Page 199 of Demon’s Snack

“You would.”

Vaerith’s gaze flicks between us, then settles on the gathered witnesses. “Let the record show that Isolde Dareth appears in answer to charges of falsified audit, theft of restricted estate records, and unlawful collusion with an unstable hybrid entity whose continued survival now threatens district integrity.”

Lady Merrow, a narrow woman in violet-gray robes, lifts her stylus. “Let the record also show that two neutral witnesses are present, along with representatives from Houses Vaelith, Othrel, and Kairven. Any escalation within this hall will require justification.”

Vaerith smiles faintly. “How diligent.”

“How necessary,” Syrenya murmurs.

He places one elegant hand on the first archive box. “Since Lady Dareth has chosen public procedure, I will provide it. The records she stole, edited, and presented without proper context concern a stabilization program created to prevent precisely the catastrophe this district now faces.”

I feel the room lean toward him despite everything.

Vaerith is good.

That is what makes him dangerous. He does not deny the documents. He reframes them, reaches into the shameful heart of his crimes, and tries to pull out public necessity wrapped in an old seal.

He breaks the first archive open and lifts a brittle page under protective glass. “Generations ago, infernal transformations began appearing in mortal lines exposed to high-grade contract residue. Most collapsed. Some became predators. A few retained enough mortal identity to be studied. The stabilization clause was developed to allow survival without immediate termination.”

A murmur spreads.

My chest tightens.

Corin is somewhere beyond the hall, close enough through the bond that I feel his attention sharpen. He hears Vaerith’s voice through stone, ward, or Sable’s illicit listening charm. I cannot tell which, and I am too furious to care.

Vaerith turns another page. “The Ardyn line was identified as a possible adaptive vessel under mortality crisis and infernal rewrite pressure. The Dareth line, due to harmonic tolerance across generations, was preserved to create compatibility with volatile infernal transformations.”

Lady Merrow’s stylus pauses. Lord Peskan looks at me with discomfort rather than judgment, which may be the kindest thing he is capable of before noon.

Vaerith’s voice lowers, intimate enough for the room to strain toward it. “Your existence, Isolde, was never coincidence. Your education, your wardship, your archive access, your proximity to my work, all of it served the purpose your bloodline was cultivated for. You were corrective architecture in human form.”

The words enter me cold.

I knew this.

I copied the letters. I read the broker reports. I saw my mother’s name beside a preservation mark and felt history curdle under my skin. Yet hearing him say it aloud in the hall where he expected me to bow to it makes something old and raw rise behind my ribs.

Syrenya’s fan opens with a snap. “That phrasing alone deserves sanction.”

Vaerith ignores her. “The genealogical proof is here. Dareth unions encouraged through debt relief. Branch lines preserved in plague districts. Wardship claims maintained through lawful estate custody. Each generation refined the harmonic compatibility required to contain hybrid volatility.”

He unrolls the genealogy.

Names spill across the table in inked branches.

My mother.

My grandfather.

My great-grandmother.

People who laughed, worked, grieved, feared, wanted, and died reduced to lines and annotations beneath Vaerith’s hand. The hall murmurs as the proof becomes visible, because nobility respects genealogy even when it ignores humanity.

I step forward.

Vaerith’s gaze sharpens. “Careful, Isolde.”

“I have spent years being careful.”