by Queen, Nyna
First Tribune High Judge Delormes nodded his head. “Noted. If there are no more questions for the witness, he is dismissed.”
Nobody protested when the coroner left the witness box and was led from the room by one of the many court marshals.
Alex let her eyes wander over the audience. They immediately zoned in on Roukewood in a seat not too far from her hide-out, lounging in his chair, relaxed and smug, very short of openly cheerful. Well, of course he was, the sick son of a bitch! Thought he had Stephane in his pocket, didn’t he?
Well, the final chapter hasn't yet been written, bastard!
Every muscle in Alex’s body tensed, tingling with the desire for violence and revenge. She clenched her fingers to keep her claws sheathed inside her human skin. Oh, how she wanted to jump over and snap his complacent neck.
And there, a good distance from the senator at the opposite side of the aisle in the front row was Tyler, looking small and pale and lost. Anyone taking a glance at him might assume that it was the worry for his brother that was making him appear so sickly, but Alex knew better. Miserable little traitor!
After the witness had left, Delormes fixed his severe hawk’s gaze on the prisoner’s box.
“The defendant may speak now,” he announced and peered at Stephane over the rim of his round glasses. “Lord Dubois-Léclaire, you have heard the accusation. How do you plead?”
The lawyers were moving restlessly in their seats. Ignoring their discomfort, Stephane raised his chin and stared the Tribunal down without a slip of doubt in his expression.
“Not guilty.”
A soft murmur went through the crowd in the back.
Fitzgerald narrowed his eyes. “So, it is your contention that you did not kill Lord Debayne in your house.”
Alex rolled her eyes. That's what ‘not guilty’ usually means, isn’t it?
“That is indeed my contention,” Stephane agreed coldly, sounding only a tad more polite than Alex in her thoughts.
“Ah.” The corrupt judge made a sound as though he had already discovered a grave contradiction in those few words. “But you won’t deny that he was in your house when he was murdered, will you?”
Stephane’s mouth curled. “He was not murdered there, your Honor, but of course, I won’t deny that he was in my house. I invited him there.”
“And when you did so, you had not planned to corner and kill him?”
A muscle in Stephane’s jaw twitched in annoyance. “No, your Honor, I had not. I merely wished to speak with him. I—”
“So, it wasn’t a planned murder then, more an act in the heat of the moment, yes?”
“For the Great Mother’s sake!” Stephane snarled, finally losing his patience. “Edward was my friend. Why in the Great Mother’s name would I kill him?”
A flicker of triumph flared in Fitzgerald’s eyes, there and gone, before he caught himself. “That is a very good question, milord. And we may actually have the answer to that.”
Stephane’s eyes narrowed in bewilderment. The other judges on the Tribunal looked just as puzzled as he did.
Clearly enjoying himself in the role of the leader of the proceedings, Fitzgerald sat back slowly and rubbed his thumbs and forefingers together. “I call to the stand, Lady Ann Debayne-Gulberg, the sister of the deceased.”
A long moment passed before a woman rigidly rose from the audience, her face so corps-white she could have climbed right out of a grave herself.
Alex had seen Lady Debayne-Gulberg before, at the Summerball and at the Flora Canis Rae when she had identified Edward to be the guy who had spoken to Lord Ferhus in the maze before the governor was murdered. Like her brother, she was red-haired, but where his hair had leaned toward copper, hers had a stronger brownish tint to it—chestnut, or whatever people called it. Although she was a lot fuller than her brother had been, she seemed rather scrawny at the moment, shrunken and paled by grief. A black mourning dress clasped her frame, and her eyes were red and puffy. Well, her brother was dead, what would you expect?
Shaking visibly on her legs, Lady Debayne-Gulberg made her way over to the witness-box and fell more than sat onto the seat.
While High Judge Delormes took her personalia, her eyes darted over to Stephane again and again. When the presiding judge was done with the formalities, he invited Fitzgerald to proceed with a sweep of his hand.
Alex nervously rubbed the thin fabric of her pants between her fingers and curbed the strong urge to lean forward a couple more inches since that would expose her.
Fitzgerald took his time to ponderously clear his throat. “Milady, isn’t it true that your brother, before his shocking death, told you whom he intended to vote for in the coming election?”
Ann’s eyes turned as big as those of a deer caught in the headlights. “Y-yes,” she stuttered. “T-that is true.”
“And was that man the here present Lord Dubois-Léclaire?”
Ann’s chin trembled. When she finally answered it was so low, it was almost inaudible. “N-no.” Her eyes grazed Stephane again, almost apologetically.
Stephane blinked in surprise. More mutters filled the air as people bent their heads together, whispering to one another.
“No?” Fitzgerald repeated louder, making big eyes as if he hadn’t expected that answer all along.
“No,” Ann whispered again, then added quickly. “But I truly don’t believe that Lord Dubois-Léclaire would have—”
“Lady,” Fitzgerald cut in, sounding gentle while really just being rude. “Please limit yourself to answering the Tribunal’s questions.”
Ann became even smaller, reminding Alex strongly of a half-starved squirrel in front of a vicious weasel.
“So, if your brother wasn’t planning on voting for Lord Dubois-Léclaire, whom did he intend to vote for?”
The lady made a noise as if someone had closed a hand around her throat and were choking her. With visible effort, she forced out, “S-senator R-Roukewood,” then dropped her gaze, cheeks flushing.
Voices surged in the audience, and High Judge Delormes tapped his hammer on his table several times to demand silence.
The answer didn’t surprise Alex in the least. From what Debayne had told them before he’d killed himself, that had been part of the deal he’d made with the devil. The devil who was personified by Roukewood himself. Lifelong care for his sick son and a senator post in exchange for a loan and the promise to vote for whoever he was told to in the years to come.
Alex snuck a glance at Stephane. His face had grown so tight it seemed carved from stone. No doubt he was remembering the same.
“No further questions from my side,” Fitzgerald said softly.
Stephane’s lawyers asked a few more pro forma questions, testing the credibility of the witness, yet it soon became very clear that Lady Ann Debayne-Gulberg didn’t have it in herself to steal a pack of gum, let alone lie to a full Criminal Tribunal.
Yes, she told them, Edward had acted a bit strange lately, but he had always kept to himself, especially since the divorce from his wife. Why he had told her about his voting plans? She had not the slightest idea. It had felt like a bit of a confession to her, to be quite honest. No, he hadn’t told her his reasons for that decision, and she hadn’t dared ask since the conversation had been so awkward already. If she should guess, she would assume that he didn’t agree with Senator Dubois-Léclaire’s shaper policy, but really she had no idea. If she’d noted anything else odd? Well, Edward had recently repaid a massive loan for her. She had wondered where he got all the money from, because he was also supporting his ex-wife and his sons, but she supposed his parliamentary allowances were more than sufficient. After all, Edward wasn’t spending much money on himself these days. Had not spent much money on himself…
At that, the lady broke into convulsive sobbing and was dismissed from the stand. By then, she was so shaky someone had to support her back to her chair.
Fitzgerald folded his hands again, looking terribly serious. “You asked
for a motive, milord. I believe we have one.”
He raised his voice to be well understood even at the back of the audience. “Doesn’t it stand to reason that you learned of your friend’s intention? Anyone would understand your anger. Planning to vote for your direct opponent—such a disloyalty, and that from a close friend. Really, nobody could blame you for wanting to confront him about it.” He nodded gravely. “So, you invited him to your home, but, as things happen, the situation escalated. A fight broke out, and in the heat of the moment, well … we all know how that ended for Lord Debayne.” Fitzgerald sighed heavily. “As I said, no one can quite blame you for your rage, milord—not that it warrants murder in any case.”
Stephane looked like a lion poked with a stick: ready to snap. “Until now, I had no idea of Edward’s intention,” he said stiffly. “And even if I had, what kind of man would kill his friend for something as petty as this?”
“Oh, but that is exactly the question we are trying to answer here,” Fitzgerald replied with a thin smile. “Men kill for a lot less, milord. Believe me, we’ve seen it all in this court. Passion is a fickle thing. Often people regret what they did when anger perfused their system and, with all due respect, milord, we all know about your … anger issues.”
Stephane’s face dripped with icy trueborn contempt. “Your reasoning is flawed, your Honor. Poisoning someone in the heat of passion? This is simply ridiculous!”
Fitzgerald didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, you are absolutely right, milord. Which would, in fact, suggest that it was a planned act after all. A cold-blooded, plotted murder. Why, there really is no excuse for such an ugly deed.”
Stephane’s body started trembling with rage. “I. Didn’t. Kill. Edward!” he forced through gritted teeth.
“No?” Fitzgerald arched his eyebrows. “Well, then perhaps you wish to tell us what really happened that day?”
For a brief moment, Stephane hesitated, and Alex knew exactly why. Without any real evidence, the chance of the Tribunal believing the truth was so slim it was barely existent. But, really, what else could he do in his current situation? Refusing to give evidence now would be like confirming Fitzgerald’s theory with drums beating and trumpets sounding.
Alex flickered a nervous glance at the main door. Darken, where are you?
It couldn’t have been that far through the tunnels to the secret exit Makesh had mentioned. How much time had passed since they had separated? Fifteen minutes? More? Why wasn’t he there yet?
Behind the curtain, Stephane reluctantly began recounting the events that had led up to this very point, starting with the abduction attempt on his children a couple of weeks ago. He stuck to the truth, although he made Darken's intervention seem like a mere coincidence. He didn’t hold back on Alex’s involvement, though.
Not mincing matters, he explained to the Tribunal in detail why they had come to suspect his electoral adversaries as possible culprits, and how they had planned to expose the instigator behind the abduction attempt at the Summerball, not making a secret out of the fact that he had brought in a shaper and presented her under a fake ID as an old family friend. As expected, this revelation wasn’t particularly well received by the congregated members of the royal elite.
Watching the looks on the faces of the Tribunal and listening to the growing mutters from the audience, Alex finally understood why Stephane had so vehemently insisted that pleading their case to the authorities without any tangible evidence was a crackpot idea. Even knowing that it was the truth and having been part of the events, hearing it told like this, Alex had to admit it sounded beyond far-fetched.
“This is outrageous!” Roukewood jumped to his feet when his name was mentioned for the first time, feigning righteous anger. “I resent this unbased accusation!”
High Judge Delormes silenced him with a clack of his hammer. “Milord, this is the statement of the defense,” he said in a mild but firm tone. “Afterwards, you are more than welcome to take a stand if you so wish. Now, however, I must ask for silence.”
Roukewood bowed his head and dropped back into his chair, his smugness reaching otherworldly levels.
High Judge Delormes returned his attention to Stephane, but as intercessory as his words had sounded, Alex could tell by his stony expression that he wasn’t impressed by Stephane’s speech. Not at all.
Sweet Jester, this was all going wrong! Where was Darken? Alex glared at the door, willing him to appear. They couldn’t have caught him, could they? No! He would be there. Any minute now. Come on, sugar, hurry up!
Stephane reached the part in which Edward had swallowed the poison pill in the townhouse’s wine cellar but not before telling them about the reasons for Governor Ferhus’ murder, and how he was being put under pressure by the Master’s secret organization.
“That’s why Edward had been acting so strange all along,” Stephane said fiercely, referring to Ann’s testimony earlier. “That is also where he had all the money from.” In the audience, Lady Debayne-Gulberg burst into another flood of tears.
Next, Stephane told the Tribunal about their visit to the Maria P. Carvalis Prison Camp—although he gallantly neglected to mention Blayde’s input—which led to the discovery of the terrible secret that had waited behind those thick prison walls. So far, most people had still quietly listened—mainly, Alex suspected, because it made for such a grandiose story—but the fact that the Prime’s very own GemRock Consortium was supposed to be selling fake jewels created from the skin of tortured shapers seemed entirely too much to take for most of those present. The back of the courtroom began to buzz like an angry wasps’ nest. Even the members of the Tribunal started whispering amongst each other.
Alex clenched her teeth. Stephane was losing the Tribunal, and fast.
As if shaper skin jewels weren’t enough to swallow, Stephane went on to recount everything that Belaris had told them from inside the guardaí headquarters before he was killed there, which included the serious incrimination of Governor Shinner and Prime Gerald.
The crowd reacted with predictable outrage. There were even a couple of boos from the furthermost rows of the audience, and High Judge Delormes had to use his hammer several times before they quieted down again. Maintaining order was becoming harder. And it wasn't just the audience. The Tribunal, too, appeared absolutely stricken—well, except for Lord Fitzgerald, who looked like the cat that got the cream while deftly pretending to be just as grossed out as the rest. Marlène de Chevalier was clutching her chest, her skin almost gray under her flawless make-up. High Judge Delormes, on the other hand, had turned completely red.
Truth or not, Alex realized that mentioning the Prime’s involvement might have been a grave mistake. Soiling the name of the peoples’ darling, might have been the final step on the ladder toward Stephane’s doom.
A heavy silence followed the end of his statement.
Unsurprisingly, it was Lord Fitzgerald who was the first to recover.
“That is truly a fascinating story,” he said. “Very elaborate, too, I must admit. How you manage to shove all the blame onto your most direct opponent while going entirely scot-free yourself…” He clucked his tongue. “Quite a remarkable achievement.”
He pressed two fingers to his lips as if he were thinking hard. “One wonders why you didn’t call the guardaí when Lord Debayne, as you state, killed himself in your home. Being as innocent as you claim to be, what did you have to fear from an investigation?”
Stephane pressed his lips together. “I wanted to gather more evidence against the Master’s criminal organization first,” he said, but even Alex had to concede that it sounded like a lame excuse. “I … was worried nobody would believe me otherwise.”
"I wonder why?” Fitzgerald muttered under his breath, yet still loud enough to be heard by every single person in the courtroom. Someone in the audience snickered. Fitzgerald permitted himself a small smile before becoming serious again. He harrumphed. “Very well, milord. I suppose you have some kind of eviden
ce to support this most fanciful story of yours?” His indulgent manner made Stephane’s statement look even more ridiculous.
Stephane’s knuckles had gone skeleton-white on the door of the prisoner’s box.
“There are … memoras of the cleared out prison camp in the study of my townhouse,” he said hesitantly.
“Memoras,” Fitzgerald repeated, spacing out the words. “Of a cleaned out prison camp.” A deep frown gauged his forehead. “That cannot possibly be everything you have to offer, can it? With a story like that.”
“Call my family to the witness stand,” Stephane demanded fiercely. “They will tell you—”
“Objection!” the state’s prosecutor interjected sharply, coming to life after having been quiet for the last twenty minutes or so. “If they have no further evidence to offer other than hearsay, I honestly see no additional value in hearing them out. It can obviously be assumed that the whole story is collusive. And subjecting two minors to such a farce…” He shook his head, indignant.
Everyone looked expectantly at High Judge Delormes. “Objection sustained.”
Stephane visibly gnashed his teeth.
Alex bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her eyes sought the door again. Heat scalded her skin, followed by an icy chill. Something must have happened to Darken. Getting here couldn’t take that long. Had he been taken into custody? Or worse?
Desperation clutched her between sharp teeth. What was she supposed to do? She would never find her way through the tunnels to the secret door behind the security checkpoint without a map to guide her. And even if she managed by some stroke of luck, Darken might not even be there anymore. Nor could she just leave here and abandon Stephane to his fate. Except, right now, she couldn’t really do anything to help him, either. Although she wanted nothing more than to jump out from behind the curtain and shove the truth into the Tribunal’s collected faces, she had a feeling that the only thing that could make Stephane’s situation any worse than it already was, was the appearance of a shaper who had broken into the courthouse and loudly promoted his innocence without being able to provide any further evidence for it. Most likely, she’d be stunned into oblivion before she got out the word ‘innocent’.