My magic slithers inside him eagerly until I’m face-to-face with motivations that turn my stomach. So many shades of green: greed with different roots. Emerald ambition coats his insides, threaded with darker shades of avarice and excess. Curled around the center, like a living bruise, is a thick layer of swirling purple deceit. Beneath it, silver globs of fear tremble violently. I searchfor even a trace of compassion or empathy and find nothing. Only a hollow, cold gray abyss where most carry their softer emotions.
There’s a spike of orange anger when S’lach questions him about being late, but it’s quickly choked out and devoured by the voracious green.
Gods, he’s as despicable as I feared.
Salty sweat drips into my eyes, but I don’t dare try to wipe it away. Two things are clear to me: Ballind will never be satisfied, and I have no qualms about revealing his motivations.
He and S’lach have a lot in common, but I’m unsure how two angels who only care about themselves can ever trust each other. S’lach will kill Ballind once he outlives his usefulness, and part of the greedythatshaalready knows it.
Ballind leaves, but S’lach makes no move to release me from my cramped hiding place. It’s a punishment and a test. I can force myself to endure it quietly, but there’s nothing I can do about my body’s reaction.
By the time he gestures for Lyklan to slide the hatch open, I’ve sweated through my shirt, and the sickly sweet stench of my panic threatens to choke me.
S’lach takes great delight in my visible discomfort.
Standing before him in his study, I lock my knees, lock my jaw, and beg the lock on my emotions to hold, too.
“Tell me,” he says.
And I do. I explain the colors, the pops of fear and anger, dominated by the endless, voracious greed. “Ballind is loyal to Ballind alone,” I say.
S’lach steeples his fingers on the desk but otherwise shows no reaction. “That will do,” he murmurs. “I’ll call for you again when I need you.”
I stride from the study, shivering as cool air rushes against my drenched skin.
I can do this. I am doing this. It will work because it must.
I discover I’m a good liar. It comes as a surprise, and not necessarily a welcome one, because it’s not a skill I worked to develop. For most of my life, telling the truth has been the right thing to do.
Things are different now.
S’lach has me judge a different angel every day, and I’ve grown so used to the routine, I’m almost comfortable inside the wall compartment. It’s a new reality for me, filled with all the worst colors and motivations. One where I meet S’lach’s eyes, tell him only what I want, and enjoy every second of it.
“Let’s talk about Elodius,” he says. “What does he think of me?”
I cock my head. “I can’t read his mind.”
S’lach waves his hand. “Yes, yes, I know that, but what did you get from him?”
He loathes you. When he sees you, his aura oozes malevolence. If every malady imaginable befell you, it still wouldn’t be enough for Elodius.
I say none of that and shrug. “He’s in alignment with your plans for the lower echelons.”
“So he says.” S’lach frowns. “But I’ve always suspected he disliked me. I know his type. Angels like him never have the stomach to do what needs to be done.”
He’s right. And I need to be careful.
Every day is a pulsingkoil’nashra,primed to go off in my face.
Elodius is the tenth angel I’ve judged for S’lach, and the first one who is actively trying to oppose him. I need to be on guard. S’lach might know of Elodius’ plans and be using him to test my loyalty. Lying to him is a risk, but if I tell the truth, Elodius will be dead by morning.
And it will be my fault.
Without Lyklan’s intel, I’d already be in trouble. He’s kept track of the power struggles and politics, listening carefully for the whispers that cross echelons. From what Lyklan’s heard, S’lach—while suspicious of Elodius—has no reason to suspect he might be working against him.
“He’s aspiring,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “There’s greed within him that’s overpowered by his desire to remain in favor. Getting his hands dirty would be undesirable, but he has no problem allowing you to weather the backlash.”
S’lach strokes his beard. “I always knew he was a coward. But as long as he doesn’t intend to oppose me...” He’s talking to himself now, his eyes unfocused as he plots.