"Let's start with the charge of murder against Mikhail," Tris said. His voice had a deadly note to it, and his eyes were hard. "You three, step forward," he said, addressing the men whose bodies had been found with punctured throats. "Is your killer in this room?"
The three men nodded. "Aye, Your Majesty," said one of the men. "He's right there." He raised his arm to point at Crevan, and the others did the same.
"Tell your story."
The man who had spoken before cleared his throat. "'Twas during the festival, Your Majesty. I was an assistant to the wine master, and I'd gone to fetch more casks from the cellar. On my way back up, I felt a stinging in my back, like I'd been bitten by a fly. It was a dart, poisoned to bring me down like a wild boar. That's when I saw him," he said with a nod toward Crevan. "My body wouldn't move and I couldn't breathe. He pulled out a ring from his pocket and stabbed me in the neck, and caught most of my blood in a basin. When he knew I was dead, he pitched my blood down the garderobe and carried my body to where they found me."
"You're certain this is the man?"
The victim nodded. "You don't forget something like that, m'lord."
The other two men gave stories that followed the same tale. Both had been unlucky enough to be in a deserted part of the castle when Crevan sought his victims. Throughout their testimony, Crevan's ghost remained on his knees as he had fallen, with his head bowed, defiantly refusing to show his face to the king. When Malae and Bian came to tell of the poisoned kesthriecakes, Tris turned his attention for a moment to Crevan.
You need to show the witnesses a little more respect.With a flicker of power, Tris jerked Crevan to his feet and tightened his grip on the man's soul, forcing his head up so that his face was visible. Crevan fixed Tris and the ghosts with a hateful glower, but said nothing.
One by one, the ghosts testified. The court exclaimed in outrage as Bian told of the poisoned cakes and the herbs Crevan's helper in the kitchen mixed into Kiara's food to bring about miscarriage. Their mood turned even uglier as the young son of the butcher recounted how Crevan had chased him with an axe out onto the treacherous ice until he'd fallen through to his death, and as Ammond and Hothan identified their poisoner and told of Carroway's desperate battle to save Kiara. Macaria, Alle and Cerise all willingly recounted Crevan's attempts to kill Kiara, attempts that the other ghosts corroborated.
"I'm the one who got away." The court turned in shock as Lady Eadoin rose to point a trembling finger at Crevan's ghost. "He sent me linens that carried sickness. My healer confirmed it. Half of my household died of the fever, and I came close enough myself to hear the Lady singing for me." She turned toward Lord Guarov, who seemed to shrink in his chair at the intensity of her anger.
"Guarov and Crevan struck a deal. Crevan would remove me from getting in the way, one less protector for the queen, and Guarov would finally have Lady Nadine's revenge on Bard Carroway." A small silver dagger appeared in Eadoin's hand from beneath her sleeve, and before anyone could move, Eadoin had the point of the blade under Guarov's chin. "You started the rumors about the Queen and Carroway, didn't you?" She jabbed him with the blade, and a thin trickle of blood started down along his throat.
"I and my people," Guarov said in a strangled voice, careful not to move against the knife that pressed against his flesh.
"Tell them that it was all lies." Then in a voice only Tris and Guarov could hear, Eadoin added, "I'm an old lady. My hand trembles, see? If it slipped, I could claim palsy."
"The rumors were lies," Guarov said, and repeated it louder as Eadoin prodded him with her blade. "All of it. There was no affair. Neither the Queen nor Carroway betrayed the king."
"Tell them why you did it." Tris's voice was harsh and completely without mercy.
Guarov's fear was visible in his eyes. "Crevan promised me he would restore the contracts I held with King Jared."
Tris's attention returned to Crevan's ghost, standing in the fiery dome. "Time to make your confession," he said quietly. "Make it good."
Crevan fixed Tris with a disdainful glare. "You want my confession, Your Majesty? Here it is. I was recruited to be King Donelan's court spy. Don't blame him. He didn't realize that Alvior of Brunnfen had put my name out, knowing my sympathies were with the divisionists. Yes, Curane paid me. He had his own reasons to be rid of an heir to the throne. Want the truth? I don't give a damn what happens to Margolan so long as you keep your hands off Isencroft.
"I couldn't stop the wedding, but killing the Queen would have eliminated the heir to the joint throne, and it might have made Donelan declare war on Margolan. Only she didn't die easily," Crevan sneered. "So I thought I'd let the court see her the way those of us loyal to Isencroft do: like a prize bitch put out to stud for the highest bidder.
"My only regret is that I wasted my dagger on that damn bard instead of skewering the whore and her brat like I intended."
Tris felt himself shaking with anger so overwhelming that his magic coursed through him like lightning at the peak of a storm. With a crack like thunder and a flash of blue-white mage light, Tris's power shot through Nexus until the warded dome became blindingly bright. Torn between the realm of the living and the Plains of Spirit, Tris felt his power rip through Crevan's spirit, burning him from within with a fire that could consume the soul. An ear-splitting shriek wrenched from Crevan's spirit.
Tris fought for control of his rage. I... will... not... make... Lemuel's... mistake.
The light died and the dome became transparent. Crevan's spirit slumped to the floor, released from its torment.
"I don't have to kill you," Tris said raggedly as he struggled for composure. "Did you forget that you invoked the Old Gods when you worked your blood magic? You promised Shanthadura a sacrifice. You'll do."
And with that, Tris stretched out his power, once more completely in control of his magic. Nexus became both athame and shield, guarding him and protecting the others as he opened up the gateway to the Nether. Crevan's spirit screamed in utter terror. What awaited Crevan on the other side bore no relation to the Sacred Lady. Far more ancient, Shanthadura was the roiling chaos in which stars die and from which no light escapes. Tendrils of darkness snaked out from the Nether, stripping Crevan's soul like meat from a carcass. Crevan screamed again, the sound of madness joined with unendurable pain. Shanthadura was in no hurry.
Beyond the wardings, nobles retched and fainted, sliding to the floor from their chairs. No one dared to move. Tris felt the primal terror in his own soul, and knew that even his power was scant protection should Shanthadura turn his way.
Crevan's torment seemed to last forever. No matter how much of his soul Shanthadura consumed, consciousness remained. As the last glowing wisp of Crevan's soul disappeared into the fathomless darkness, Tris's magic confirmed what the others did not know. Within the belly of the monster, Crevan's soul remained conscious.
The gateway to the Nether slammed closed with an abruptness that nearly blacked Tris out. Fighting a sudden, staggering headache, Tris dismissed the wardings and warily returned Nexus to its sheath. With a word of thanks, he dismissed the ghostly witnesses, too spent just now to see them to their rest. Instead, he turned toward the Council of Nobles.
"To those who showed their loyalty to the crown at great risk to themselves, you have my thanks. Dame Nuray and Count Suphie: You are banished from this court and removed from the Council of Nobles. Lord Guarov. For treason against the crown, you are condemned to hang from the gallows you constructed." He looked out over the silenced audience. "Justice is served. This court is adjourned."
Chapter Thirty-six
From his tower cell, Carroway watched the king's return with a churning mix of emotions. Maybe he can save Kiara and the baby. The heir's what matters. A bard's life means nothing to history.
Candlemarks passed. Carroway found that he was too nervous even to pace. He sat in a chair watching the fire in the fireplace, his stomach knotted. How will it be? A soldier sent to escort me beyond the city wall
s, or beyond the kingdom's borders? One of the Sisterhood, to take me into custody? Or maybe a brace of guards to lead me to the gallows. He could feel the blade of Harrtuck's dagger against the small of his back where he had hidden it in his belt. He looked to the parchment and ink, sent by Lord Guarov for his confession. If I make the confession Guarov wants, maybe I can save Kiara and Macaria. I won't care what people believe of me after I'm dead. There's still time to cheat the hangman.
The door opened, and Carroway jumped from his chair, his heart pounding. A lone guardsman entered. "The king sent me. You're to pack your things."
Carroway was shaking so badly he didn't trust his voice for a moment. "So that's to be it, then," he said. It took him less than half a candlemark to gather his belongings and secure his two trunks. He slipped his lute into its leather case and carefully fastened the shoulder strap. "Shall I get my boots and cloak?"
The guard shrugged. "The king didn't say. I'll report that you're ready. Wait here." With that, he was gone.
Carroway sagged against the wall and covered his face with his right hand. Despite a splint he had made to try to straighten out his crippled left hand, the fingers were still stiff and weak, straightening only slowly and not all the way. I can't grasp a fork with my hand, let alone play. Perhaps if I can get the fingers not to curl up it won't distract a patron from my looks. But he knew the truth. Without his ability to play and made less desirable by his injury, banishment was only execution postponed.
Two candlemarks later, the door opened again. "Is it time to go?" he asked, and then froze when he saw Tris Drayke in the doorway, looking as if he had just come from high court. Carroway fell to one knee, bowing deeply.
"Your Majesty," he said, feeling his heart thud in his throat. He dared to look up. Tris was watching him with an unreadable expression. In the months since his friend had left Shekerishet for battle, it seemed as if he had aged years. It wasn't the beard, or the half-healed battle scars. Something in Tris's green eyes spoke of pain and loss that could never be mended.
"Kiara never betrayed you. Neither did I. But I will accept whatever you decree to protect the crown."
Tris took a step toward him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Crevan's spirit made a full confession in front of the entire court. Mikhail is free. You're completely exonerated." He reached out his hand to help Carroway to his feet. "Thank you. For everything."
Slowly, Carroway stood. "But the guard told me to pack my things. I thought-"
"When the ghosts met me on the road, they not only told me about Crevan, they told me about what happened at the lodge, and to your hand." He looked down at Carroway's crabbed hand and winced. "If anyone can fix it, Carina can. Go to Dark Haven. Let her heal you." Tris managed an exhausted smile. "I hope you don't mind, but I asked Macaria to go with you. Stay a few months. By the time you return, the court will have something else to gossip about. Even better: come back married."
"Come back?"
"Whatever happens with your hand, you're still Margolan's Master Bard, for life. And my friend."
"What about the Council of Nobles?"
Tris shrugged and eased into a chair. He looked exhausted, and Carroway wondered if Tris was moving on willpower alone. "Dame Nuray and Count Suphie will never return to court. As for Lord Guarov, Crevan implicated him beyond doubt in the conspiracy. Guarov and any of his retainers who had a hand in this will hang."
Carroway sat down beside him. For a moment, they were silent. "What of the siege?"
Tris drew a deep breath. "Technically, we won."
"Technically?"
"Casualties were high, both from the fighting and an outbreak of plague. Tarq betrayed us. Curane's magic backfired on him, and ended up destroying Lochlanimar and everyone in it."
"There have been worse ends to a siege, if you believe the legends."
"Funny how the legends never really talk about burying the dead."
"Do you think Curane's bunch were the last of the loyalists?"
Tris gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. "I wish I could, but Crevan proves that wrong. Curane managed to send his granddaughter and Jared's son into Trevath before we ever besieged Lochlanimar. That problem isn't going to go away." He ran a hand through the blond hair that had escaped his queue. "It's going to be impossible to bring the army home without the plague spreading. We know some of the volunteers have already slipped off, and a couple of the nearby villages have been wiped out. Goddess true! As if Margolan hasn't had its share of sorrows."
He looked at Carroway. "Dark Haven may be safer than Margolan, if the plague takes hold. Neither the vayash morunor the vyrkincan catch fever." He managed a wan smile. "Maybe your ballads and Royster's chronicles will outlive all of us."
"There have been plagues before. Margolan endured."
"I thought we would have enough problems keeping the peace until the spring planting was done, with food scarce this year. There are still villages where no one's ever returned after Jared's men drove them off. How much can Margolan take before Trevath or Nargi make a move?"
"You know, you're the gloomiest war hero I've ever met."
"Except for Jonmarc and Ban, I'm the only war hero you've ever met."
"As I said." The old banter returned naturally, and Carroway felt a wave of relief.
Tris stood. "You're officially a free man, so you don't have to stay here in the tower. The weather mages say tomorrow will be clear. I'll have a carriage ready for you and Macaria after seventh bells, with a purse to provide for food and lodging from here to Dark Haven. No more sleeping in crypts and cellars."
Carroway chuckled. "You don't know how glad I am to hear that." He sobered, and met Tris's gaze. "Thank you for believing me."
Tris nodded. "Give Jonmarc and Carina my best. Try to forget what happened. After all, bards write history as they choose. In the end, you make or unmake the kings and mages with your stories. Why not write this with an end that pleases you?" He clasped Carroway's arm and drew him into an embrace. "Ride safely, my friend. May the Lady's hand be upon you."
Chapter Thirty-seven
"You're sure about this?" Carina gave Jonmarc a sideways glance.
"I've never been more sure about anything in my life."
Carina gave his hand a squeeze. Lisette stepped closer to place a circlet on Carina's head. It was woven from grapevines and ivy. "You look beautiful, m'lady," Lisette said encouragingly, handing Carina a thick candle which was already lit.
Carina smiled and a blush crept to her cheeks as Jonmarc's gaze added his approval. In a moment, the double doors to the great room would open, and they would walk together to where Sister Taru waited to complete their ritual wedding vows. And while there was nothing Jonmarc wanted more, even that certainty wasn't enough to completely dispel the nervous tightness in his stomach over his own imminent wedding.
As was the custom in Dark Haven, Carina's dress was a deep burgundy, the color of the wine for which the region was noted, and the blood that sustained its best known residents. The dress had a high waist that flared just below the bustline, and was sleeveless on one side. Her left arm was bare, and an intricate, stylized grapevine ink pattern wove from the puncture wounds of Malesh's bite on her left shoulder to a drawing of an oak leaf in the palm of her hand, the symbols of life and ancient power. The shevirJonmarc had given her as a betrothal token glittered at her wrist.
By custom, Jonmarc wore neither a shirt nor a sword. The scars that told the story of his life were plainly visible, as was the mark of the Lady branded above his heart and the two small punctures on his shoulder. A broad red satin sash belted his waist over black pants and boots. There were two reasons why ritual weddings were so rarely performed in Principality. The first was that few people felt confident enough of their choice to make a declaration that joined their souls as well as their lives. And the second was that tradition called for the man to prove both his bravery and his dedication by completing the ceremony without weapons. Jonmarc was not completely u
nprotected. To his right, Gabriel stood shevirse, a combination of groomsman and bodyguard. He carried Jonmarc's sword as well as a sword of his own, although they both knew that Gabriel himself was the deadliest weapon.
Jonmarc and Carina had already made their offerings to the Lady at sunset in Dark Haven's chapel. Now all that remained was the ceremony. Like most things in Dark Haven, the ritual differed here from what they had seen in Margolan or elsewhere, following more ancient sacred ways.
"It's time." Gabriel said solemnly, and leaned forward to open the doors. A crowd awaited, and voices buzzed as the guests turned to watch them enter. Jonmarc took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. He flashed an impudent grin at Carina before sobering and taking his place beside her as they walked to where Taru stood.
Taru wore the brown robes that marked her as one of the Sisterhood mages. In her right hand, she held an oak staff, and she wore a stole of evergreen twigs plaited with strips of oak bark. Together, the icons of immortality and ancient magic were powerful symbols. At Taru's feet was a circle of braided cloth, and in its center, a mat of oak leaves. The mage had requested that Jonmarc and Carina each give her a garment they had recently worn to make the strips that became the braid, making the magic highly personal. Jonmarc had no magic of his own, but he felt a shiver go down his spine as he and Carina stepped into the circle and knelt facing each other.
Chanting in a language Jonmarc did not recognize, Taru struck her staff on the floor behind him, and then turned it in her hands to strike the floor behind Carina with the opposite end. Jonmarc felt a sudden wind sweep along the ground, and by the way Carina's eyes widened, he suspected that her magic gave her the power to see something more dramatic. Turning the staff as she chanted, Taru marked four corners of the warding, one for each of the Light Aspects. When she had returned to her original position, she laid the staff aside and lifted an oaken chalice adorned with a band of silver that wound from the lip to the base. She filled the chalice with red wine, and lifted it to the four corners.
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