Steven walked with purpose, not even bothering to knock. He simply pushed open the ornate wooden door and entered. The magistrate, a kindly-faced old catkin woman with soft, wise eyes and fur the color of aged parchment, looked up from a pile of documents. A faint smile touched her lips.
"Steven, my dear boy," Magistrate Maeve purred, her voice a warm, gentle rumble, a stark contrast to the Fae's icy tones. "It's been too long. To what do I owe this... rather unceremonious visit?"
"Maeve, this isn't a social call," Steven cut in, his voice urgent, stripped of pleasantries. "It's about the wolfkin girl. Nott."
Maeve's soft eyes clouded with concern. "Ah, yes. The whispers have reached even my chambers. The incident with the arrow. A curious display, from what little I've heard."
"Curious? Maeve, the Fae are going to execute her," Steven declared, his stripes bristling with indignation. "Magistrate Hector just sentenced her. She saved the caravan. She risked her life. It was an accident, an instinct, not some deliberate act of forbidden magic." This chapter was copied from NovelPing without permission.
Maeve sighed, a deep, weary sound. She gestured for Steven to take a seat, though he remained standing, too agitated. "I understand your anger, Steven. Truly. But this is the Fae consulate. The girl is a wolfkin, from Varashroova. She is outside Nan du Tua's jurisdiction. Our laws, our influence, do not extend there."
"She's a Beastkin, Maeve! Our kind!" Steven protested, his voice low and fierce. "They're going to kill her for something she can't even explain. A child, practically! Does that not stir your conscience?"
Maeve's gaze was filled with a deep, personal sorrow. "It does, Steven. It breaks my heart. The Fae... their laws are rigid. Their fear of uncontrolled magic, particularly from the 'unruly' races, as they call us, is absolute. To them, this is a dangerous precedent. Olivia, I hear, is quite insistent. And Hector... well, Hector sees only opportunity." She wrung her delicate paws. "My hands are tied, Steven. Were she one of mine, were she within our reach, I would fight for her. But here, in Petirorin, in their consulate... I am powerless to intervene. My authority stops at their door."
Steven slammed a fist silently onto the polished desk, the soft thud absorbed by the rich wood. "Then what was the point of all of it? Of building this city of laws, if the laws only serve those with power?" He looked at Maeve, his eyes burning with frustration and a profound sense of helplessness. The kindly magistrate could only meet his gaze with sorrow, offering no easy answers.
The morning came far too quickly for Nott. Sleep offered no escape, nor did her captors provide even the meager comfort of a last meal. Again, she was led from her gilded cell to Magistrate Hector's office, but this time Vidar was not informed. He had found the closest inn to the Fae consulate that would tolerate a wolfkin, a considerable walk from the heart of the Fae district.
Nott stood before Hector, silver manacles still biting into her wrists. He sat impassively behind his grand desk, his green-tinged face twisted into a cruel smile. "I am here to record your last words, mongrel," he purred, then chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Ah, but I forget. You have no words, do you? A fitting silence for your departure."
He made a dismissive gesture, signaling the guards to take her. But as his hand dropped, Hector saw his shadow on the polished wall before him. An eerie green glow surrounded it, shimmering with an unnatural light. He turned slowly, his eyes widening in disbelief and then terror.
Nott's eyes, once amber, had transformed into pupil-less orbs of glowing green, utterly devoid of emotion. Her face, usually so expressive, was now a mask of chilling stillness. And then, impossibly, Nott spoke. It was not a voice, not a sound from damaged vocal cords, but a collective of raw energy, vibrating through the air, forming ancient, resonant sounds. It was the Primordial Tongue, a language Hector hadn't heard in a thousand years, a language he understood far too well. It spoke of things the Fae kept buried, of forgotten truths and ancient betrayals. Read the latest chapters at novelping . com.
"I remember," the collective voice boomed, resonating with a power that shook the very foundations of the consulate. "And our mother stirs."
Magistrate Hector's face contorted with pure, unadulterated terror. "Guards! Kill the wolfkin! Now!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with fear.
But it was too late. The polished floor beneath Nott began to crack, fissures spreading like spiderwebs from her feet. With a deafening roar, the stone crumbled, giving way to a deep, dark hole. Nott plummeted through, swallowed by the collapsing earth.
A massive cloud of dust erupted from the newly formed chasm, billowing into the opulent office, then rushing out through the large windows, obscuring the Fae quarter. Outside, passersby shrieked, spooked by the sudden crash and the strange, green-tinged dust cloud. When the choking dust settled within his office, Hector, trembling, stumbled to his window. He barked orders at his stunned guards, his voice hoarse. "Find Olivia! Now!" His eyes, wide with fear, scanned the swirling dust, convinced he had witnessed the impossible.