by Queen, Nyna
But Stephane wasn’t ready to give up yet. “Your Honors,” he beseeched the Tribunal. “If you check the databases in the guardaí headquarters, you will find that all the information given to us by Belaris is right there.”
“Oh yes,” Fitzgerald scoffed before anybody else could take up the word. “Belaris. The rogue Forfeit who first betrayed his sacred oath of loyalty to the Order, then broke into the guardaí headquarters all by himself—something that no one has ever done before—and was murdered in there without the public ever hearing so much as a single word about it. This is by far one of my favorite parts from your story.”
Alex clenched her hands into fists. The fucking, mobbed-up bastard had probably taken part in the hush-up himself.
Stephane looked down his nose at the crooked judge with a revulsion that had no equal. “I do understand why you wouldn’t have any interest in this information being revealed, your Honor. Considering that your own name is on that list, too…”
The sharp sound of people drawing shocked breaths cut the air.
A chair creaked as High Judge Delormes surged to his feet. His face had turned as red as a beetroot. Beside him, Fitzgerald looked suitably shocked.
“Milord! This is going too far! Isn’t it bad enough to accuse your opponent and—the Great Mother have mercy—our Prime? Now also a member of this honorable Tribunal? What comes next? Do you have no sense of shame at all?”
Stephane was grabbing the top of the door to the prisoner's box so tightly it had to hurt. “Your Honor, I know how all of this must sound to you. Believe me, at first I was just as outraged and incredulous as you are now, but—”
“Stop, for the sake of dignity, just stop! You are a disgrace to your family and to this Tribunal, milord. Don’t embarrass yourself any further. Think of your children.”
For the first time since Alex’s arrival, a cloud of worry darkened Stephane’s features. “Your Honor, I beg you, on my life and my honor, if you were to open an investigation into my claims, you will find more than enough evidence supporting them. I assure you that—”
“I've had enough of this!” High Judge Delormes snubbed him furiously. “I am a patient man, milord, but making baseless accusations against innocent members of the elite to cover up your own abhorrent deeds?” He shook his head in disgust. “This is degrading.”
The presiding judge sat back down and dabbed his sweaty brow with a lacy handkerchief.
Fitzgerald gladly seized the reins again. “I believe it is time to bring this undignified charade to an end.” He pointedly glanced at Stephane. “Unless you can present some real evidence for your position…?”
“As a matter of fact, we can.”
The soft, deep voice rolled into every corner of the chamber, silencing all murmurs. Every single head in the courtroom turned toward the door.
Darken was leaning against the dark wood with his hands in his pockets, hot as a devil conjured right from the deepest bowels of hell.
Relief flooded Alex’s limbs with such staggering force that her legs forgot they had bones, turning into wet cotton, and she had to clutch the wall to keep herself upright. Sweet Jester, she hadn’t even heard the door. Why did he keep on doing this to her?
Another collective gasp of shock traveled through the courtroom, followed by the click click click of half a dozen weapons being cocked.
Darken slowly pulled his hands out of his pockets and calmly raised them at his sides, showing his empty palms as he detached himself from the door and stepped forward into the aisle between the rows of chairs. Around him, people instinctively peeled backwards in their seats, leaning out of his reach, like a jacket being unzipped.
Stirred up by the sudden commotion, Stephane craned his neck around inside the prisoner’s box. The short twinge of relief in his eyes at the sight of Darken was instantly replaced by a deep-seated worry that was echoed in Alex’s bones.
Interestingly enough, Roukewood seemed more mildly interested in this development than actually concerned, as if he were bracing himself for a most entertaining spectacle. Of course, he had no idea that Darken hadn’t come alone, and that Alex was no longer in his torture cell, being sliced open for her precious venom.
On the judge’s bench, Fitzgerald’s eyes bulged. “Darken Forfeit!” he exclaimed. “Marshals! Seize him!”
None of the court marshals moved toward Darken, although a couple of them raised their weapons a little higher.
Darken lifted an elegant, dark eyebrow. “On what grounds?” he asked pleasantly, strolling forward until he stood right at the edge of the petitioner’s circle, set off by a golden ring inlaid in the floor. Never taking his eyes off the judge's bench, he crossed the line.
The marshals fidgeted, waiting for a command by presiding judge Delormes. You could tell that they were all well-trained men and women, but if Delormes didn’t say anything soon, one of them would shoot. Alex could taste the thick tension in the air. More than one spellgun was trembling, and so were the fingers on the triggers.
High Judge Delormes frowned at Fitzgerald, clearly waiting for an explanation.
Feeling all the eyes on him, Fitzgerald swallowed. Since the Order’s blacklist was a completely internal affair, and Darken hadn't been tried for anything, he couldn’t exactly refer to Darken’s rogue status without provoking a lot of delicate questions. Questions he couldn’t answer without confirming parts of Stephane’s statement.
Fitzgerald grappled for a second before he got his act together and bent forward, a cold glitter in his eyes. “According to the Forfeit Act established under military law no Forfeit may enter a public building without wearing proper restraining rings.” He sniffed. “For the protection of the general public.”
High Judge Delormes’ gaze swung back toward Darken. “That is indeed correct,” he confirmed.
Darken’s face was hard, but he obligingly raised his arms before his body, wrists up, and bowed his head. “Whatever pleases the court.”
No, no, no, you idiot! Alex thought feverishly in her hide-out. Don’t!
Three marshals came forward with visible hesitance, approaching Darken who, despite standing there alone and without weapons, looked anything but tame. On the contrary.
A moment later, a pair of tempering rings clicked shut on his wrists. Alex felt as if a chain had been put around her neck. A cold shiver ran down her spine. If this went wrong, they had Darken by the balls. No weapons, no magic, no way to get out of here. He had just delivered himself to the hangman.
The marshals backed away as quickly as they could without appearing to run. Darken didn’t deign to look at them even once, his dark gaze still fastened on the Tribunal.
Delormes peered at him over the rim of his glasses with his sharp raptor bird eyes. “You are standing in the petitioner’s circle, Lord Enforcer. That gives you certain rights. Though please bear in mind that this is an official court hearing, and that I do not take kindly to my court being disturbed for no good reason. That said, what is your desire?”
Darken slightly bowed to him again. “I apologize for the interruption, your Honor. I am here to present evidence on my brother’s behalf. I understand that under Section 122 of Arcadia’s Code of Criminal Procedure, anyone can come forward and offer evidence for the accused as long as the Hearing of Evidence hasn’t been closed.”
Bless you, Makesh. Alex released a tiny breath. I knew I could count on you. Her brother must have taken the time to brief Darken on the relevant laws before sending him on his way.
The presiding judge’s bushy white eyebrows rose half an inch. “That is accurate.” He folded his hands. “Very well then, what is the evidence you wish to present?”
Darken swiftly crossed the distance to the witness stand, throwing only a short glimpse at Stephane as he passed the dock and an even shorter one at Tyler, who had lost all color at the arrival of his brother. When their eyes connected, Darken’s face barely changed, but Alex saw the flash of pain in them as pronounced as if he had screame
d it out. But right now was not the time for sorrow or reproaches.
Once inside the witness box, Darken reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, transparent plastic bag. Inside was a thumbnail-sized, black, blood-covered device. He held the bag aloft on one corner, showing it to the Tribunal. A few people in the audience retched.
“This, you Honors, is a subcutaneous microphone, a halfborn device used primarily by the Peace Office and by PI firms. It’s a listening device that is implanted under the skin of an agent and can either transmit real-time data or be connected to a very small memory chip.” He extracted a miniature player, reminiscent of a handheld dictaphone, from his other pocket. “This is a recorder for playing back the data stored on such a chip.”
Alex gingerly touched the skin below her right ear where the tiny mic she’d gotten from Rachel had been implanted with Josy’s help prior to her break-in at Roukewood’s mansion. The spot still felt a little sore, although Josy had healed it after Alex had cut the mic out again in the senator’s cellar. Alex wrinkled her nose. Yes, Josy had healed it. And then chewed her out for using a crude, non-disinfected knife instead of letting the girl do it the proper way.
“Halfborn technique?” Fitzgerald sneered, finally finding his voice again. “What kind of utter nonsense is this now? Do we look like—”
High Judge Delormes made a sharp motion with his right hand, and the other man immediately fell silent.
“Halfborn or not,” said the presiding judge gruffly. “Evidence is evidence and it will be evaluated accordingly by this Tribunal. This court is impartial.”
Fitzgerald yielded graciously, although his face was rigid. “Of course, your Honor.“
Delormes motioned at Darken to go on.
“This microphone”—Darken shook the plastic bag, making the device slosh a little in the small puddle of blood, inducing a few more nauseated groans from the crowd—“was just recently used by our undercover agent and contains evidence of a conversation the content of which will show that my brother is the victim of a greater conspiracy and innocent of the act which he is accused of.”
In the back, Roukewood’s face had lost all expression. He didn’t seem quite sure what was being played yet, but he sure as hell didn’t like it.
“Your Honor,” Fitzgerald tried once more, sounding more than a little desperate now. “Are you really going to allow this farce to proceed? The witness is clearly biased in favor of the accused.”
Delormes merely spared his Second Tribune a tart glance over the edge of his glasses. “I should hope so,” he said drily. “After all, he is his brother. But biased hither or tither, this is still a court of law and the witness is well within his rights to present any evidence in favor of the accused that he got. I don’t think that I have to remind you that we’re conducting a murder trial here. All admissible evidence shall be exhausted in favor of the defendant before we make a decision—Section 35 subsection 2 of the Code. And now I want no more interruptions.”
“Forgive me, your Honor. You are absolutely correct.” Fitzgerald bowed his head in deference, yet Alex could hear him grinding his teeth all the way to her hiding place.
Darken gratefully inclined his head to the presiding judge once more. “Thank you, your Honor.”
Delormes waved his fingers. “Proceed—and be quick about it. My patience is already quite stretched.”
“As the court wishes.” Darken held the recorder aloft. “I took the liberty of already inserting the chip into the recorder and winding forward to the most relevant part of the recording. But naturally the Tribunal can review the entire recording as it pleases.”
He pressed a button with his thumb.
Alex held her breath, crossing her fingers at her sides.
At first, the only thing to be heard was a bit of static noise, then, a little distorted but still unmistakable, Roukewood’s cultivated voice spilled out of the speaker.
“Shapers,” it sneered. “Such a tough lot but at the same time … a bit of water … a bit of smoke … so easy to subdue if one knows how.”
It was followed by Alex’s raspy croak, “You’d know, wouldn’t you? You’ve tortured and killed enough of us to be an expert.”
A breathless hush fell over the audience. Roukewood, too, became very still, the smug expression restlessly wiped from his face, eyes darting wildly from one corner of the courtroom to the other.
Alex precautiously slid deeper behind the curtain while she relived her conversation with the senator before he’d left her in his torture cell to be cut up like a holiday roast. Roukewood, telling her chained self that he had expected Stephane to make a move against him, then connecting the dots and realizing that Stephane’s arrest had been arranged to present evidence against him and his accomplices. Roukewood, taking his sweet time to gloat at their failure…
When his own voice gleefully reported how he, Shinner, and Gerald would soon dominate the Council after he’d become governor of the South, and how they would rule the country to their questionable gusto, the senator couldn’t stay in his chair any longer.
“This is defamation!” he shouted, shaking with outrage.
Darken pressed the pause button.
“Clearly this is a set up meant to discredit me while taking the focus off the defendant.” Roukewood’s face was a ravaged mask of fury, making him a lot less attractive than he normally was. “This recording is obviously a fake!”
“Enough.” High Judge Delormes took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Milord,” he said to the senator, noticeably irritated by the constant interruptions. “We will discuss the question of the authenticity of this piece of evidence subsequent to its presentation. I do not wish to repeat myself again. I will not suffer any more disturbances or I will have to temporarily send you out of the courtroom. Understood?” He nodded at Darken. “Please, Enforcer, proceed.”
Roukewood lowered himself back into his chair, his face pinched into a tight grimace.
No more smuggy-smug, huh? Alex felt the strong urge to gloat a little herself, but it was much too early to crow. If Roukewood and his cohorts were able to create doubt as to the authenticity of the recording…
The conversation resumed, and Roukewood spewed his nonsense about patriotism and enemies of the country that needed to be obliterated at all cost, even at the price of human lives, especially if those lives were the lives of shapers. …we bled for this country, blah, blah, blah … sacrifices must be made for the greater good, blah, blah, blah…
And then came something Stephane hadn’t mentioned in his statement because he hadn't known about it: Roukewood, confessing that they—or, rather, that public’s sweetheart Gerald—had murdered his own father, Old Prime Willem, using shaper venom no less.
Hissed conversations sprung up in the back of the room as the members of the elite agitatedly discussed this obnoxious bit of new information. Delormes didn’t even try to silence them anymore, too busy listening to the rest of the recording himself.
For the first time, Alex scented something new in the wind, something that made hope blossom inside her like a dried-up flower that had finally been watered: uncertainty.
While she basked in that feeble ray of hope, Roukewood’s past-self capped his revelation off by admitting to also being responsible for the shaper murders of Manor Creek County. The conversation ended with him leaving Alex in the hands of his torture master. For the next few minutes, the only sounds erupting from the recorder were her own agonized screams and moans as dear Ruben set to his bloody work.
The lords and ladies in the audience became more and more restless, fidgeting in their seats, looking shocked and sick. When a few women seemed very short of fainting, Darken finally took mercy on them and released them with a press of his thumb.
An itchy silence fraught with tension smothered the courtroom. Clothes rustled. Someone coughed.
It took a long while before High Judge Delormes spoke again, and when he did, he sounded deeply shaken, though
whether it was because he believed what he’d heard on the recording or because he thought it was a horrible fraud, Alex couldn’t tell.
His gaze found Darken’s. “You have given us a lot to think through, Lord Enforcer,” he said quietly. “We will have the authenticity of this recording examined and will reconvene at a later date.”
Alex’s little feeling of hope evaporated like a drop of water touching a hot cooktop. In her mind’s eye, she saw the microphone and recorder being bagged and carried away to some office lab for proper examination, opening a thousand possibilities for their precious evidence to be compromised, manipulated, or destroyed by the hands of a bribed court marshal, clerk, forensic, or even Fitzgerald in person. In any case, you could bet your bottom dollar on what the result of that examination would be. Roukewood, Shinner and Gerald’s poisoned web of corruption simply stretched too far.
They had sowed a seed of doubt, sure, but if they couldn’t feed it right now, it would wither quickly in the barren earth of prejudice that was the Tribunal’s minds.
Unfortunately, Delormes seemed determined to wrap this hearing up for the time being.
He bent forward. “Lord Roukewood, before I close the Hearing of Evidence for today, do you wish to add something on that account?”
During the remainder of the recording, the senator had gotten a hold of himself and when he rose, he was back to his confident, superior self. “Only that this poor attempt to divert the suspicion to someone else is clearly the pitiful act of a helpless, desperate man.” He put a hand on his chest, looking pained. “It deeply saddens me because I have always appreciated Lord Dubois-Léclaire as a righteous and honorable opponent, but this—this is a crying shame.”
He faced the Tribunal. “Having said that, I want to stress that I have nothing to hide.” He spread his hands in a benevolent manner as if saying, ‘you may search me’. “The Tribunal is most welcome to conduct an investigation into my affairs. As a matter of fact, I urge the Tribunal to open an investigation so that I will be able to properly clear my name. I'll gladly allow inspection of all my private and public matters. I can assure you, milords and ladies, you will find nothing on me—nor on his lordship Governor Shinner, or—perish the thought—our revered Prime for that matter.”