It was an honor to be attacked so directly, so viciously- that let Kiernan know she had wounded the beast, that the enemy feared her. She watched with a smirk as the vote was read, the faces of the Council of Thirteen arrogant with their triumph.
"You retain your place in the Coven, but you are no longer member of the Council." Jordan Grimaldi, Council Leader could barely contain his satisfaction, green eyes flashing.
Kiernan's grin merely broadened as she met Jordan's eyes. "You people might not like the fact, but I have been member of this Council for longer than any of you- including you Grimaldi."
Jordan's eyes hardened and Kiernan could feel his anger coming off him in waves, which made her smile even bigger.
"So, this only confirms my suspicions." Kiernan rose to leave, meeting each member's eyes one by one, before once again resting on Jordan's. "That you are all self-righteous, arrogant, ignorant fools who cannot accept it when you are called out on your stupidity!"
"Descisions of the Council should not be questioned!" one woman exclaimed.
"Perhaps the NEED to be!" Kiernan snarled, eyes never leaving Jordan's.
"And make us look like fools in the eyes of the Evangelists?" a man in his forties stood up angrily. "You would give them more ammunition?"
"Better to look like a fool that condemn an innocent man!" Unable to contain her rage any longer, she hurled her goblet across the room. "What is WRONG with you people? This State was founded on the fact that people were no longer willing to blindly follow the Evangelist hiearchy and here you are, willing to persecute a man because he is not of the Wiccan majority! I'd expect that from the Evangelists, not my own Coven!"
Kiernan turned on her heel and walked brusquely to the door, tossing her brooch behind her to land it in Jordan's goblet with a splash.
Jherik sat in his cell- which was really a small room with a table, chair, cot, and wash area- head resting on the table, bored to tears.
He was allowed no books, paper, pen or even proper eating untensils for fear he'd prick himself and use his blood to conjure an escape. He found eating beef with a spoon was an activity in itself.
Sighing, he closed his eyes and began to hum an ancient, dark tune that his uncle had taught him in his deep, melodious voice. As the air around him vibrated with power, the wards all around the walls began to shimmer silver and gold.
What these fools did not realize is that, if Jherik Bloeumendaa wanted to out, those wards were like so much gossamer to the power he commanded. But no, he would not live as an escaped convict when he had nothing wrong: he would find a way to clear his name no matter what he had to do.
