadrael’s every word seethed with rage. “I was here! You have given up your right to—”

“That’s enough, Gadrael,” said Makiel, who could have stopped his right-hand man at any time. He gestured, and Gadrael flew back to his seat.

Ozriel blinked widely as though something had occurred to him. “Wait, were you trying to hurt me? Surely not. You of all people should know something of that level could never hurt the Titan.”

The Fox threw up her hands. “This is why we should have kept the gag on!”

“We can seal your mouth again, Ozriel,” the Hound said.

“And I was up for the mantle of Titan,” Ozriel went on, ignoring the others entirely. “You remember, right? I was your predecessor’s first choice. That was true for…oh, I think five of you, actually. Guess I should have accepted. Too much to think a bunch of backup choices could handle things witho—"

“Stop, Ozriel,” Suriel said. “Just stop.”

Ozriel’s teeth clicked together. He looked to her, and while he didn’t address her, he didn’t keep making trouble either.

Makiel looked down on Ozriel while radiating contempt. “This is not an investigation. This is a sentencing. Explain any mitigating circumstances so that we can determine how you pay for your crimes.”

“Hm…what do you think about the Mad King copying my weapon?”

Suriel’s stomach fell. She and all the other Judges had put the situation together by now. Even if they were missing pieces of the puzzle, their Presences had filled in the gaps.

The Mad King was certainly capable of creating deadly weapons, but his imitation Scythe had been too close to the real thing to be anything but Abidan make.

And there was only one of them who would have duplicated Ozriel’s weapon.

Makiel’s weathered face was expressionless. “I developed the weapon, yes. Circumstances you engineered forced my hand. I kept all prototypes and components under the strictest guard, which was nonetheless breached by the Angler due to a shortage of manpower you caused.”

The Hound folded his hands and leaned forward. “Do you intend to suggest it was my carelessness that led to this situation? I attempted to replicate your weapon because you hid the original. It was stolen because our security was weakened by your absence, and the Mad King used it to devastate worlds while you were not here to defend us. These sins brand your soul, not mine.”

Ozriel’s smile was blinding white, like he’d won the argument. Suriel understood why.

If the other Judges had been lesser beings, they would be shifting uncomfortably in their seats right now. Actually, Zakariel the Fox was shifting in her seat and alternating between glaring at Ozriel and at Makiel.

The Court was not pleased.

Suriel spoke up on their behalf. “Why did you hide it from us, Makiel?”

“I will hold myself accountable to the Court of Seven after this trial,” the Hound said. “I am not afraid to atone for my actions.”

“According to my predictions, the system still had decades of stability left, if not centuries,” Ozriel pointed out. “How was I to know that the Hound had ruined everything?”

Makiel slammed his fist down like a gavel. “You abandoned your duty. Now entire worlds lie dead.”

Screens appeared behind him, showing cracked planets, branches of Fate dissolving into nothing, bodies strewn into the Void, and hosts of feasting Fiends that twisted reality with their very presence.

“Their blood is on your hands,” Makiel declared.

“And your hands are pristine!” Ozriel shouted. His face was twisted with fury, and now he more resembled the man Suriel remembered. Not Eithan, but Ozriel. “All blood we spill is on my hands, and mine alone! Who else can decide when enough is enough? Who else has the right?”

“We are a Court!” declared Razael, the Wolf. “No one has the right to make such decisions alone! And you made our job impossible by leaving without informing us!”

“I told you what I was going to do. I told you for centuries. Every time, I was forced to wait or face consequences. Just kill a few more for us, Ozriel. Disobedience is treason. Why would we try to find a better way when this one is working?”