Chapter 12 · The King's Inquisitor

Chapter 12: The King's Inquisitor

Thirty laser sights found my sternum at once, and I stopped breathing.

The double doors of the gear vault hung off one hinge, swinging. Six enforcers in Crown gray filled the gap, rifles up, red dots walking my collarbone, my throat, the torn lining in my hand where the real trial sheet still sat folded against the fabric.

"Drop it." The voice came from behind the rifles. Not loud. Didn't need to be.

"Drop what," I said. "The evidence that proves your examiner's a liar?"

"Rhee." Kane's voice, low, a warning dressed as my name. He'd gone still beside me, every line of him coiled, but he didn't move for the sheet and he didn't move for me. Smart. Six rifles don't care whose son you are.

A man stepped through the broken doors like the splinters were beneath him. Silver pin at his collar, the Crown's own hound stamped into it. Robes the color of old blood. He didn't look at the guns. He looked at me the way you look at a number on a ledger.

"Inquisitor Dren Castellan," he said. "King's seat.