Defining Justice
Page 2
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I have never openly defied my father before. Debated a point of state? Certainly. Parried a sword thrust? Of course. But outright defiance? Working against him? No.
However, after our meeting and his outright refusal even to entertain the notion of revising the law, I don’t see that I have a choice. Not one that my conscience will permit at any rate.
And if this endeavor goes as I hope it will, no one will say that I’ve done any differently than obey him.
I ask to be served in my quarters tonight, but Aleta will attend dinner so as not to raise talk of the two of us missing at once. She appears at my doorway prior to the meal, bearing a ruby cuff draped over her fingers. I balk, understanding immediately what she intends.
“I’m not wearing that.” We both know what red means. It’s the mark of a murderer. If I am to play at honor and justice, I won’t sully myself with the connotation.
“Wear it,” she says, her tone brooking no arguments. “Say nothing about it, but let it make its implication silently. Suggestion and imagination are powerful tools at your disposal. Use them.”
I wear the cuff.
After my food is delivered, I wait just a moment before slipping away. My chamber guards think nothing of it; they’ve been with me for some time and are used to my unusual comings and goings. Walking often helps me think. I am counting on the fact that they are too used to my wanderings to take note of this one.
I use a tunnel to sneak into a visiting Elemental Adept’s room while he attends the dinner I am missing. The Fire Torcher whose rooms I visit is a high-ranking colonel in my father’s army and his status affords him a stay in a hall largely populated by lower nobles. I have no trouble locating his wardrobe and fetching the black, hooded robe I require to disguise myself as an Elemental Adept.
My face is wreathed in shadows as I approach the guard station outside the prison. It’s a bit closer to the palace than the dungeon we use to house high criminals and I make good time. They’ll be preoccupied at dinner for some time yet.
I try not to breathe an audible sigh of relief upon noticing that none of the guards wear a robe that matches mine. I’d feared encountering a Fire Torcher, one who could easy lift a palm, flames alight, to have an unobstructed view of my face. As it is, I keep my face turned toward the ground. It would spoil all of my efforts if I were recognized.
I clutch a sheaf of paper in my own handwriting, bearing my own seal. Its wrinkles are creased with my sweat as I pass it over. “I’m to escort some Shaker for a hearing,” I say gruffly.
The guards cracks the seal with a suspicious hand. “Bit late, isn’t it? Besides, truant Elementals are s’posed to await trial here.”
I shrug. “Not for us to question the royals, is it?”
He doesn’t look convinced. Damn. I’ll have to use Aleta’s method after all. Nonchalantly, I adjust my sleeve so that the ruby cuff peeks out. The move has the desired effect: the guard recoils when it glints up at him like a bloody star in the darkness.
“Fetch the newest truant,” he barks.
The farmer—Walden, I seem to remember Father calling him— looks bewildered when he’s dragged out. The guard thrusts his shackles and the keys that will free him into my hands. It’s been mere days but already he looks worse for the wear. A bruise blooms on his cheek and black circles rest beneath his eyes.
“Where are we going?”
“Never you mind,” I grunt, releasing his shackles and shoving him ahead of me. I prod him forward. “Walk, truant.”
We can’t move quickly. Walden’s footsteps are shuffles, his ankles shackled just enough to let him walk, but not easily. I have to wait until I’m sure we won’t run into any well meaning guards before I undo his restraints.
I’d headed toward the castle at first in order to throw off any suspicion from the prison guards, but now I loop us back around the stables. The head hostler and a few select stable hands sleep above the horses, but the others will have gone home by now.
Walden tries to look back at me, but I tilt my head lower, ensuring that the hood obscures my features. The unfortunate result of such a move is that I can see only my feet and Walden’s on the ground before me. Thankfully, I know this route well. I’ve set us on the path toward a vacant pasture and to my hunting grounds, lush and green and untamed; much of the growth that my father’s Shakers pulled from the Leeched Desert that surrounds our city lives there. What’s more: it’s—
Walden’s shackled feet hop in place and a jagged stone hurls itself up from the ground toward me.
I leap backward before I’m impaled on the rock. Walden takes off for the hunting grounds as fast as he can, shackles rattling. He throws a terrified look back at me as I maneuver around the new unexpected obstacle.
The fool. I grit my teeth, trying not to lose my temper. He’d best thank the Makers that I took him this way. It’s unguarded. If he’d tried this foolishness along any other paths, the palace’s soldiers would be on us instantly and he’d have assured his own execution. As it is, however…
When he sees me coming for him, he desperately slices his cuffed hands across his body and I’m walloped in the back of the head by a tree branch.
The hood drops to my neck. I blink for a moment to clear the stars from my vision. Gingerly touching the rising lump on my skull, I’m relieved to find it free of blood. I’ll be able to keep the bruise hidden under my hair until it heals.
My mouth solidifies in a determined line. Enough of this farce. Walden hasn’t been able to get far, shuffling as he is. I manage to get close enough and launch myself at the man, tackling him to the ground. We land loudly, the path protesting such an affront.
“You damned idiot,” I mutter, scrabbling for the keys I’d looped onto my belt. I unfasten Walden’s wrists and he blinks.
“What are you—”
“Go.” I concentrate now on freeing his feet, the key fumbling in its lock. He stumbles as he stands and steps from the shackles’ grip.
“How did you manage—who—”
He pales when he sees my face, free of its hood. Recognition dawns in his eyes as he places me in his memory. “Your Highness?
I rise, holding Walden’s gaze. I should be more dismayed over the fact that he knows the identity of his savior, but I can’t bring myself to feel that way. It feels good. To know that I’ve helped someone and to have them know it too. Good to know that at least one of my subjects will believe someone in the royal family understands that we should be loyal to our people if we expect their fealty.
It’s a start.
“Go,” I say again.
“Prince Caden,” he says, reiterating my identity. I nod. “Why, though? Why free me?”
I meet his eyes. “Do you feel like you’ve done something wrong?”
“I broke the law,” he says.
“That doesn’t make it wrong.”
He waits for more, but it’s the only answer I have to give.
It would seem he’s not a man given to pressing his good fortune. Walden bows low. “I am— eternally grateful,” he says. He stands again, looking at me searchingly. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
“I wish you good luck,” I say. And then he’s gone.
I don’t know where he’ll go as he scrambles off into the darkness, withdrawing into the shelter of the forest-like grounds. If he makes it back to his family, they will have to run.
I truly hope he makes it.
But this is all I can do for now. I listen to the crunching of leaves swallowing his retreating footsteps. It’s not long before the trees and creatures that fill the hunting grounds gobble up those sounds too.
Later, I will protest that the note extrapolating Walden from his cell was forged. A search will reveal that my seal is missing. Stolen. I will demand that the Adept who dared to misrepresent the crown in order to free a truant Elemental be found and brought to justice for his crimes.
They will never find him.
Justice has many de
finitions. True justice—a justice that is righteous and fair—is a rare thing. But my father isn’t wrong. Justice is defined by those who hold the power.
And perhaps it’s time he held a little less.