Lucifer (for who else would sit on something so ostentatious?) smirked down at me from the throne. The Grigori sat upon the benches—Azazel at Lucifer’s right hand, and the others, whom I did not know, arranged down the line according to rank, I presumed.
There was no sign of Samiel, and a whole lot of empty space between us and the scowling members of the court. I raised my chin and strode forward, the heels of my boots ringing loudly on the marble floor.
The others followed silently behind. They were all tall men. Jude outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds and he was carrying Metatrion, but they all managed to walk more quietly than I did. Well, it had been well established that I was a klutz of the first order. Walking gracefully was not one of my strengths.
I came to a halt at a spot in between the benches at the widest point of the V. I wanted to be able to see all the faces of the Grigori without twisting my head back and forth.
I had a moment of surprise when I saw Focalor sitting at the far end of one of the benches. I’d thought that he’d be chained up in Lucifer’s basement for all eternity for his attempted uprising. But then again, Lucifer had probably devised something completely diabolical that did not involve physical torment. From the sullen look on Focalor’s face I had probably guessed right.
I looked up at Lucifer. “You left something at my house.”
Jude came forward and flung the body of Metatrion on the floor. Several of the Grigori gasped and muttered angrily.
“Yes, I was wondering where my Hound of the Hunt had gone. His quarry returned without him.”
I pointed to the purple bruises on my throat. I’d asked Gabriel not to heal me so that the Grigori could see the evidence of Metatrion’s actions. My voice was still pretty raspy, too.
“He tried to give me a present that I had to refuse. And speaking of quarry and returning, you can give Samiel back to me now.”
“Samiel is to be tried before this court for his crimes,” Azazel said.
I ignored my father. I was getting really good at doing that.
“Tried for his crimes, or for your amusement? Because I’m pretty sure you could stop this circus with a word,” I said to Lucifer.
Lucifer quirked an eyebrow at me, but said nothing. Azazel looked thunderous.
“How dare you speak to Lord Lucifer thus!” he cried, rising to his feet.
“That’s nothing. You should hear the way he talks to me,” I retorted.
“You will not disrespect this court,” Azazel shouted.
“And you will not treat me like a child to be punished for some imagined infraction. I am not on trial. I am here for Samiel, and I will not leave without him.”
“You have insulted this court by treating Metatrion with such disrespect.”
“And you have insulted me by taking my friend from my home by force and bringing me here for a trial that does not appear to be happening.”
Azazel gave me a look that promised retribution later. I was so not worried about this. Once upon a time—only two short months before—I’d been afraid of him. I’d wanted his respect and his love, the two things I’d never had. But that was before he’d tried to marry me to a man I did not know, before he tried to treat me like another pawn in his power struggle with the other courts. One thing I’d learned very quickly about the fallen was that if you did not assert yourself, they would walk all over you.
“Very well,” Azazel said. “If it is a trial you wish, then it is a trial you shall have. Bring out the condemned.”
Two fallen toadies that I hadn’t noticed lurking behind the tall benches went to the front of the room and disappeared into one of the doors there.
“Condemned?” I muttered under my breath to Gabriel. “That sounds like they’ve already decided.”
“They very likely have,” he replied in a whisper. “I warned you that the Grigori do not have the same notions of fair play that you do.”
I’d expected that, but I hadn’t expected them to condemn Samiel before the trial had even begun. It reminded me that my bravado was just that, and that Samiel’s life hung in the balance. It was harder to be cavalier when I considered that the Grigori had already made their minds up.
“They’re not getting him,” I whispered fiercely. “I promised Samiel. I promised.”
“Be careful,” J.B. said from my other side. “The more you want, the more they will try to take from you. Just like my mother.”
Jude stood stiffly on the other side of J.B., glaring up at Lucifer. If looks could kill, the Morningstar would have imploded by now.
Lucifer, for his part, appeared to be doing an admirable job of ignoring Jude entirely. I was certain that he recognized the wolf—how could he not?—but he was no doubt holding his acknowledgment in reserve unless it served his own purpose.
I heard a scuffle behind the tall benches.
A moment later, two guards dressed as Hunt soldiers appeared holding Samiel between them. His hands were bound and he had a few bruises, but those were probably from the incident at my house. He still wore the white T-shirt and gray sweatpants he’d worn the day before. His feet were bare, and this made him look oddly vulnerable.
He gave me a strained smile when he saw us, and then the guards led Samiel past our group to stand in the middle of the room. The guards stepped away from him to take their places at the foot of the benches. Samiel was alone under the glare of the Grigori’s judgment.
He lifted his chin and set his shoulders. Good. I was glad that the fallen hadn’t broken his will.