Chapter 158 No Road Back

Chapter 158 No Road Back
Cian
Morning comes too softly for where we are going.
Hollow Hill wakes around us with voices moving through the corridors and roots shifting gently above our heads, but beneath all of it, Bright Thorn waits in my mind.
Its polished halls.
Its flowered lies.
The cell beneath it where I learned how long a body can last when pain becomes the only measure of time.
I stand in our room with a dark coat half-fastened over my chest, my fingers lingering too long on one clasp because my mind is not here. It is already walking Bright Thorn’s lower corridors, already counting guards that no longer stand there, already hearing Lorcan’s voice slide through the dark.
A hand closes over mine, and I look down.
Rae stands in front of me, dressed in deep green, her hair pinned back loosely enough that golden strands already escape around her face. Menace is wrapped around her shoulders, pretending to sleep, though one black eye is open and fixed on me.
“You’re doing that thing,” Rae says.
“What thing?”
“The thing where your face goes very calm, but the room starts feeling like it should apologise.”
Her mouth curves faintly, but her eyes stay careful.
I turn my hand beneath hers and lace our fingers together. “I do not want to take you back there.”
“I know you don’t.”
Her thumb moves over my knuckles. The touch is small, but it reaches places in me no crown, no law, no army could command.
“But we’re going,” she says softly. “Because if we let nightmares choose where we go, we’ll never leave our rooms again.”
By the time we reach the lower hall, Dorian is already waiting with Saoirse, Torin, and Eiran.
Eiran looks me up and down. “Very princely. Very grim.”
Saoirse sighs. “It is too early for you.”
Dorian only looks at me. There is no need for him to ask whether I am ready. He knows I am not. He knows none of us are. Still, together we take the road to Bright Thorn.
The court is nothing like it was when we left it broken.
Today, it is full.
The great open courtyard beyond the palace gates is crowded with banners and bodies, with courts gathered from all over the realm beneath a pale morning sky.
Bright Thorn stands at the centre of it all.
The palace behind them is still beautiful, but somehow stripped of its old arrogance. There is less performance about them today.
Lorcan is brought forward in plain white bindings, hands secured before him, though he remains composed.
His crown is gone.
His magic is gone.
Still, he holds himself as if the world owes him room to stand above it.
Rage moves through me, but Rae’s hand finds mine before I can step forward.
The gathered leaders move into a half-circle before the court, and it is Dorian who speaks first.
“Bright Thorn has been called to answer before the courts. Not only for war, but for the crimes hidden beneath its own palace. Its king has been stripped of authority. Its people were asked to choose who would stand in his place.”
A murmur moves through Bright Thorn, and Alaric’s voice follows, calm and carrying.
“Let Bright Thorn present its chosen ruler.”
Then an older woman steps forward from among them.
She is tall, though age has curved her shoulders slightly. Her hair is pale brown threaded with silver, pinned beneath a circlet of living white thorn. She wears no jewels except one narrow ring at her thumb. Her face is lined, not softened by glamour, and her eyes are warm, though tired.
Alaric inclines his head. “Lady Aveline of Bright Thorn.”
She bows to the gathered leaders first. Then, more importantly, she turns and bows to her own people.
“I have served this court while Lorcan ruled it. I believed too much, and questioned too little. I accepted answers because they were easier than looking beneath my own feet.” Her voice shakes once, then steadies. “That failure belongs to me. It belongs to many of us.”
Lorcan’s mouth tightens, though Aveline does not look at him.
“If Bright Thorn accepts me, I will not promise perfection. That would be another pretty lie, and this court has nearly died from those.” Her hand presses over her heart. “I promise witness. I promise law written where all may read it. I promise no prisoner held without fair reason, charges spoken, and judgment witnessed beyond our own walls. I promise the lower halls will no longer be where truth is buried.”
Murmurs of agreement roll through Bright Thorn’s people.
“I promise,” Aveline says, “that beauty will no longer be used to hide rot.”
The answer comes slowly, one voice from the crowd, then another, until Bright Thorn’s people lower their heads to her in agreement.
The leaders of the courts look to one another, and one by one, they give their recognition.
Dorian steps forward. “Hollow Hill recognises you, Lady Aveline, as Queen of Bright Thorn.”
Aveline closes her eyes for one breath. Then she turns to face Lorcan.
It is strange how small he looks without everyone pretending he is untouchable.
The sentencing takes longer than I want it to. There are too many opinions on what is the best option for Lorcan. Some ask for execution. Some for imprisonment. Some for stripping him of name, title, magic, memory. I say very little, because the things I want are not justice.
Then Rae clears her throat, and everyone looks at her.
She shifts her weight, suddenly aware of the full attention of several courts, and gives a small, awkward shrug.
“I mean,” she says, “you could always send him to the mortal realm with my mother.”
Eiran makes a strangled sound beside me, and Rae winces. “That was mostly a joke.”
Alaric’s eyes sharpen, and Dorian turns slowly toward her.
Marrow’s mouth curves with something almost delighted and deeply unsettling.
Rae looks between them, and Saoirse folds her arms. “That may be the most fitting sentence spoken today.”
Lorcan’s composure cracks slightly. His eyes flash with real alarm for just a moment.
Aveline looks at Lorcan, and I see Bright Thorn’s new queen understand and accept the punishment. Lorcan had wanted the mortal world. He had wanted its roads open, its soft lives waiting, its lands beneath his hunger.
Now he would have it.
Without crown.
Without court.
Without magic.
Without anyone bending a knee.
Aveline looks to the gathered leaders, then to her own people. No one speaks against it.
“Then let it be witnessed,” she says. “Lorcan of Bright Thorn is stripped of crown, title, land, and claim. He will be sent to the mortal realm with no road back.”
Eiran steps forward before anyone can speak, his hand raising into the air.
“I’ll take him.”
Dorian looks at him. “You are certain?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Eiran’s smile is bright enough to be illegal in several courts. “I want to see his face when he realises he finally reached the mortal world after all.”
Lorcan lifts his head, hatred burning through him.
Eiran leans closer, grinning.
“Just not in the way he hoped.”