by Queen, Nyna
He cleared his throat. “In a minute, I and the rest of this Tribunal will withdraw into the judge’s chamber to wait for the substitute judge and make decisions about how to proceed with this trial. Until the Tribunal returns, no one is to leave this room. I am putting you, Lord Enforcer, in charge of these people. If anyone behaves suspiciously in any way, you have my permission to disable them by whatever force you deem necessary. Do I make myself clear?”
A glowing red sheen rolled over Darken’s irises and melted into their depths. “Absolutely clear, your Honor.”
The few objections starting to rise quickly died in people’s throats as Darken slowly turned his fiery gaze at the crowd.
Clever, Alex reflected. Now, nobody in this room would so much as breathe too heavily until the Tribunal returned. Very clever, indeed.
Delormes nodded in approval. His judge’s hammer hit his desk with a loud clang. “This court is in recess.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
DARKEN raised his face to the blue sky and enjoyed the warmth of the midday sun on his skin as he walked across the court grounds of the Arcadian High Court. Inhaling deeply, he permitted himself a tiny smile. The air smelled sweet, of freedom … and possibilities.
After three wearing days of questioning and more medical tests than anyone should have to suffer in their entire lives, he had finally been pronounced physically and mentally stable by at least a dozen renowned Healers and psychiatrists and allowed to leave the prison ward of the Mental Hospital of Gota.
He was a free man. At least, for now.
Oh, he understood their caution. How could he not? This whole endeavor was a big gamble, and no one wanted anything to go wrong in its course. Darken’s future actions—and even more so any transgressions on his part—would be a key indicator of how the entire caste of Forfeits would be treated going forward.
Due to his unique position and social experience, he had unwittingly been turned into a model experiment, and he was the last person who wanted to abuse the credit of trust given to him. For the sake of all Forfeits, but also, and in particular, for his own.
The repeal of the Forfeit Act by his Honor High Judge Delormes had set events in motion the magnitude of which could not yet be remotely estimated.
Nobody really had a clue how to deal with the many Servants of Death who had been left under lock and key for so many years and had now suddenly emerged from obscurity. Years of forced seclusion had rendered many of them socially inept. Add to this their need to kill, their natural aggression and their propensity for madness, and the chaos was complete.
At the moment, there were a lot more questions than answers. One thing was pretty clear, though. The majority of Forfeits could not simply be released from the convents and unleashed on an unsuspecting world.
Yet something else was just as clear. The legal limitations that had set their caste apart from the rest of trueborn society—the laws that had prohibited them from inheriting, from marrying, and from procreating—were no longer in existence.
A lugubrious smile played upon Darken’s lips as he rubbed his right thumb over the gold-and-black tattoo on the back of his left hand. Still a sign, but no longer a cage.
Ah, Belaris, you were right. I wish you were here to see it happening.
True, many questions were still unanswered, and Darken had no illusion that the future would be easy, but it was a step in the right direction.
Right now, though, he was on official leave and wouldn’t have to think about any of that, at least not for the next couple of days.
Darken came to a halt at the back of the side building close to where the hidden trap door provided entrance to the secret tunnels beneath the court premises.
He hadn’t seen Alex since they had been separated for questioning at the court three days ago, and every fiber of him longed for her touch. His keepers had been courteous enough to let him know that her name had been cleared of the murder charge, and that she had been released the day before him.
She was free now, too. They both were.
Sweet Jester, he wanted so desperately to see her, to hold her and make sure for himself that she was okay. That all of this was real.
But there was one other thing to do first.
Since the Mental Hospital of Gota was only a stone’s throw from the High Court, and Stephane was being released from custody within the hour, he’d made the detour to pick up his brother.
Although it had been decided that Stephane would be discharged at the court grounds instead of at the Blackrock Prison to avoid him having to face the media right away, of course it had leaked somehow and even from his current position, Darken could hear the buzzing noise of the gathering press crowd behind the walls of the premises, each of them hoping to be the first to get a picture and a statement of Lancaester’s senator after his spectacular acquittal—and hopefully some more juicy details on what had happened during the trial which had already gained legendary status among Arcadia’s citizens.
Darken shook his head. Reporters. The bane of every public figure. They would hold them here forever.
Not that it was much of a secret what had gone down during the trial. After the court had closed the proceedings, the news had spread like wildfire, igniting already flared tempers. In a couple of Provinces, there had been public protests and even uprisings, especially when it got out that the top of the elite, including the Prime himself, had taken part in this affair. The guardaí had their hands full with calming the enraged population and keeping the violent riots to a minimum. It was a scandal from which the trueborn elite wouldn’t make a quick recovery.
The Tribunal had handled the entire affair remarkably well. Instead of starting an arduous witch hunt, they had announced that any co-conspirator who voluntarily incriminated themselves and contributed valuable information for the destruction of the Prime’s criminal organization could expect a substantial reduction in their sentence. As was to be expected, shortly thereafter, the horde had started beating a path to the court’s doors, all of them ready to denounce their fellow conspirators as long as they could save their own hides.
High Judge Delormes was a very smart man. He understood that sometimes it was necessary to let some small fry slip through the meshes in order to catch the big fish.
It was a shame that many of the involved parties would walk away from this free or with a minimal sentence, but since a lot of them had been coerced in ways like Edward Debayne, and it ensured that the leaders faced their proper justice, it seemed a small price to pay.
Upon learning that they had gotten busted, Prime Gerald had hung himself in one of the corner towers of the Royal Palace. Governor Arlington Shinner had been taken into custody before he could attempt something comparable and was now sitting in a jail cell next to his old comrade Roukewood in the Blackrock High Security Prison, awaiting his trial, and it did not look as though either of them would be out any time soon, if ever. Justice was finally on its way.
The trap door opened and a uniformed prison guard emerged from it. He was followed by Stephane, who blinked and raised one hand to shield his eyes from the glaring sunlight. His dark-blond hair fell onto his broad shoulders in a combed, glowing wave, shining like spun gold in the sun. He didn’t look at all like a man who had just faced a grueling trial and barely gotten out with his life. After his innocence had become evident, the prison staff had probably fallen all over themselves to do his every bidding and provided him with every available comfort. Knowing his brother, he probably had to hand-shake his way out of prison and all the way from there to the court grounds. No wonder this hadn’t stayed a secret.
The guard who had accompanied Stephane respectfully bowed his head to his brother, then, a little belated, performed another bow to Darken, which wasn’t quite as deep, and vanished back through the trap door, leaving the two of them by themselves.
A wide, genuine smile spread on Darken’s face. “Brother.”
“Brother.” Stephane grinned back at him.<
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They stepped forward and grabbed each other in a fierce embrace. Relief for which no words existed seeped through Darken’s body, slowly relaxing his tight muscles and draining out the tension that had ridden him hard during these past days.
After a long moment, he leaned back and indicated his brother’s shape with an appreciative nod. “Glad to see you out of cuffs, brother.”
Stephane huffed. “I can’t even tell you how glad I am. For a moment there, I thought we might actually lose this thing.”
“I think we all did.” And just to remember how narrowly they had all escaped Death still sent a rush of cold down Darken’s spine. It was okay. They had won. It just needed some time to really sink in.
Beside each other, they slowly strolled along one of the stone paths, away from the tunnels and the aggrieving memories they evoked.
Stephane glanced at Darken from the side. “Freedom becomes you, too, brother. Is that actually a smile I see there?”
Darken said something rather uncomplimentary and succinct that made his brother guffaw with laughter. “I’m happy to see that despite everything that’s happened you’re still your pithy old self.”
“What can I say?” Darken replied drily. “I live to serve.”
Stephane stopped and held him at arms-length, his gold-green eyes warm and tear-bright. “No longer,” he whispered.
A soft smile curved Darken’s lips. “No longer,” he agreed.
They looked at each other, sharing a private moment of silent but fierce celebration.
Stephane jerked his chin toward the surging noise of the press crowd that had grown louder as they moved closer to the grounds’ walls. One of his thick blond eyebrows rose in question. “What’s all the racket?”
Darken let out a surly growl. “The vultures are already circling. Don’t ask me. It appears as though someone has babbled again.”
He flinched a little at his own comment, painfully reminded of another little canary that had twittered secret information about the family to their enemies. His fingers curled into tight fists. The sudden gloomy look on Stephane’s face told him that his brother was thinking the same.
“The funeral is on Sunday,” Darken said hoarsely. “Edalyne and Mother are making the arrangements. A small ceremony…” The words caught in his throat.
Stephane’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. When he spoke, his voice, too, was rough with tears that yet waited to be shed. “He was a misguided boy, but he was still our brother.”
Darken clutched Stephane’s arm and squeezed it. “Still our little brother.”
They rested their foreheads against each other in joined grief. There was anger amongst the grief, and pain, too. Such a betrayal wasn’t something you got over in a day. It would take some time until the grief would be clean enough to heal, but it would. Eventually, it would.
They moved on in silence, each of them dwelling on their own thoughts—and quiet regrets—until they reached a round patch of mowed grass bordered by rectangular gray stones in the middle of which a huge scarred maple spread its thick branches, providing cool shade.
Stephane leaned his back against the massive trunk and crossed his arms in front of his chest. It was his relaxed-but-cautious-politician pose. Darken tensed, having the distinct feeling that a conversation was waiting at the other end of that cautious gaze, and he wasn’t quite sure he was ready for it.
Stephane gave him a shrewd sidelong glance. “So, you and the spider, huh?”
Darken ground his teeth. Of course, this was about Alex. That was one of the topics he had wished to postpone a while longer. At least until after he’d had the chance to talk to her. He knew what he wanted—Alex, with all her teeth and claws, in every which way he could have her.
In Roukewood’s basement, she had said she loved him, too, but they never actually got the chance to discuss their relationship. His love came with a lot of baggage, he was well aware of that, his caste and trueborn heritage being merely the tip of the iceberg. There would be a lot of implications she might find difficult to swallow, and his mother wasn’t by far the worst of it. He didn’t even want to start thinking about the reaction of the media…
The look in his brother’s eyes was far too knowing. “Are you planning on making it official?”
Darken exhaled his breath. “Look, brother, I know she’s not exactly what you had envisioned for the family. She’s a shaper, and she sometimes has coarse manners and she probably has the sharpest tongue in the entire country. But you’ve come to know her, Steph. She’s also kind-hearted and she has integrity and she—”
Stephane held up both hands to stem Darken’s rushed stream of words. “Relax, old son. Do you really think I would turn away the woman my little brother is in love with?”
Darken blinked at him speechlessly, and closed his mouth.
His brother let out a pronounced sniff. “Darken, shaper or not, that woman was ready to sacrifice her life for you. That’s all I need to know.”
He lifted his shoulders. “I like her. Eady likes her. The children worship the ground she walks on. And Mother … ah, well, she’s Mother. She doesn’t like anybody,” he said with a slight grimace. “She’ll learn to live with it. As for the rest … we’ll make do, Dark. Just as we always do.” He raked a hand through his golden hair. “The Great Mother knows we’ve had practice.”
Darken’s throat was suddenly so tight, he could barely get out the words. “Are—are you serious?”
Stephane punctured him with a long look. “Of course, I’m serious.” His voice softened a bit. “We’re family. And, as far as I’m concerned, that includes her now.”
Darken swallowed with great effort. “Thank you, Steph.”
Stephane clapped him on the back and smiled. “For you, anything, little brother.” The smile deepened, changing into an almost mischievous grin. “Just give me some time to come to terms with the idea that my nieces and nephews might be little spiders.”
“Your nieces and—?” Darken sputtered. “Sweet Jester, you’re way ahead of time.”
“Who knows?” Stephane winked at him. “Sometimes it happens faster than you think. In any case, it never hurts to be prepared.” He let out a little sigh. “Just do me a favor, will you? If you are planning on marrying her, please be so kind and warn me ahead of time, so that I can properly prepare for the scandal.”
Darken started feeling a little lightheaded. He held up his hands in defeat, palms out. “I promise you’ll be the first to know.”
“I appreciate it. And now, speaking of scandals…” An expression of theatrical dismay claimed his brother’s features as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder at the wall. “I believe it’s time to face the mob and give them my version of events before they get it from someone else.”
Darken frowned. “They are going to roast you until you feel like a chicken fresh from the oven.”
“I know.” Stephane sighed again, deeper this time. “No use in postponing it any longer, though, or there will just be more of them, and they’ll come up with even more disconcerting questions which I will have to pretend to answer.” He rubbed his hands over his face and rested his fingers on his chin, studying Darken above them. “But I really don’t see why two of us should have to suffer through that.”
Darken paused, hearing—and deeply appreciating—the silent offer underneath those words. He still hesitated. “Are you sure? They won’t give you an easy time out there, you might be glad about the backing.”
Stephane waved his hand dismissively. “After everything we’ve just been through, dealing with the press should be a walk in the park. I’ve handled worse.” He leaned forward. “So, what are you still doing here? Go. Get your girl.”
Walking backward, Darken grinned at him. “Thanks brother, I owe you one.”
“Just don’t forget that next time Mother needs one of us to pull her chestnuts out of the fire,” Stephane called after him.
Chuckling under his breath, Darken melted into
the shadows between the trees while his brother turned and went to face the newspeople.
THE sun smiled down from a pearly blue sky brushed with just the merest hint of feathery white clouds. Alex stood in the garden at Helton Manor and stared down at the flower bed where her little fig, the plant she’d brought from her flat in the Trash Bin, stretched its leaves toward the bright sunlight.
It had grown since Josy and she had planted it shortly after their first arrival here almost three months ago. It looked good. Happy. Just like she could have been.
Tears stung Alex’s eyes.
Taken roots, haven’t you? she thought with a sharp twinge in her chest. Yeah, me too.
Except those roots were about to be cut.
She knew the rules for people like her. Don’t ever get attached to things or, even worse, to people. She had them down pat. And still, this place had grown on her silently, like a thief that had snuck into her heart, step by little step, and claimed it for himself. As had the people inhabiting it.
This crazy, absolutely insane family. Max with his sweet, innocent puppy dog eyes and all his bubbly energy. Josy, who, after being wary and frightened of her at first, had eventually sent out delicate tendrils of trust, forming a bond with Alex which she cherished all the more for it. Edalyne with her steady support. Even Stephane with his rough, bristly charm.
And Darken…
Alex’s lips trembled, and a sob bubbled up from her throat. She pressed her mouth closed to stifle it, but she could no longer hold back the tears, which started leaking from her eyes in two hot streams. She angrily scrubbed at her cheeks with the backs of her hands.
Alex had never thought that she could ever think of a place as home again or of people as her family. Yet here she was. And if she truly cared for them, she would do what was best for them.