Proven Guilty (The Dresden Files 8)

Clever old snake. Establishing himself as oh-so-reasonable and understanding with the younger members of the Council. Or maybe he really was apologizing to Ramirez, who was the unofficial poster boy of the younger generation of wizards. Or, more likely, he was doing both. That was more the Merlin's style.

The Merlin returned his attention to me. "To continue. Warden Dresden, have you soulgazed the prisoner?"

"I have," I said.

"You are convinced of her guilt?"

I swallowed. "I am," I said. "But I am also convinced that her actions do not represent the malice that defines a true warlock."

"Thank you for your opinion, Warden Dresden." His voice turned drolly unapologetic. "Doubtless offered to us out of your own extensive experience."

"I beg your pardon, Merlin. But when it comes to the Council sitting in self-righteous, arrogant judgment over a young wizard who made an honest mistake, I believe I have more experience than anyone in this room."

The Merlin's head rocked back as if I had slapped him. I wasn't as subtle and proper as him when it came to insults, but if he was going to do it, I saw no reason not to return fire. I pressed on before he could speak, stepping forward and turning to address the room as I spoke.

"Wizards. Friends. Brothers and sisters in arms. You know why this is happening. You know how thinly stretched our resources have become. In the past three years, the Council has tried and condemned more warlocks than in the past twenty. Children who are raised in societies that do not believe in magic suddenly inherit powers they could hardly have imagined, and certainly cannot control. They have no support. No training. No one to warn them of the consequences or the dangers of their actions."

I reached out and jerked that fucking black hood from Molly's head, and the girl suddenly stood blinking at the light. Tears had streaked her makeup into dark stains running down her face. Her eyes were red with crying, her expression haunted and terrified. She shuddered and lowered her eyes, staring down at the bloodstained floor.

"This is Molly," I said to the room. "She's seventeen years old. Her best friend had already lost one unborn child because of the drugs she'd been addicted to. She knew it was going to happen again. So to protect that child's life, to protect her friends from their addiction, Molly made a choice. She used her power to intervene."

I faced Morgan. "She made a wrong choice. No one denies that. She admits to it herself. But look at her. She's no monster. She understands that what she did was wrong. She understands that she needs help. She submitted herself to this Council's judgment freely. She wants to learn to control her power, to handle it responsibly. She came here hoping to find help and guidance."

Morgan didn't look at me. He was staring at Molly. His fingers kept drumming on the hilt of his sword.

"I've soulgazed her. It's not too late to help her. I think we owe her the chance to redeem herself," I continued. I looked at the Gatekeeper. "For God's sake, wizards, if we are to survive this war, we need all the talent we can get. Molly's death would be a foolish waste."

I drew in a breath and turned to face the Merlin. "There's been enough blood spilled on this floor. I beg you to consider clemency. Levy the Doom of Damocles, if you must, but I beg you to spare her life. I will take personal responsibility for her training and accept the consequences of any actions taken under my mentorship."

Silence fell.

I waited for the Merlin to speak. Molly began trembling harder, and small whimpering sounds came from her throat.

The Merlin's eyes narrowed, and with that single revealing expression I suddenly knew that I'd made a terrible mistake. I'd outmaneuvered him. I'd startled him with my insult and delivered my speech effectively to the wizards present. I could see it on their faces; the uncertainty, the sympathy. More than one wizard had glanced at the bloodstains at my feet and shuddered as I spoke to them. More than one looked at Molly's face, and grimaced in sympathy for her fear.

I'd beaten the Merlin. He knew it.

And he hated it.

I had forgotten to take into account his pride, his ego, his self-image. He was the mightiest wizard on the planet, the leader of the White Council, and he was not accustomed to being insulted and manipulated-and especially not in front of outsiders. I, a mere puppy of a young wizard, had stung him, and his wounded pride sprayed arterial anger. He had it under control, but it was no less terrible or dangerous for that.

"Warden Dresden," he said in a deadly quiet tone. "Your compassion does you credit. But as you yourself pointed out, our resources are spread too thin already. The Council cannot afford to have a regional commander of the Wardens burdened with a hazardous rehabilitation of a warlock. The duties of the war and of containing the increasing occurrence of black magic must have your full attention."

Oh, God.

"The Laws of Magic are clear. The prisoner admits her guilt. I am not unmoved by the prisoner's plight, but we are involved in a war for our very survival."

Ohgodohgodohgod...

"I therefore take no pleasure in pronouncing the prisoner's fate. It is the judgment of the Senior Council that the prisoner is a warlock, guilty of breaking the Fourth Law." He lifted his chin and said, very calmly, "The sentence is death. To be carried out immediately."

Chapter Forty-six

"Morgan," the Merlin said quietly.

Morgan stared at Molly. Then at the Merlin. He drew in a sharp breath and took a grip on the sword, lifting it vertically before him.

I looked frantically around the room. Ramirez, like most of the rest of the wizards there, had a stunned look on his face. He looked back at me with a blank expression, and gave me a little twitch of his shoulders. Lily looked remote and troubled. Fix's expression was blank, but his jaws were clenched hard, muscles standing out and creating shadows on his face.

"Harry?" Molly whispered, shaking so hard she could hardly speak. "Harry?"

I turned back to the Merlin. His eyes were hard, his face as unyielding as stone. Morgan looked as if he might be about to throw up-but it didn't stop him from moving toward Molly with a steady, dreamlike slowness, sword in hand.

"Harry," Molly sobbed.

I promised Charity.

I took my staff in both hands and stepped forward, putting myself between Morgan and the girl. "Morgan," I said. "Stars and stones, man. Please don't do this. She's a child. We should be helping her."

My words slowed him, and he froze in place for a terrible heartbeat. Then he closed his eyes and swallowed, his face twisting with nausea. He opened his eyes again and whispered, "Stand aside, Dresden. Please."