Page 214 of Maksym

Ironwood counted too.

Their faces altered all at once. One she-wolf looked toward the doors as if escape had become more appealing than justice. Another stared at Maddie with such naked hatred that my shadows stirred.

Grace saw that look. Her head turned by less than an inch. The she-wolf looked away. Good.

“Emberthorn Coven,” the Magistrate said.

Shasta Tierney, High Flame Caller of Emberthorn, sat in formal red and black, hair braided in a crown, blue eyes sharp with the kind of tradition that liked itself best when reflected in polished silver.

Shasta’s mouth tightened.

Then she said, “Not guilty.”

The chamber held its breath. For half a second, no one moved. Then the count became undeniable.

Eight not guilty.

Four guilty.

It was done.

The Magistrate lifted his staff.

“The votes carry,” he said. “The Council finds Prince Nikolay Kozlov not guilty of murder in the death of Alpha Sage Lynch. The charge is dismissed. Prince Nikolay Kozlov is free to go.”

The words should have ended something. They did not. They opened it.

Ironwood erupted.

Not fully, not at first. A bench scraped. A wolf stood too quickly. Then another. Voices rose over one another, grief and fury clawing at syntax until words became less important than volume.

“Disgrace—”

“Vampire corruption—”

“He killed our Alpha—”

“Pack law—”

“Sovereignty—”

One of the Ironwood males surged into the aisle, shoulders hunched, hands half-curled, the wolf too close beneath the skin. Council guards moved at once, but not fast enough for my liking. I stood.

The Magistrate struck his staff against the floor. Once. The crack split through the chamber like a gunshot.

Voices faltered.

The Ironwood wolf in the aisle froze halfway through a breath.

The sound hit the marble pillars and returned fractured, sharp, multiplied by stone until it seemed the room itself had fired upon them.

The Magistrate struck again. Twice. This time the chamber went dead still. Not quiet. Still.

There was a difference. Quiet could be broken by carelessness. Stillness required every creature present to understand that the next sound might decide who survived the afternoon.

The iron staff remained pressed to the floor.

The Magistrate’s face had hardened into something older than procedure.