“That sounds perfectly adequate,” Jakor said. His carefully neutral expression was clearly hiding a look of triumph.
“Now, Lady Fenwood,” the judge said, turning to me. “Do you have any evidence to the contrary?”
For a moment I could not speak. Hopelessness had lodged in my throat, and when I tried to begin my voice came out as a croak. “I—uh, not really. I—”
I shot a desperate look at Professor Volandrik, who twitched his hand in a discreet gesture indicating I should go on.
“I’ve—uh—I found Hunter’s journal, and he explains what happened, but I—I suppose that’s not good enough for you.”
Again I glanced pleadingly at Volandrik.
“In the absence of evidence, you may offer your story as an alternative to Messer Jakor’s version of events. He may bring his fellow University professors to support what he said, but for now I would like to hear your explanation. Unless, of course, you agree with Ras Jakor’s account.”
I shook my head. This time when I tried to speak, my voice came out stronger. “No, sire. Some of what he says is true, but the motives behind my actions—and Hunter’s—have been misrepresented.” I cleared my throat. “I had no idea Hunter applied for a place at the University. It doesn’t surprise me, but he never showed any sort of grudge against the school. This story is something the press hasn’t reported. Hunter never revealed his true motives in public.
“I traveled with Hunter for two years. He was making a name for himself in that time, spreading word of his supposed talents, and his most important claim was this: that he could reawaken the dead. He couldn’t do it, of course—I thought no one could. I had no idea why he would insist on such a farfetched story.
“But over time he was contacted by a number of people who were fascinated by his claim. Some were scholars who knew beyond a doubt that death could not be reversed; others were obvious fakes who insisted they alone had found a way.
“Only one of them sounded sincere. It was Professor Jakor.” I nodded to Jakor, careful not to glance his way. My stomach twisted—I was about to accuse him with nothing but my own word to back me up. It was madness.
“Professor Jakor contacted Hunter and said his private project for years had been this exact aim. And he claimed he truly had discovered a way. So, after living on the road for two years, we returned to Baylore and found ourselves a house close to the University. Hunter met with Professor Jakor and decided he was credible. Professor Jakor was a brilliant teacher and a potioneer without equal, and so they began a partnership.
“Hunter wanted to bring his sister back, you see. She died when she was very young, and Hunter had been reviled by his family ever since. If he brought her back, he could mend things with his family. And I think he could forgive himself at last.”
The judge shifted forward in his chair. “Are you approaching your own involvement? I have yet to see how these events correspond with your multiple trespasses at the University.”
“I’m almost th—”
With a stuttering creak, the courtroom door swung open. There, framed by the dusty late-morning sunlight, stood Pelton. He looked haggard and grim. And there, trailing behind him—
Samara.
I nearly collapsed. Relief coursed through me.
“I hope we’re not too late,” Pelton muttered. In the surprised silence, his words echoed through the room.
As Samara approached and the door closed out the warm sunlight, her features resolved themselves.
She looked awful. Someone had beaten her up; that much was obvious from a single glance. Her face looked broken, collapsed in on itself. Part of her hair was matted in a bloody snarl, a bruise mottled one cheek, and her eyes had lost their shine. Worst of all, I could tell she had tried her best to salvage her appearance.
“Please take a seat,” the judge snapped. “We are in the middle of Cady Fenwood’s testimony.”
Pelton and Samara sat hurriedly on the bench next to the door, watching me with matching expressions of concern.
“Continue,” the judge told me, with much less patience than before.
At first I could not collect my thoughts. I wanted to talk to Samara and see what had happened—who had beat her up? Did she even want to help me? Or would she take Professor Jakor’s side?
“Ah…oh, yes. Hunter and Professor Jakor began working together. I didn’t know who Hunter was working with at the time, only that he was a University professor. I was worried for Hunter; he was acting odd, so I was curious about what he was getting up to. I had no idea what his plans were at the time, only that they related to his Midsummer’s Day stunt. And now that I’ve learned more, I think his stunt was intended to draw his family to the scene, so he could present his sister and be forgiven.
“At the time, I was merely worried and unable to do anything for him. My parents helped procure a flying coat for Hunter, which he tested on the morning of his leap—it worked perfectly. I didn’t notice anything wrong when he joined me on the tower. But when I went down to his body on—on the steps—”
I had to stop for a moment to collect myself as the scene flashed before me once again, as vivid as the day it had occurred. There was Hunter’s body, sprawled at a hideous angle, blood leaking from his skull. I felt again the helplessness, the shock; I had been unable to draw breath.
I swallowed. “When I went down to the body, I saw that someone had ripped a seam out of the coat. Maybe Hunter had done it, wanting to kill himself, but I doubt it. He had spent the morning with Professor Jakor, readying the final pieces of his scheme, and when he joined me he said I had been right to be suspicious of the professor. Those were the last words he spoke to me.
“I think Professor Jakor destroyed the coat. I think he was trying to silence Hunter, because of what Hunter had learned.”
I took a deep breath, waiting for Jakor to interrupt me. His eyes had narrowed, though when he opened his mouth to speak, the judge raised a hand for silence.
“Continue.”
“I didn’t know what to do. I had no evidence, and the papers were going on about how Hunter had lost his mind. I tried to investigate on my own, and that’s when I was first caught trespassing at the University. As Professor Jakor said, it was partly true that I enrolled so I could have a better look around. I also wanted to see for myself what sort of person Professor Jakor was.
“But more than that, I was genuinely interested in learning. I was a Weaver at birth, and my silver hair was taken from me, so I hoped I might be able to learn more about my heritage. Maybe I would even be able to learn some of the Weaver’s art.
“It was once I began taking classes that I learned about the University vaults, and I heard Professor Jakor had his own private room beneath the school. I suspected whatever project he and Hunter had been involved in would have been carried out there, so I wanted to learn more. That’s why I went hunting beneath the school. I know it was against the rules, but no one would hear my story without evidence.”
“And did you find anything?” the judge asked flatly.
I shook my head. “I was caught. I didn’t see anything.”
The sole female judge made a note on her papers and sat back with a satisfied air. The white-bearded judge tapped his papers together, frown deepening.
“As the case now stands, your story has done nothing to vindicate you. Your motives may have been honorable, but since you found nothing worthy of note, we cannot change your sentence based on mere suspicion.”
“But there’s more!” my father called from his bench. “Cady, you have to tell them the rest of it!”
The judge shot him a warning look; he settled back, looking chagrined.
I clutched Hunter’s journal tighter than ever. From here, everything I knew came from his writing. I was not certain it was enough.
I looked over at Samara, begging her to step in and back me up. Her eyes were bright with terror; a long silence followed, fraught with indecision. At long last she stood.
“I—Sire, I might be of some help here.” When Samara walked to the front of the room and stood before the three judges, her stride was as graceful and confident as ever. That took courage. It almost made us forget the mottled wreckage of her face.
Across from me, Jakor was giving her a look of icy warning. Had it been his hands that crushed Samara’s face and bloodied her scalp? Did he remember every blow? It did not seem characteristic of him to make such a dangerous blunder.
“My name is Samara, and I was Ras Jakor’s assistant. His slave. I grew up in the Wandering Woods, but when I was eight I was captured by a pair of smugglers Ras had hired. He needed a Drifter to practice his experiments on, you see. For years he has been obsessed with the idea of reawakening the dead, and he discovered our healing magic was the key. I did not speak the tongue of Baylore at first, so I followed him around like an obedient puppy, helping him with menial tasks and learning my role at the University. I lived in a room near his, and he told the administrators he was doing a distant relative a favor by taking in a poor orphaned child. I don’t believe anyone questioned him.
“Once I knew my place and had lost all hope of escaping my imprisonment, Ras began using me for his experiments. He drew my blood many times. That was the key, he claimed—Drifter’s blood. I began attending classes, pretending all was well, and during this time I fell in love with one of the students. I was very innocent, and did not know I should take care with him; before long I found myself pregnant, and Ras nearly killed me in rage. My child was born in secret, and her father was bribed to leave the University and never speak my name again.
“From then on, Ras had no trouble ensuring my obedience. He simply threatened to murder my child if I ever stepped out of line.
“The experiments continued in earnest. And—” Samara shot Jakor a look of pure loathing “—and Ras began to rape me and abuse me, always in ways that would not show. He was so measured and careful in all he did that I wondered if he had lost his sanity.”
Her voice faltered on the last words; she appeared unable to continue.
“I think I know what happened from there,” I said quietly. Samara’s shoulders sagged in relief. “This is where Hunter’s journal continues. Several years must have passed since Professor Jakor’s first experiments, because it wasn’t just Samara who had given her blood for his project. Hunter didn’t know anything about Professor Jakor’s methods when he made arrangements to revive his sister, but at the last moment, he insisted the professor tell him the truth. Hunter said there were three enormous vats of blood in the professor’s underground vault. And I don’t doubt his words. A Drifter named Taldo, who once saved my mother, vanished just before Hunter’s death. There are others, too; you must have seen the story in the news.”
Most of the room was motionless in disbelief; across from me, Volandrik was shaking his head. He looked as though he might be sick.
“It’s true,” Samara said weakly. “Ras has lured dozens of Drifters to him, and he has drained their blood until their veins run dry. He presented it as an opportunity to study in Baylore under the tutelage of one of the University’s top professors. He sent smugglers after a few more once he decided that scheme was no longer safe, but the trees are on guard now and haven’t relinquished the others so easily.”
“Search the University vaults,” I said. “See if Professor Jakor’s office is still exactly as Hunter described it.” I handed his precious journal to the elderly judge. “Read his final entry. That’s what I learned after I was suspended. That’s why I returned.”
“Sirrah.” The judge beckoned to the city guard who had made so many trips down into the prison on my behalf. “Present this search warrant to the University staff and ask them to direct you to Ras Jakor’s private office. Oh, and call a few more guards to the courtroom.”
A shiver of excitement ran through me. Did the judge expect Jakor to run? Was he trapped at last?
“Milady Samara?” the judge said. “Do you have any further witnesses to back up your claims? Who did this to you?” He gestured at her face.
At the back of the room, Pelton cleared his throat. “The father of Samara’s child is waiting outside the courtroom. He did not think he would be welcome inside.”
“Fetch him at once,” the judge said.
Pelton jumped to his feet and scurried to the door, returning seconds later with Elden in his wake. Elden’s eyes were wild with worry, his clothing shabby-looking beside Pelton’s smart suit.
“What’s happened?” Elden asked, hurrying to Samara’s side. “Have you—”
Samara shook her head, pressing her lips together.
The judge scratched a note on the top of a fresh sheet and pointed his pen at Elden. “What is your relation to Samara?”
Elden stopped beside Samara and shuffled his feet, arms folded. “We have a child together. Samara is forbidden to spend time with me, but I try to see her when I can.”
“And do you know who injured Lady Samara?”
Elden jabbed his chin at Jakor. “That bastard did it,” he spat. “He heard some journalist was looking for Samara, and when she tried to leave his office to talk to the journalist, he attacked her. It wasn’t until later that night she was able to escape and come to my house to hide. The journalist had tracked me down and was discussing the case with me when she showed up, looking much worse than she does now. She could barely walk; I don’t know how she managed this morning.”
The white-bearded judge cleared his throat. “Very well. It seems our case has been turned on its head. Ras Jakor, do you have anything to say for yourself? Can you present any evidence to the contrary?”
“They are lying, every one of them,” Jakor said, though the color had drained from his face. “Cady Fenwood has paid them good money for their testimonies.”
“And I presume she beat this woman up herself, while sitting in her cell?” the judge said.
“Do not mock me!” Jakor shouted. “Volandrik—back me up!”
The professor shook his head weakly. “I have no evidence to support either party. I can only say what my instincts tell me, which is that Cady speaks the truth.”
Chapter 22
A rap at the door heralded the arrival of four new city guards. I recognized one of them as the young man who had first escorted me to the cells.
“We’ve been told we were needed,” one of them said gruffly.
“Almost,” the elderly judge said. “We await the confirmation of evidence.”
It was not long before the short guard reappeared with the school administrator shuffling along behind him. His hair was disheveled, and dark circles rimmed his deep-set eyes
“Did you find the room?” the judge asked sharply.
The guard nodded.
“What did you encounter there?”
Clearing his throat, the guard approached the judges’ bench. “The room was mostly empty. A few books were boxed up, and sheets covered a few odd instruments. I didn’t recognize them. It looked curious, though—nothing was dusty, so someone had been in there recently. This gentleman—” he clapped the shoulder of the administrator “—suggested the contents might have been hastily moved. So we searched several of the other rooms along the hall.”
“And?”
Again the guard cleared his throat. “We found—well, it was as Milady Fenwood suggested. In a smaller room, there were three large pots filled with red fluid, and—ah—”
He shuffled in place, boots squeaking against the stone floor. “We also found the, er, body of a young girl. She was somewhat, ah, mutilated, and she was beginning to decay. It was the first thing we noticed, actually. The room rather reeked.”
My stomach flopped as I imagined the smell of dead rat multiplied a hundredfold in the dank cellar vault.
“Well, it appears this settles the case,” the judge said. “Short of resurrecting and interviewing the victims of Ras Jakor, I cannot think of any evidence that would prove more damning. As for you…” He turned a
nd studied Jakor. “I believe it would be fitting if your fate were left in the hands of the Drifters. Guards, take this man to the cells for the present, and muster an armed escort to convey him to the Wandering Woods.”
Samara stepped up to the very edge of the judges’ bench. “I want to accompany him.” The hatred in her eyes was almost tangible.
The judges glanced at one another; at last the woman shrugged.
“That is acceptable,” the bearded judge said. He turned to Professor Volandrik. “And is the University still pressing charges against Cady Fenwood?”
I could have sworn Volandrik smiled at me, though his expression was solemn when he faced the judge. “Given the circumstances, the University will be dropping all charges.”
“Very well then.” The judge stood. “Court adjourned.”
I was stunned. Was that truly the end? Silently I watched as the guards flanked Jakor and marched him away. He chose to go without a fight. Samara turned and followed them to the door, giving Elden a quick kiss as she swept past. The judges filed out behind, one stationing himself at the door to lock the courtroom once it had emptied.
Most of the spectators had cleared out by the time I pulled myself together and stood. Lieman had given me an encouraging wave as he took his wife’s arm, and Elden had clasped his hands together in silent thanks.
Volandrik stood to follow Elden, but I hurried to his bench.
“Am I still suspended?” I asked shyly.
He laughed. “You already know the answer to that. Does this mean we might see you back at the University before long?”
“Maybe.” I bit my lip. “What do you think the Drifters will do to him?”
Volandrik shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. It depends on how harshly they judge his crime. He may be killed on sight, or he could be imprisoned in one of their living trees for the rest of his miserable existence. Personally, I think the latter would be far worse.”
Eyes lowered to the bench next to Volandrik, I asked the question I had intended to ask. “Why did you come today?”
“Because I wanted to see you succeed.” Volandrik crossed his arms. “I am an unusually astute judge of character, and I knew your aim was genuine. I have never thought to question Professor Jakor’s work, but had his account been true, his hatred of you would have been unreasonable. I cannot speak for your other professors, but I certainly hope you resume your studies.”
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