Kissed by Death - Book three of the Trueborn Heirs Series

by Queen, Nyna

  “The indictment has already been read,” he said. “After that, the Tribunal put in a short recess during which I cleared out. The presentation of the prosecution’s evidence should be almost complete by now. After that, the defendant gets the opportunity to present his evidence. I’ll be blunt—it doesn’t look good for Lord Dubois-Léclaire. If one can trust the office grapevine of the clerks, no exonerating evidence has been submitted by the accused’s lawyers in preparation of the trial, though admittedly they weren’t given a lot of time to prepare.” His lips flattened. He didn’t seem happy with the run of the trial so far.

  Alex lengthened her stride to keep up, heavily leaning on Darken. “Is that untypical?”

  Her brother nodded grimly. “Yes. Especially when such a serious charge is involved. It’s almost bordering on short-circuiting the law, if you ask me. Everyone deserves a fair trial. That is one of our highest maxims.” His jaw tightened. “If the accused cannot present any conclusive evidence during the hearing today and the reasoning of the prosecution is sound, the Tribunal may decide to pass an ad hoc verdict in his disadvantage. I don’t think I have to tell you that this would be disastrous. If you have anything that might help his lordship, you must submit it before the Hearing of Evidence is closed. After that, the chance is waived.”

  He glanced anxiously over his shoulder, not quite meeting Alex’s gaze. “You do have some kind of evidence, right? You’re not planning a crazy break out or something like that, are you?” He said it jokingly, yet his laughter sounded a little too forced and brittle to be convincing. A sheen of sweat had formed on his brow. He definitely appeared sick now.

  The look Darken gave him was bone-chilling, but the comment made Alex realize that she might not have been the only one who had taken a great leap of faith with this meeting. Her brother, too, was risking a lot by helping them—and not just his young career—while he knew as little about her true motives as she did about his. For all she knew, he might be leading them straight into the arms of a battalion of court marshals. And for all he knew, they were taking advantage of his help to attempt a daring escape. Goodness knew she might have grown into some hardboiled mercenary who wouldn’t mind slaughtering a room full of people. And taking Darken’s reputation into consideration…

  Perhaps it was time to offer a little trust.

  Alex took a deep breath and told her brother in the broadest strokes what they were planning to do.

  When she was done, Makesh was staring at her with mouth agape. “Mother’s mercy and Jester's grace and the Blind Child’s cursed eyes in the dark,” he finally whispered. He’d gone from pale straight to ghostly white. “That is…” He opened his mouth, looking as though he wanted to say something, then just shook his head and increased his steps. “We better hurry.”

  Alex allowed him a moment to process it all, listening to the sounds of his swishing robe and their footsteps echoing dully between the naked white concrete walls.

  “Anything we ought to know about the presiding Tribunal?” Darken asked as they rounded another corner, his deep voice eerily calm. Alex stole a glance at his face. It was cold and terrible and so emotionless it was frightening.

  Once the children had been out of earshot, Alex had no longer been able to hold back what she’d found out about Tyler and had let Darken and Heloise in on his betrayal. True, the kids had as much a right to know, but she hadn’t wanted to drop that bomb on them too right then, not with all the horrors going on at the moment.

  Darken and his mother had reacted with the same chilled fury, and for the first time since they had met, Alex had appreciated that they were actually related.

  During the entire hover-cycle ride to Shazam, she had felt Darken’s muscles tremble from the strain of containing his anger and pain, had felt his magic rage underneath his skin, trying to break out and destroy everything in its wake. Now, he had gone behind that wall again, the wall that cut him off from his emotions and let him function when deep inside him, his heart was ready to burst.

  Alex understood. Oh yes, she understood. A betrayal was always bad, but from inside the family? It was the most bitter pill to swallow. She didn’t think anyone had suspected little twerp Tyler. She’d judged him to be a sulky kid with a chip on his shoulder. A slacker, not a traitor. She had only met him a couple of times, and she still felt bad for not having sniffed the trouble on the wind. How must Darken feel, who must have thought he’d known his little brother so well? It was so horrible, she didn’t even want to think about it.

  And here she was, trusting her own brother whom she knew even less with all their lives.

  Makesh puffed up his cheeks and blew out his breath. “First Tribune High Judge Elphias Delormes is a tough nut to crack. He’s one hardboiled egg, a judge of the old school, as they say, who upholds the law before anything else and isn’t afraid of passing harsh judgements. Don’t expect him to make any deals. You can’t come at him with precedence either because he doesn’t trust other judges to do their job well enough.”

  He looked thoughtful. “Many of the clerks fear him for his sharp temper, and I’ll admit he isn’t an easy person to deal with. In his defense, he’s very strict but not unfair. He will consider any evidence if you can convince him that it may be significant to the case. He likes his arguments to be on point and is no proponent of superfluous chit-chat. It makes him quite unpopular among the advocacy,” he added a bit ruefully.

  Yeah, well, that figured. Advocates were known to be the kings and queens of superfluous chit-chat.

  A tight knot of emotions balled inside Alex’s chest, and she wasn’t quite sure if it was worry or hope. If only they could convince this Delormes-guy to consider their evidence… But if he had any reservations against shapers … or against Forfeits…

  She exhaled through her nose, hoping to release some of her tension with it. She would have preferred a gullible milquetoast, but strict and fair would have to do.

  “There are twelve Associate Judges on the Tribunal,” Makesh went on. “Second and Third Tribune are High Judge Benedict Fitzgerald and High Judge Marlène de Chevalier, both highly experienced and well-respected. As Second Tribune, Lord Fitzgerald was the one who decided upon the bail request for his lordship Dubois-Léclaire, which he refused point-blank. That does not automatically say anything about the outcome of the case, but it is always an indicator of the course a trial might take.” He lowered his voice a little. “It is rumored that Lord Fitzgerald wasn’t even on the duty roster for the Tribunal but was appointed subsequently. At request from the very top.”

  Sure he was, Alex thought maliciously. High Judge Fitzgerald had been on Belaris’ list. He was one of the shareholders of the GemRock Consortium. One of those who had financed the Maria P. Carvalis Prison Camp. Of course they wanted to have a sympathizer on the Tribunal who’d steer the rest in the right direction. Alex flickered another glance at Darken, who inclined his head the smallest of fractions. He remembered it, too.

  This was going to make things a lot harder. Alex’s nerves jittered. No doubt Fitzgerald would do his best to crush Stephane, and he had very powerful backing.

  All of a sudden, Makesh stopped in the middle of the tunnel. It took Alex a second to notice the slim, white door on the left that was nearly invisible on the same-colored wall. If her brother hadn’t stopped, she might have missed it altogether.

  Makesh pressed a hidden switch, and the door opened silently into the corridor, showing a staircase winding upward.

  He kept his voice low when he turned to her. “Alex, you go up here. These stairs bring you to a door that leads directly into the courtroom where Lord Dubois-Léclaire’s trial is held. You will come out in a small alcove behind a decorative curtain. A word of caution… As soon as you’re in that alcove, you can be heard, and once you open the curtain, everyone in the room, audience and judges, will be able to see you. So make sure to only reveal yourself if that’s what you really want to do. Remember, there are several armed court marshals in that c
ourtroom, and I have no idea how they will react to the presence of an interloper, and a shaper on top of that…”

  Probably shoot first, ask questions later. Nothing new about that.

  Makesh folded his hands tightly, perhaps to keep them from trembling. “I’ll take the Lord Enforcer up to the main hall before the courtroom.” His gaze searched Darken’s. “If you want to get a true chance to be heard, a certain protocol must be observed. You need to enter the petitioner’s circle and formally present your request, then wait for the court to grant it. If you just spring at them from the alcove, I don’t think High Judge Delormes will be very prone to hear you out. Plus, you’d run the risk of getting incapacitated by the marshals before you get out a single word.” He swallowed. “We will come out right behind the security control. There will be about twenty yards of open ground to cover to get from the secret door into the courtroom.”

  Alex shivered. Twenty yards. It sounded so little. She would be able to cover that distance in less than a second. Darken was slick and fast, too, but if he was stopped before he could get into the courtroom, it would be all over.

  So this was it. The moment of truth. Again.

  She shivered more violently and squashed the fabric of her black pants between her fingers.

  “It will work.” Darken’s warm hand touched her cheek, lifted up her chin. His deep voice was low but reassuring. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes for a brief second.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  A small, wicked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Trust me.”

  Alex huffed an exasperated laugh. “Haven’t I heard that before?”

  “And we’re still here, aren’t we?” He winked at her.

  Fair point. They were still there. Bloodied but unbowed.

  Darken grabbed her waist and crushed her to him for a quick, passionate kiss that cocooned her in threads of delicious heat, melting the cold worries for a brief instant. His lips tasted of hot summer nights, spiced wine and strawberry tarts slathered with cream. They tasted like a promise.

  He stepped back way too soon but held on to her hand for a second longer and pressed a kiss onto her knuckles. “Break a leg, sweetheart.”

  “Careful there, sugar,” Alex drawled with a weak smile. “I might just take that literally.” Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt you,” Makesh pressed beside them. “But we really have to go.” He nudged her toward the staircase. “Go, Alex.”

  When he stepped away to guide Darken along, Alex reached out and took hold of his arm. He blinked at her in question.

  Alex bit her lip. “Makesh, I don’t know how to ever repay you for this. I know what you’re risking here.”

  With a wobbly smile, he covered her hand with his and gave it a light squeeze. “That’s what family is for, isn’t it?”

  A soft warmth filled Alex’s chest and tears stung her eyes. He had no idea what these simple words meant to her. Then again, maybe he did.

  “Thanks,” she whispered, returning the squeeze. Casting one last, desperate glance at Darken, she turned and climbed up the stairs as quickly as her battered legs allowed. She felt the door closing behind her and suppressed another shudder.

  It would work. It had to work. It just had to.

  At the top of the stairs, she had to take a quick break to catch her breath, sure that everybody in the courtroom would otherwise hear her labored breathing. Cursed, damn body!

  Once she was good, she cracked the door open and quickly slipped into the small space behind a heavy red curtain which was just wide enough to shelter her, and only if she stood very still.

  Voices rang out from the other side of the curtain, Stephane’s name coming up almost immediately.

  Very well. At least she was in the right place.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “…NO signs of a forceful struggle, no major external trauma,” a slightly nasal male voice was saying in a monotonous drone that suggested he was reading something out loud. “There were a few light contusions on the victim’s back, but their dispersion suggests they were the result of a fall rather than injuries caused by a weapon or a human hand and they were definitely not the cause of death. We couldn’t find any strangulation marks, either, and…”

  Someone was citing from Debayne’s autopsy report. Alex held her breath and took the tiniest step forward. Makesh’s poignant warning came back to her, but she silenced it ruthlessly. Aware that she was playing with fire, she gently tugged at the edge of the curtain and risked a peek into the courtroom.

  She sucked in a breath. The room was big, at least as big as the theatre hall she’d once been to in her childhood, and completely paneled with a smooth, dark-brown wood sealed with a glowing finish. Along the side walls, between ornate columns supporting the high ceiling, decorative red velvet curtains, like the one she was hiding behind, dripped down to the floor every few feet, like gaudy rose petals strewn over dry branchwood.

  Several armed court marshals stood at attention along the walls. Alex counted at least twelve.

  The back of the room was occupied by more than two dozen rows of chairs packed to bursting point with trueborn lords and ladies in fine suits and dresses, all spellbound by what was going on at the front—as if this were merely an entertaining theatre play, Alex thought disdainfully, and not someone’s life at stake.

  At the far end of the room, where all eyes were trained, the judge’s bench rose in a semi-circle on an elaborate wooden platform, seating thirteen men and women in long, black velvet robes with bright scarlet braids and stiff white collars, all way past their prime. The entire antiquated Tribunal, pulled out, dusted off, and gussied up for the occasion.

  They all wore tightly-curled, long, white wigs which fell to their shoulders.

  Seriously? Wigs? How antique! They were probably supposed to make the Tribunal look impressive, but, Sweet Jester, it was a wonder the courtroom wasn’t doubling up with laughter at the sight of them. Trueborns and their freaking traditions.

  The air smelled so strongly of wig powder and perfume, Alex had to fight to hold in a sneeze.

  In the middle of the bench, three seats were elevated for the Head Tribunes whose robes were even more embellished than that of the rest, with scarlet cuffs and heavy gold chains sporting round medallions on their chests. The one on the highest seat in the dead center had to be First Tribune, High Judge Delormes, the one Makesh had told them about.

  He was an old man with ruddy cheeks and bushy white eyebrows protruding from a face heavily lined with age. Small, round glasses perched on the tip of his fleshy nose, yet the eyes behind those glassy circles weren’t dull or tired, they were sharp like those of a sniper sighting someone through the scope of a rifle. Hawk’s eyes. So that was the man all their lives depended on. Just great!

  On his right, the Second Tribune, who could be none other than Roukewood’s puppet Fitzgerald, looked pale and doughy in comparison, with a long, thin nose on a narrow face that was turned up as if he were constantly smelling something rotten.

  On his other side was a woman in her sixties with a stern, heavily made-up face, eyebrows penciled, lipstick on. Third Tribune Marlène de Chevalier. Stiff, iron-gray hair peeked out from under her white wig and a massive pearl necklace put her squarely in the conservative corner. If she was from the South, she was most likely a voter of Senator Devilier. They probably couldn’t expect much sympathy for Stephane from that direction.

  Behind the bench, slightly recessed on the wall, hung a huge gold-rimmed painting depicting the Blind Child, a blindfolded, curly-haired toddler holding up a golden toy scale in one and an oversized judge’s hammer in the other cubby fist. Yeah, if only this were a children’s game…

  Alex unglued her eyes from the Tribunal. To their left, a tall, mournful-looking fellow with thin, dark hair in an unadorned black robe slumped behind a small desk. The state’s prosecutor, Alex assumed. He was the one bringing the charges; that
was about everything Alex knew about his job.

  Beside him, a young weed of a man with glasses wearing a coroner’s overall perched in the witness stand, holding onto a black folder while his mouth moved incessantly. “…skin scales of the defendant could be found on the victim’s fingers—although not under the nails—indicating physical contact shortly before the death occurred…”

  Finally, across from the Tribunal, with his back to the audience and protected by a wall of bulletproof glass, Stephane stood inside the dock. From her position, Alex could see his profile and his hands, cuffed together at his front by tempering rings. Even in the washed-out, dark-red prisoner’s uniform, he managed to project a regal air. You had to admire the man. He was facing a murder rap and here he was, appearing not the least bit cowed. Instead, his face radiated calm composure and fierceness. No sign of fear.

  Two stuffy men in black robes with yellow advocate sashes, who had to be Stephane’s lawyers, sat at a table to his side. They both looked about as happy as two men convicted to shovel dung for the rest of their lives—with their bare hands. If their expressions were any indication of how well the trial was going for Darken’s brother, they could already throw the helve after the hatchet.

  Alex bit the inside of her cheek.

  “In summary, it can be stated that the cause of death could not be ascertained beyond any doubt.” The coroner was finally wrapping up. He cleared his throat. “Based on the signs of paralysis, however, and the traces of enriched toxins in the blood, I would say that the most likely cause was poisoning.” A brief pause. “Only what poison was used, we could not clearly identify. It was not one of the common poisons we typically deal with and which we can find in our databases.”

  On the judge’s bench, High Judge Fitzgerald leaned forward and looked at the witness over his neatly folded hands. “So, it is your professional assessment that the victim was poisoned?”

  The medic swallowed and straightened his shoulders, holding the folder between stiff fingers. “The evidence would suggest so, yes.”