by Rebecca Ross
It was apparent the archon did not want to see them. That he assumed they were about to present a petty case before him. He sighed and motioned them closer. But his eyes sharpened when Gregor introduced them. The parents and sister of Halcyon of Isaura.
“Ah yes. Your daughter is to stand trial for murder tomorrow,” the archon said. His eyes were keen as he examined each of them. “If you have come to sway my choice, let me say that it will not work. My jurisdiction does not accept bribes.”
Gregor was taken aback. “Lord, we have not come to bribe or persuade you, but to ask permission to see Halcyon.”
The archon sighed. “I am sorry, Gregor of Isaura, but that cannot be done. A heavy offense such as murder does not warrant such privileges.”
“But, Lord . . . I have not even had the chance to say one word to my daughter. Please.”
“It cannot be done.”
Gregor looked like he was one breath from falling on his knees and crawling to the archon to further grovel and beg. Phaedra, thankfully, took hold of her husband’s arm to steady him.
“My lord,” she spoke in a dulcet tone. “We understand that we cannot visit Halcyon. But perhaps we may be granted a quick glance at her? The last time my husband saw her, she had been publicly scourged and was in great agony.”
The archon was quiet, assessing Phaedra. Evadne thought she had swayed him—it seemed her mother could sway anyone—but the archon said, “Again, I am sorry. But I cannot allow such. Your daughter has committed two terrible crimes. She killed her shield mate, and then she fled from her commander. She has been labeled a coward, a fate worse than death for a warrior.”
“Please, Lord,” Gregor pleaded. “We have not spoken to Halcyon in eight years.”
The archon’s patience finally ebbed. He leaned on the table; the scrolls about him shuddered and the light streaming in from the windows suddenly dimmed.
Evadne had been listening, observing. She stood in that gray light, hardly breathing as she waited.
“It is evident to me that you are unaware of the extent of Halcyon’s crime,” the archon said, weary. “Who she killed. Is that so?”
Gregor and Phaedra exchanged a glance.
“We were told she killed a fellow hoplite,” Phaedra finally replied.
The archon stood. He was still broad and tall in his old age, his arms marked by scars. He wore leather armor and a sword was sheathed at his back, like he could fight at a moment’s notice.
And he looked at Evadne, the accused’s sister, and the only one of her family who had remained guarded.
“Halcyon of Isaura did not just slay any fellow hoplite,” the archon said, his pale eyes still fixed on Evadne’s. “She killed her commander, Lord Straton’s, son.”
VIII
Evadne
After a restless sleep, Evadne and her parents woke the next morning and made their way to the assembly hall of the agora. A crowd had already gathered, evidence that Halcyon had become one of the most notorious warriors of Corisande’s army. When people spoke her name, it was now married to words like coward, fool, murderess.
Evadne tried to ignore those whispers as she sat between her parents on a bench at the front of the assembly. But the murmurs carried, and they made her tremble.
The archon arrived, standing behind a rostrum carved with phases of the moon. A wreath of olive leaves graced his head; the sight only heightened Evadne’s anger, even though she knew the wreath was a symbol of insight and knowledge.
The goddess Acantha had worn such a crown when she walked among the mortals centuries ago, an eternal crown her brother Euthymius had made for her, spun from olive branches. Her crown was the magical relic she had chosen to leave behind on the earth, and it still remained to be discovered. Lysander had been convinced he would be the one to find it one day, whenever he was brave enough to leave the grove. Uncle Ozias had thought the same, but no one had found Acantha’s crown, and so the archon wore a common wreath to the trial. As a testament to the goddess, to truth and knowledge.
With his presence, a hush fell upon the hall. He opened a scroll before him, reading quietly for a moment. And then Straton arrived, and in his wake was his family: his wife, a daughter, and another son.
Evadne was too nervous to look at them as they sat on a bench angled adjacent to her family’s. But then she felt the heated prompting of a stare. Cautiously, she lifted her gaze.
It was not the commander, who sat so stiff and quiet he could have been carved from stone, or his wife, who was coldly beautiful. It was his children who studied her shamelessly. They were not much older than Evadne, but their faces were drawn as if they had not slept the past week.
The daughter was a reflection of her mother—blond wispy hair, large brown eyes, a pale complexion. She wore a luxurious chiton, so fine it gleamed iridescent when she breathed, and her shoulder brooches winked with emeralds. A silver circlet gleamed across her brow, which denoted her as an accomplished healer, just as her mother was beside her.
The girl glanced away from Evadne first, as if she could not bear the sight of her.
Evadne shifted her gaze to the girl’s brother.
His hair was a dark shade of brown, long and loose to brush his shoulder tops. His face was sharp yet balanced, as if a god had taken their time in forming his features. His brows were elegant, even as they slanted over a pair of unusually colored eyes. One eye was brown, but the other appeared to be divided: the top half of the iris was brown, but the bottom half was a light shade of blue. His mismatched gaze pierced Evadne; she responded by dropping hers, noticing his clothes.
He wore a white chiton trimmed with blue squares, and an indigo mantle draped across his chest, buckled at his shoulder with a celestial pin. He was a mage, Evadne realized with alarm, and she looked to his hands, where a silver ring gleamed on his middle finger.
Evadne glanced away from him, focusing her eyes on one of the grand pillars that upheld the ceiling. But she could still feel the mage assessing her, and her skin prickled from his gaze.
Her homespun garments were soon drenched with sweat, and Evadne counted her breaths, trying to tame her wildly beating heart.
Another wave of silence washed over the assembly.
It was a stifling quiet, gradually broken by the faint metallic clang of chains, a sound that grew louder and louder.
At last, Halcyon had arrived.
She was brought in from the back of the assembly, so the crowd could watch her approach the archon. Evadne could not see over the others, not until Halcyon was nearly to the front. Her sister was escorted by two guards, one holding each of her arms. She was draped in chains, to subdue her, because even after being whipped and imprisoned, Halcyon still radiated strength.
With a shock, Evadne saw that Halcyon’s hair was gone; they had shaven her, and only a shadow of her dark hair remained on her scalp. The sackcloth she wore was smudged in grime and speckled in old blood, and her feet were bare, dirty.
Evadne could only imagine how painful each step was for her, with her back still torn and healing. And yet Halcyon did not arrive hunched and broken. She arrived with her chin held high, as if she did not feel the pain.
Evadne thought of all the times she had been proud of her older sister, when Halcyon had won the mountain footraces and knocked vile boys to the ground with one punch. But they were eclipsed by this one moment, when her sister maintained her dignity and honor.
Gregor began to shake beside her on the bench, and she knew his emotions were fraying.
Evadne reached for his hand, lacing her thin fingers with his broad ones, and they quietly held to one another, their eyes on Halcyon alone.
Halcyon, however, did not turn to look at them. Surely, she felt her family’s presence, Evadne thought. But Halcyon refused to acknowledge them, did not spare them a glance. She came to a halt directly before the archon and stared up at him, waiting.
“Halcyon of Isaura,” the archon began, his voice carrying like thunder over the a
ssembly. “You have been brought before me today with two charges pressed upon you. You are being accused of the murder of Xander of Mithra, a fellow hoplite and your shield brother. You also stand accused of cowardice: you ran from your crime and evaded your commander. Three witnesses shall testify. You must remain silent during their testimonies, but you, likewise, will have a moment to speak and answer questions I will voice to you. Depending on what is presented today, your sentence will be announced either at the end of the trial, or at midday tomorrow. Do you understand and accept these terms?”
“Yes, Lord,” Halcyon said.
“Chain her to the stand.”
The guards directed Halcyon to the stand adjoined to the archon’s rostrum. She would now face the crowd, and as the chains about her wrists were locked to the wood, Halcyon closed her eyes.
“Be strong, Sprout,” Gregor whispered, so low and gentle that Evadne almost missed the words.
And she would always wonder if the gods drew that whisper across the marble floor, up the stand and up the chains to Halcyon’s ears. A sightless comfort. Because she opened her eyes and looked directly at Gregor.
The tension in her face eased.
She looked to Phaedra, color returning to her cheeks, and then she looked to Evadne.
The corner of Halcyon’s mouth curved, so miniscule that most would not notice. But Evadne saw it and knew Halcyon was trying to wordlessly reassure her.
“Iason of the Eastern Isles, come forward,” the archon said.
The summoned hoplite emerged from the crowd and stood directly before the archon. Evadne noticed he refused to look at Halcyon.
“Iason, you were the one to find the body of Xander,” the archon began, referring to his scroll. “Tell us what you know of Halcyon and Xander’s relationship, as well as what you witnessed that day.”
“At dawn, Xander told me he was going to practice spar with Halcyon,” Iason said. “This was not surprising. The two of them had been shield mates for only a year. They sparred frequently in the beginning, in the training ring. But then they began to spar in private places. When I asked Xander about this, he would not tell me, but said it was necessary. And I did not press him any further, because it was not my business what he and Halcyon did.”
“But Xander was fond of Halcyon?” the archon asked. “Was there any enmity between them?”
Iason shook his head. “Not that I saw. They were well suited.”
“Do you have any idea where they were practicing?”
“No, Lord.”
“Did you ever suspect that Xander and Halcyon were lovers?”
Iason hesitated. He glanced at the commander before replying in an uncertain tone, “Yes, Lord.”
Evadne frowned. Not once had this thought crossed her mind.
She looked at her sister. Halcyon’s eyes were dull as she continued to watch Iason testify. Dull, like the last of her light was about to extinguish, and that made Evadne panic.
She had never seen her sister vanquished. But that is what she saw in Halcyon—the deep breath drawn before a surrender.
“Continue with your account of the day Xander died,” the archon requested. “How did you find his body?”
“I saw Halcyon . . .” Iason paused again, hesitant. “I saw Halcyon running back to camp at midday. She appeared haggard, frantic. There was blood on her hands, on her face. When I attempted to speak to her, she was incoherent. Eventually, after she had caught her breath, I was able to make sense of her words.”
“What did she say?”
“She said, ‘I did not mean it. It was a mishap.’ Over and over. And then she told me where to find him. I thought she would remain in the camp, that Xander was injured. I left Halcyon to go to the place she had described.”
“Which was where?”
“In the Dione Ravine, south of our camp.”
“And what did you find, Iason?”
Iason bowed his head, studying his hands. “I found Xander lying in a pool of blood on the ravine floor. His throat cut.”
“Was there anything else unusual?” the archon asked, squinting down at the hoplite. “Anything to indicate that Xander and Halcyon had been in a lovers’ tryst?”
“I did find something odd. A strip of linen on the ground near Xander.”
“A strip of linen?”
“Yes, Lord. I do not know how else to describe it. A tourniquet, perhaps?”
A subtle movement caught Evadne’s attention. It was Straton; he had flexed his fingers and tapped his knee, and it seemed the archon noticed this as well. A wordless signal between the two men. Instantly, the mystery of the linen was forgotten as the archon said, “Very good, Iason. You are dismissed.” He wrote on the scroll before him, and it took every ounce of Evadne’s control not to raise her voice, to draw attention to the fact that Straton had just swayed the archon. “I now call forth Symeon of Aphra.”
Iason melted back into the crowd and another hoplite stepped forward. He also refused to make eye contact with Halcyon.
“Symeon of Aphra, you have known both Halcyon and Xander for seven years now,” the archon said. “What can you tell me of their relationship?”
Symeon replied swiftly, without doubt. “They were lovers, Lord.”
“And what evidence do you have, Symeon?”
“The two of them were very careful. But one day, I witnessed their affection. Last spring, behind one of the tents, Xander caressed Halcyon’s face, as a man does to the one he loves.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes, Lord. Xander and I shared a tent, and there were nights when he would steal away. I can only surmise that he went to be with Halcyon. They were also absent from camp for days, a few weeks ago. Some of us believed they had gone to a priest, to be secretly married.”
The commander shifted on his bench. Evadne darted a glance at him; his face was emotionless, but there was a gleam in his eyes. It almost looked like a warning, and the archon must have understood, because he promptly dismissed Symeon and called forth the final witness.
“I lastly summon Narcissa of Cantos, captain of the Scorpion Squad.”
A third hoplite approached the rostrum. She was tall and lithe, her long brown hair held captive in a braid.
Evadne recognized her. She was the warrior who had whipped Halcyon, and then knelt and cared for the wounds she had wrought.
At last, a flicker of emotion in Halcyon. Her brows pulled close together before she closed her eyes, as if she could not bear to look at her captain.
Narcissa, like the other two warriors preceding her, did not spare Halcyon a glance.
“Narcissa, you have been Halcyon’s captain for five years,” the archon began. “Tell us what you know of her.”
“Halcyon was one of the finest warriors of the legion,” Narcissa answered. “There was no one who could outrun her, and only few of us could disarm her.”
“So she is very strong?”
“Yes, Lord.”
“Is she prone to violence?”
“Yes. On some occasions.”
Evadne’s heart plummeted. Halcyon was not prone to violence. Halcyon was good. Halcyon was loyal.
“How would you describe Halcyon?” the archon pressed.
“Competitive. Private. Conscientious.”
“Does it surprise you that Halcyon would make such a grave error, if you believe her claim that killing Xander was ‘a mishap’?”
“Yes, it surprises me,” Narcissa replied. “As I said, Halcyon is conscientious. She rarely makes mistakes.”
“Did you ever suspect that Halcyon and Xander were lovers?”
“I confess the thought crossed my mind from time to time. Particularly when the two of them seemed to become inseparable. But Halcyon had never been one to tell me who she favored. As I said, she was private. She was focused on her training, entirely.”
The archon wrote in his scroll and dismissed Narcissa.
Narcissa finally looked at Halcyon, just before she turned aw
ay, but Halcyon’s eyes remained closed, her long lashes lying flush on her cheeks. Her face had gone pale again.
Evadne’s stomach wound in an anxious knot as the archon directed his attention to her sister.
“Halcyon of Isaura, I will now ask you questions, and by the wrath of the gods, you must answer them truthfully. Do you swear it?”
Halcyon opened her eyes. But she focused on nothing; her gaze was distant. “I swear it, Lord.”
“How long had you and Xander been shield mates?”
“Four seasons.”
“And did you choose Xander?”
“No. Lord Straton chose me for him.”
“Were you and Xander lovers at any point in time?”
Halcyon hesitated. “No. He was a brother to me, and I was a sister to him.”
Evadne knew Halcyon was speaking truth, despite her confliction. But whispers spawned in the crowd that stated Halcyon was lying, that there had been something more between her and Xander.
“What do you have to say about the affection Symeon claims he saw between the two of you?”
“That was affection between shield mates, Lord. Xander was concerned he had hurt me in our spar that day. He was ensuring that I was well.”
“Did he ever anger you?”
“No.”
“Did you flee the camp after Xander’s death?”
“Yes.”
“You did not go to your commander after the incident?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was afraid, Lord.”
“Afraid of what?”
“Of Lord Straton’s wrath.”
“But why should you fear him?”
“Because I had just killed his son.”
“So you confess to the killing?” the archon was swift to say.
Perspiration beaded Halcyon’s brow. “It was an accident.”
“How could someone as accomplished as you, Halcyon of Isaura, make such an appalling mistake? The witness Iason said you slit Xander’s throat. I do not understand how this could be a mishap.”