Chapter 56: Speaker of the High Table
Silence.
Silence was all that befell the clutter of the upper-class, even the respective heroes flicking their heads down, unwilling to protest the consensus being built between the Pope and his constituents.
"Well, that settles that. And as for you, Tarnell, I hope that you understand the difference between you and I, not only in class, but etiquette. Not only interjecting to refute the word of the gods, but even going so far as to make a stand for a wraith. It was a mistake to invite like-minded, greedy merchants such as yourself to this banquet--one that I won’t repeat in the future."
Tharos was staring into the man who’d originally spoken out in defense of Rowan, the quiet anger gnawing away at his hands to tighten around his staff. And still, he maintained his composure.
The room--primarily those who carried with them some form of gold necklaces or wristbands--booed at Tarnell, hands thrown in the air with all the strength of their combined rage.
Tarnell’s face bled red from the embarrassment, turning away and crossing his shoulders. He wordlessly closed his eyes and blocked out the roaring crowd.
"Now, now, lets not get in an uproar. If you are a merchant of pure-heart, you may be individually evaluated by the church. Moving forward, though, I’ll repeat my question one more time to dispel any possibility of refutation." Tharos raised his staff, granting it the same blinding spell that ate the atmosphere around it. "Does anybody reject the prospect of capital punishment for the wraith?"
The air drifted aloft with the growing unease exuding from the bodies in the area, touching upon Rowan, gritting his teeth with even greater frustration as each second passed, uninterrupted.
No, I can’t die yet.