The Blue Flames, page 39
“Lord Malkimar,” Drystan began, “you know that the defendant has already pled guilty to aiding the Colonists. You also know that my sole concern is to obtain the fairest sentence possible. Lord Pallaton has made a very strong case that the Colonists were successful in corrupting her mind. My intention today is to discover how deep that corruption runs. You are an ordained priest at the temple of Orthys, correct?”
“Yes.”
“I also understand that Chief Priest Osaias recently made you head of an important investigation. Would you please relate to us the nature of this matter? As well as your findings?”
Malkimar cleared his throat before replying. “No doubt, the honored Council has heard of the horrendous blood rain which fell upon the Entrian people gathered to witness the burning of a deceased Colonist, whose name has been stricken from memory.”
Ink held a hand to his stomach, sick with grief and horror. It was bad enough hearing Abner so dishonored. But a blood rain? Seherene had told him nothing of this. He glanced sidelong at her. She kept her own gaze firmly on the priest.
“I was not present at the event,” Malkimar continued, “but I was directed to investigate its cause. Throughout the course of my studies and service, I have gained considerable knowledge concerning the darker forces of the world. It was by reason of this expertise that I was selected for the task.” He stroked a thin hand across his pale beard. “I questioned a number of people who had attended the burning ceremony, cross-examined them, and considered every viable motivation. I concluded that there could only be two possibilities. One—that it had been the work of an Entrian. Two—that it had been the work of a supernatural being.”
Voices whispered around the court. The larger crowd gathered outside the glass walls had fallen silent, each face looking on with eager interest.
“A full report of my findings is available for anyone wishing to read it,” Malkimar said. “But suffice it to say, although I believe an Entrian could have had the motivation for such an attack—the young woman here, for example—I do not believe anyone capable of the ability. The sheer breadth and potency of such an enchantment is far too great for any one person’s power. We are then forced to consider the second possibility—that a supernatural being was to blame. Whether some demon or the High Devil himself, we may never know. What does become clear, however, is that in this context, ‘enchantment’ becomes entirely the wrong word. In my professional opinion, I believe that the Colonists—motivated by revenge for their fallen comrade—conspired with dark forces to use a black spell upon innocent Entrians.”
Drystan raised a hand. “And this connection to the occult which you have discovered, do you believe it could have also been used to influence and corrupt the mind of the Lady Rivalia? Even to the point of bewitchment?”
“I do.”
Drystan turned back to the young woman and put a hand on the arm of her chair. His expression softened, as did the tone of his voice. “Riva . . . while you were with them, did the Colonists do anything to you that might be perceived as influencing or mind-altering? Was there any moment when you felt you were not in control of your own thoughts?”
She didn’t stir, nor make a sound. Drystan leaned in closer.
“Riva . . . do the Colonists have a connection to the occult? Or any practices that might be viewed as such?”
Ink fidgeted in his chair. He couldn’t tell if her silence was an act of defiance, or if she could no longer make any sense of thought and speech. Drystan waited a long moment for her to respond, then turned back to the witness.
“Thank you, Lord Malkimar. You may be seated.” His gaze rose to the Elders. “Ladies and lords of the High Council, I would like now to name my second and final witness; Mr. Anthony Revore.”
Chapter 38
Inkwell’s Answer
Ink’s stomach churned. At the mention of his name, the people’s whispers grew to gasps of astonishment and loud chatter. The crowd outside the Diamond Court were obviously doing the same, though they couldn’t be heard. Some even jostled and nudged their way forward for a better look. As he made his way to the center of the chamber, the Elders stared down as though he were a mythical creature who’d just leapt out of a fairytale. He was all the more recognizable wearing his father’s old coat, which had been described in the kidnapping notices. He’d very nearly left the estate wearing his best new jacket, as Seherene had suggested, but had changed his mind at the last second. He wanted something comforting and familiar. And besides that, it was sure to annoy Madara. No contest there.
He stole a glance at Riva’s face as he passed her. She didn’t seem to notice him. As Ink turned to face the Elders, putting his back to her, he found himself fighting the urge to be sick right there in the middle of the courthouse.
Drystan raised his hand. The chattering stopped. The whispers died away.
“I would like to remind the court that Mr. Revore is not accused of aiding the Colonists. It is known that he was kidnapped and taken into their company against his will. Having been recently rescued, he is now under the protection of the Lady Seherene, and it is by both her consent and his that he now appears before this court. Mr. Revore, would you please tell us how long you have known the defendant?”
Ink took a deep breath and shut his eyes to steady his nerves. But no—that was a mistake, for there was the soul marking behind his eyelids, as piercing and inescapable as ever.
“Mr. Revore?” Drystan repeated.
“I don’t go by that name. It’s Ink. Inkwell Featherfield.”
“All right, Ink. Can you tell us how long you’ve known Riva?”
“Yeah. I can tell you that. I can tell you lots of things.” He shot the lawyer a dark look. “Now ask me if I will.”
“Do you see any harm in telling us?”
Ink scoffed. “Harm? That’s all I see. Everywhere. All the time. You do it to yourselves, to each other. And definitely to her.”
“Mr. Rev—Featherfield, I am merely trying to get a sense of your relationship with her. How much she confided in you while you were a captive. How much you might have learned about the Colonists’ treatment of her, perhaps by their treatment of you.”
When Ink didn’t answer, Drystan leaned in as if speaking to a much younger child.
“Did you see them do anything that might be perceived as brainwashing? Anything to persuade newcomers to their cause? Benign or coercive?”
Ink laughed scornfully. “Blimey, mate, no one told me I’d need a dictionary!” He looked over at Lord Pallaton. “Hey, Mr. P! You got a dictionary?”
The chief prosecutor ground his teeth in his jaw and glanced away. Drystan stifled a sigh. On the dais, Lady Theia tapped her fingernails against the arm of her chair.
“Mr. Featherfield,” she said, “one more insult and we will hold you in contempt of this court. The penalty for such behavior is a day and a night in your own personal cell. Is this something you are trying to achieve?”
Ink shut his mouth and tucked his hands into his pockets. Seeing this, Drystan took a step closer and tried again.
“Ink . . . do the Colonists have a connection with the occult?”
The boy narrowed his eyes. Drystan was fishing for information about Caradoc. They already knew about the gold mark on his hand. They probably also knew it was an Auric Key, and that he was the last Keyholder alive, as well as the Spektors’ archenemy. That was their connection. But the Entrians would turn it against him. Against them all. And there was nothing he could say to convince them otherwise.
“Ink.”
The voice had come from behind him, weak and quivering. He turned. Riva had finally lifted her gaze from the floor. Her eyes looked utterly haunted as they fixed on his own. She trembled, clutching at the arms of her chair. A tear dripped down her cheek.
“Don’t . . . don’t tell them a thing. Not even to save my life. God is my judge.”
“The defendant will not speak to the witness!” Lord Havren cried. “Mr. Featherfield, if you refuse to answer Lord Drystan’s questions and insist on wasting time—”
“I’ll answer.”
Pallaton and Drystan looked at him with a touch of surprise.
“I’ll answer,” Ink said again, nodding as if to confirm it even to himself.
The Elders settled back in their chairs. Ink did not turn to them again, but looked hard at Riva, then at the crowd of countless spectators watching him.
Only a few months ago he’d been sleeping in abandoned barns and trudging along muddy roads from one town to the next, looking for the infirmary where his parents might be. He’d been homeless, friendless, penniless more often than not. Now here he was—standing before the most important people in the oldest court in the most venerated city in Eriaris. There were Colonist-hunters, priests, constables, not to mention the entire population of Ciras pressing their faces against the glass. More than anything, he felt the gaze of the Lady Seherene. He knew she was counting on him. Betting on him. And Madara, sitting beside her, was fidgeting with that bloody gold locket while shooting daggers with her eyes, daring him to say the wrong thing. Ink knew his future would depend on the next few minutes. On whatever words came out of his mouth. He took another deep breath, then threw back his shoulders and raised his chin.
“I’ve known Riva for a few months, just as I’ve known the rest of the Colonists. Got to know ‘em all real well. Learned about their old lives, their families. What they love. What they hope for. What winds ‘em up.” He turned his gaze to Seherene. “I could stand here for days and tell you all about ‘em. Every detail. But I won’t. ‘Cause they’re the best people I’ve ever met. And once you closed your fists around ‘em, you’d give ‘em the same treatment as Riva. She was with them when they came to rescue me from the Spektors. She helped save my life, then actually tried to make me feel welcome in their company and not so terrified. And she used to smile like she was a ray of living sunshine. You should’ve seen it. She loved to laugh, to sing and dance, to joke around like nothing bad had ever happened. Like you had never happened. Did they brainwash her? Alter her mind and all that? You bet they did. They made her realize there were actually good people in the world. That there were places where young ladies weren’t forced to get married to poncy twits, or be eaten up by anger and fear and hatred. That there was a home where she could be herself and not be punished for it.”
He looked out across the crowd with a hard frown.
“You know the truth. You’ve heard it from all the other captured Colonists who’ve sat here in front of you. Over and over again. And you keep callin ‘em liars, but they ain’t.” He shook his head bitterly. “The Colonists don’t hate anyone. They never did. Not Riva, neither.” A sudden rush of anger surged in his heart. “Fact is, I never saw people so full of hate ‘til I came here! I think if you hadn’t shut yourselves away in the West, this whole country would be full of hate! You’re so fixed on tracking down these so-called murderers, you ain’t stopped to realize it’s you! The ones snuffing out innocent people!”
Nearly the entire inner court cried out in protest.
“Objection!” Pallaton shouted above the noise.
“Mr. Featherfield, you are not here to pronounce judgment!” Lord Terimar bellowed angrily. “And you will restrict your comments to matters which you have personally witnessed!”
“Personal witness? All right! Fine!” Ink turned and pointed at Drystan. “This bloke? This defense counselor? I saw him with my own two eyes standin’ outside Bash’s house after his murder! Talking with Pallaton and Bill Stone about how to set traps for the rest of the Colonists! He ain’t got no interest in defending any of ‘em!”
“Mr. Featherfield—”
“And I’m sure Mr. P here has been twistin’ all kinds of facts! Why don’t you ask him if anyone actually got killed at Mastmarner? The answer is no! And d’you know why? ‘Cause the Colonists only fight to defend themselves! Don’t you think they would’ve littered the place with corpses if they really were a bunch of monsters? Coram only got his legs broke because he kept comin’ after us, like a little weasel throwing itself against a pack of wolves! Anyone else would’ve shot him and been done with it! Or haven’t you half-wits thought of that?”
“Enough!” Theia cried. “You are now in contempt of this court! You will say no more!”
Ink gestured towards the two priestesses who had volunteered to call out falsehoods. “Ask ‘em! Ask ‘em if I’m lying! Go on! But maybe it don’t matter, eh? How can it?” He opened his arms wide, encompassing the whole court. “You’ve all made your minds up already! And you think you ain’t wrecked every time a Colonist sits in that chair and puts you through Damiras all over again! But you are! You ain’t reliable! The pain is too deep! Don’t you see? Which means all that lie-detection ain’t worth a damn!”
“Take him out of here!” Pallaton shouted at a guard.
“Yeah, take me out!” Ink cried. “I don’t fit in with your perfect little fantasy world where you’ve done nothing wrong! Blimey, maybe the Colonists really did muck it all up! They went to try and save you, but weren’t they fools for it? You don’t deserve saving!”
Two guards rushed up and took him by the arms. Most of the crowd had risen to their feet, including Seherene and Madara. The crowd outside raged, shouting and pounding on the glass walls. The Elders stood and attempted to call for order, but no one heard them.
“You’re better, Riva!” Ink cried as he was dragged towards the main doors. “You’re better than all of ‘em! Don’t let ‘em get to you!”
Passing down the aisle between the tiered seats, he looked up at the sea of faces jeering down at him and laughed.
“I hope you do hate the Colonists! With all your hearts! You all deserve your own personal Spektors! Every last one of you!”
The next moment, he was shoved through the front doors towards a waiting jail coach. A line of constables held back the crowd reaching for him. The roar of angry cries echoed in his ears.
Seherene hadn’t seen such wrath and hostility since Abner Hart’s failed burning in Vaterra. It was every bit as ugly and barbaric. She could hear her mother cursing under her breath as she clenched her hands into fists. Lady Theia made herself hoarse calling for order. Havren commanded half a dozen guards to stand around Riva’s chair in case the spectators decided to take matters into their own hands. Pallaton and Drystan both looked angry. Riva’s mother wept.
It was a good five minutes until the court was finally silenced. Everyone remained standing. Lady Theia tugged at her ancient robes with an air of wounded pride.
“Rivalia,” she said in a voice like clanging steel, “you have one last chance to answer to your fate. Will you or will you not tell us what you know of the Colonists?”
There was a long silence. Drystan, looking wearied and defeated, stepped towards her and put his hand on the arm of her chair. “Answer them, Riva.”
Everyone held their breath. At last, a weak sound issued from the chair. Drystan leaned in closer with a bewildered frown. Pallaton narrowed his eyes, equally baffled. The sound grew louder but quivered on the young woman’s lips. She was singing.
Four and twenty miners along the mountain track
Four and twenty bundles upon their sturdy backs
It was all Seherene could make out before the song faded away. Lady Theia flicked her wrist and laid a silencing enchantment around the dais. This time, the ensuing conversation was considerably shorter than the first. It was only a minute before the barrier was raised again. Theia cast her imperious gaze across the court.
“This day, the Elders of the High Council pronounce a righteous judgment upon our former daughter, Rivalia of the House of Kaden, who in holy court is found to be guilty of treason, sedition, and providing aid to those accused of grave crimes against the Entrian people. We therefore sentence her to a lifetime’s imprisonment on the Isle of Stalikos—a punishment we deem wholly befitting to her crimes and which will not be reappraised at any time. This court is dismissed.”
The onlookers erupted into cheers, inside and out. There were embraces and handshakes and smiles all around. Apart from Seherene herself, only Riva’s parents did not participate, nor Dr. Tyrus, who was too concerned with helping the young woman back to her cell. As the Elders stepped down from the dais and filed towards the entrance, a piercing voice rose over the din. Seherene looked behind her to see a furious red-headed priestess shouting at the top of her lungs.
“Mistrial! This is a mistrial! Any fool can see this court is corrupted by bias and prejudice! That girl is not mentally fit to stand trial! Look at her!”
The Elders ignored her. To Seherene’s right, Lady Athalia broke away from the seating area and rushed towards the guards standing between her and the prisoner.
“Riva! Riva, no! Please! Please! I’m her mother! Let me speak to her! Riva!”
The guards would not let her pass. As Riva disappeared down the stairs, Athalia’s husband took her by the arm and pulled her away, trying to calm her. But the woman was inconsolable.
“A shame.”
Seherene turned to her own mother. She was holding the locket in her hands, staring through the glass walls to the snow-covered city beyond.
“What is?” Seherene asked.
“There won’t be an execution to attend. I rather think she deserves one. Don’t you? Maybe even a double, along with that Inkwell brat.”
Without waiting for an answer, Madara turned and went to speak with Malkimar, who fidgeted in the corner with his characteristic nervousness. Lady Annyulan stood beside him, looking smug. Seherene remained rooted to the floor. She didn’t know what to think. What to feel. In such situations she usually hastened to congratulate Pallaton and Drystan. She couldn’t bring herself to do it this time, though she saw them shaking hands and praising one another.
