Chapter 6 Trial 2
~Lyra's POV~
Standing on the spot where my fate was about to be decided, I forced myself to look at the coordinator, wondering why he was taking so long to speak. His expression was hard to read, and the silence stretched until it began to choke me. He seemed to be deep in thought, as if weighing something heavy.
“Information reaching me now is that the witch is not supposed to be part of this trial,” he finally said, his voice carrying across the courtyard. Relief began to bloom inside me like a fragile flame, but before it could take hold, the uproar of the spectators crushed it completely.
“What do you mean she isn’t supposed to be part of the trial? She is a prisoner. She was captured the same way the others were. All prisoners of Ironfang must undergo trial. We have dignitaries and alphas from other packs here who came to witness the proceedings.”
The voice that thundered through the crowd belonged to the same man who had slapped me at Dorhaven. His words sparked a chorus of agreement from the spectators, their cheers and shouts blending into an angry sea of noise.
My heart began to race again, pounding so hard it hurt. Why did this man hate me so deeply? Was it really just because I had used a simple spell on him to reach Aunt Mia? Could something so small warrant such a desire for my death? Before my mind could spiral any further, another man spoke up, his tone calm but firm.
“We are not barbarians, Beta Dagan. We all know she is a prisoner, but the circumstances surrounding her capture are different. She has committed no known crime.”
I didn’t allow myself to feel relief. No one cheered for him. No one supported his words. The silence of the crowd was louder than any insult, and the look on Beta Dagan’s face told me he wasn’t finished.
“Committed no crime, you say?” he sneered. “Being a witch is a crime on its own.”
“Yes,” the crowd answered in one united voice, and my breath hitched.
“And she committed a bigger crime by using magic on me, the beta of Ironfang Pack.” His accusation was followed by gasps that rippled through the onlookers like a wave.
“I stand with Beta Dagan on this one,” a blonde woman declared from the raised platform where the Alpha and other dignitaries sat. “Attacking a werewolf with magic is a crime punishable by death. If she truly attacked Beta Dagan, then she should be tried and punished.”
Another roar of agreement filled the air.
“Silence!” the coordinator ordered, his voice booming. The crowd fell quiet, though whispers still slithered between them. “Let us hear from our Alpha. Whatever he says stands.”
My heartbeat thundered in my chest, loud enough that I could feel it in my throat. I looked at Alpha Kael, knowing that whatever he said next would decide whether I lived or died. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes burned with an intensity that stole my breath.
“She is obviously sick and in no state for a trial right now. Take her back to her cell. We shall deliberate on her matter privately,” Kael said, his voice steady and commanding.
The relief that rushed through me was so overwhelming that I didn’t realize I had been holding my breath until I exhaled shakily.
“It is decided. Take her back to her cell,” the coordinator declared, and the guards led me away as murmurs of disapproval rose among the crowd.
Back in the cold solitude of my cell, the moment the door clanged shut, my composure shattered. I collapsed onto the floor, the tears I had fought so hard to hold back spilling freely. Everything that had happened crashed over me like a relentless tide.
I thought of Aunt Mia, of Dorhaven, of the man I had tried to help, and guilt clawed its way up my chest. If I had ignored him that evening, if I had stayed inside, none of this would have happened.
Night fell quickly, wrapping the dungeon in an eerie stillness. I was drifting between wakefulness and sleep when I heard the creak of the entrance gate. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. I sat upright, tense and alert.
Three figures approached my cell. One of them unlocked the door and stepped aside, letting the other two in.
Fear prickled down my spine. What did they want now?
The man who entered first squatted before me, his face partially hidden in the flickering light of the lone lantern hanging by the entrance.
“How are you doing, ma’am?” he asked, his voice warm and laced with concern. His smile could have melted hearts, but mine remained frozen. He was a werewolf. None of them could be trusted.
I said nothing.
“I understand if you’re in no mood to talk,” he continued gently. “My name is Taren, and I’ve been placed in charge of your welfare.” He gestured toward the woman beside him. “This is Kaitlyn. She’s the pack healer. She’s here to check on you and administer some medicine to help you recover.”
“No,” I replied quickly. “I’m fine. I’m not sick, just weak. I don’t need medicine.” My instincts screamed that danger lurked behind their kindness.
“Are you sure?” Kaitlyn asked softly, her tone carrying genuine worry. “I was told you fell ill at the trial ground.”
“It was only shock. I’m fine now. Please, take the medicine away.”
She smiled faintly. “If it’s the medicine you’re afraid of, I can assure you, this one doesn’t taste bad.”
Huh? Was that supposed to comfort me?
“Thank you for your concern, but I don’t need it,” I said firmly.
She nodded. “I understand. I’ll leave you alone then. Have a good night.” With that, the two of them turned and left.
I was still replaying the strange encounter in my mind when the sound of approaching footsteps returned. This time, Taren came alone, carrying a tray of food. The aroma filled the air, mocking my hunger. He also held a smaller lantern, and in its glow, I finally saw him clearly. Golden-brown hair framed his face, and his green eyes held a gentleness that didn’t fit his kind. He looked to be in his early thirties.
“If you don’t want medicine, I believe you’ll want food,” he offered, setting the tray down.
“No,” I said before thinking.
He raised an eyebrow. “No? You can’t tell me you’re not hungry.”
“I’m not,” I lied, shaking my head. My stomach twisted painfully, betraying me.
“That’s not true,” he said with a knowing smile. “You haven’t eaten since morning. Please eat. You’ll need your strength.”
“Is this my sentence then? To die by poison?” The question escaped my lips before I could stop it.
“Poison?” His brows shot up. “You think… oh no. If you were to die by poison, the judge would announce it before it happened. This is not poisoned. It’s just a meal. Please eat.”
He sounded so sincere, but trust was something I could no longer afford.
“Would you like me to try some first to prove that it isn’t poisoned?” he asked gently.
“You would do that?” I asked, startled by his offer.
His smile widened, and without hesitation, he knelt and took a bite of everything on the plate. When he finished, he looked at me again and gestured toward the food.
I gave in. Hunger won the battle, and I ate until there was nothing left. He didn’t speak while I ate, but the faint satisfaction on his face told me he was pleased. When I was done, he picked up the tray and walked toward the door.
“Have a good night,” he said quietly before disappearing into the darkness, leaving me alone once again with my thoughts and the faint warmth his presence had left behind.