Free Winterveil by Jenna Burtenshaw Page B

came a shout from inside. “You are wrong, and that is the end of it!”
    The meeting hall was a vast paneled room, painted black, with huge tapestries hung upon all the walls except one. That wall was filled with a square window of clear glass that let moonlight stream in across a long wooden table etched with curls of silver. The table was surrounded by the thirteen members of Albion’s High Council and their closest advisers. Some were seated, others standing, watched over by eight wardens, who stood silently against the walls.
    An argument was raging, and there was no sense of order. Silas doubted they had even heard the warning bells over the sound of their own voices, but when he entered the room, every voice fell quiet, except for one.
    â€œIt is a waste of our time, a waste of our men, and the most laughable excuse for disobedience that I have ever heard,” it was shouting. “I don’t want to see another single person leaving this city. I don’t care what they have heard or what they think they have seen. All this talk of ‘restless souls.’ It is the talk of children and has no place within this room!”
    The councilman realized that people had stopped arguing back and spotted Silas standing just a few steps away from him. “Oh,” he said, much more quietly. “You. Those bells are for you, I presume? Traitors are not welcome in this hall, Officer Dane. I trust you are here to turn yourself in to the judgment of Albion law?”
    Silas watched the man with interest. He was the most recent member among the thirteen—Da’ru Marr’s replacement—and still naive enough to think he had a voice and an opinion separate from those of the council as a whole.
    â€œSince you already know me,” said Silas, “I will not waste time on introductions.”
    The councilman turned to his fellow members. “Why is he here?” he demanded. “Who let him get this far into the chambers? A murderer is standing a few feet away from me, and no one is moving!”
    Most of the advisers whispered excuses and exited the room, leaving the council and its wardens alone with the two visitors.
    â€œI have served this country far longer than you have worn that robe,” said Silas. “You will listen to me, or this city will soon be unrecognizable. You have become blind to what is happening here. You have been so busy doubting the truth about the ground beneath your feet that you have allowed a poisonous enemy into your lands.”
    â€œAnd that enemy would be . . . you?” The councilman laughed quietly, looking around for others to share in his joke. Edgar watched nervously. He had never seen anyone attempt to mock Silas before.
    â€œDalliah Grey is here.” A whisper of surprise spread around the table as Silas addressed the council as a whole. “She is here, and she intends to damage our city and our country. Those of you who were present on the Night of Souls know that the veil is not merely a superstition. Dalliah intends to bring it down upon all of us, allowing restless souls to wander through our streets, our homes, and our lives. She plans to bring chaos to Albion, and she must be stopped.”
    As Silas spoke, he studied every face in front of him. He was looking for clues, any sign that Dalliah’s appearance came as no surprise to someone in that room. If what he had heard from his sources was true, someone had wheedled his way into power even more deviously than most. An enemy agent had infiltrated the council’s chambers. One person sitting at that ruling table had been working for the Blackwatch all along.
    â€œI am here to offer my services in defense of the city.” He continued. “People are afraid, and they have good reason to be. Until you accept what is happening, you will be of no use to them. The veil will fall, and you will lose control.”
    â€œWhy do you care if we lose control?” asked