“I heard Hundred Olderhan shouting to bring the field dragons up, which was the only thing that saved the platoon. I heard him order three separate firing lines. The artillery crews kept screaming in agony and Hundred Olderhan kept shouting for replacements, ordering specific men forward by name to man the dragons. I was cowering in terror on the ground, listening as he directed that fight. I couldn’t believe my ears, he was shouting orders with such clear-headed deliberation. I’d never heard anything like it.
“My bodyguards were swearing a blue streak. Not because they were angry. They were frustrated, mostly, because they were stuck babysitting me. But even that wasn’t the whole reason. I was curled up on the ground, shaking in my robes, while they stood over me with cocked and locked arbalests, and the most amazing thing was how they were swearing. They sounded the way my brothers did when their jarrca team made some great play. The kind of play that netted the point that propelled them into a championship game. It sounds crazy, probably, but that’s what it sounded like.”
“Thank you, Magister, for your testimony,” Tisbane said formally. “If there are no direct questions from the bench, I’ll turn the witness over to the prosecution.”
Gadrial steeled herself for the moment she had dreaded for weeks.
She watched Commander of Five Hundred Ghulshan Vreel, Jasak’s Accusator, closely as he rose and left the table where he’d sat since entering the chamber. Five Hundred Vreel wasn’t a typical Andaran. He was tall, certainly, but his uniform clothed a frame just shy of skeletal. His eyes were banked down coals, eyes that pierced to the quick, probing for the secrets one hid from the entire world, and Gadrial controlled a shiver by dint of sheer willpower as those eyes focused upon her.
“Magister Gadrial,” he said slowly, his voice as cadaverous as the rest of him, “your testimony’s been extremely complimentary to Sir Jasak Olderhan.”
Gadrial didn’t rise to the bait, whatever he was fishing for; she merely looked at him, waiting for him to make his next point.
“Your status as a theoretical magister is beyond reproach. And despite your relative youth, you’ve suffered great adversity, great emotional pain. Your professional and personal lives have been a source of both satisfaction and upheaval, none of it your fault.”
Again, she merely looked at him, not liking what he was doing, but unsure where he was going with it.
“I would say-as would most people-that you’ve earned a little joy, a little personal happiness.”
“What is your point, Sir?” she asked coolly.
“My point is merely this. Your name has been linked with Sir Jasak Olderhan’s in more than a professional capacity. There are rumors, Magister Gadrial, that a romantic liaison is part of your relationship. A woman who aspires to becoming Duchess of Garth Showma is likely to say a great many things in defense of the man destined to be the Duke of Garth Showma.”
Gadrial narrowed her eyes. His ploy was contemptible, but not entirely unanticipated. If he’d hoped to break her, he’d be waiting a long, long time.
“Whatever the status of my relationship with Hundred Olderhan may be, Accusator Vreel, these are the facts. I wasn’t in love with Sir Jasak Olderhan the day Shevan Garlath shot an unarmed Sharonian engineering professor through the throat and started a war. I didn’t ‘aspire’ to anything, that day, except survival. As to my testimony today, might I inquire whether or not the lie-detection alarm has gone off even once during my testimony?”
“That is beside the point, young woman-”
“I am a senior Magister of the Hood, Sir. I’ll thank you to remember that when you address me.”
“You’re an aspiring gold-digger angling for the Olderhan billions, an aristocratic title, and a secure social position for life, which throws suspicion on every syllable you’ve uttered! And as a Magister of the Hood, you’re more than skilled enough to short-circuit a simple lie-detection spell!”
Gadrial stared at him for several silent seconds while the officers of the court held their collective breaths, waiting for the explosion.
They weren’t prepared for what they got instead.
“A secure social position for life?” She laughed out loud and shook her head, her expression incredulous. “Rahil’s toenails, d’you think I want to be saddled, snared, and roped into a lifetime of impossible duties and obligations to a social code I find suffocating, medieval, and positively insane? You think I want to be trapped in a marriage where every move I make, every word I say, every garment I wear is dictated by a thousand years of protocol? Where any children I might bear would be treated like little automatons to be programmed like-like ants in a hill? My God, if Jasak Olderhan wanted to marry me, he’d have to go down on his knees and swear to me that my life would remain mine. That I’d live by Ransaran precepts unless I chose to honor that crazy hodge-podge of rules you Andarans call a society.
“And he’d have to put down in writing that my career and my family would be under my control, not some cabal of aristocrats with nothing better to do than sit around trying to figure out how to control one another’s lives every waking moment!”
She leaned back in her chair. “Sorry, Accusator, but the only people who think being part of the Andaran aristocracy is the most fabulous lifestyle in the world are other Andarans. And I am not, thank Rahil, an Andaran.”
The accusator stared down at her, eyes wide in his cadaverous face. Then he started to laugh.
“My dear,” he said, “you’re thoroughly and delightfully Ransaran. If Hundred Olderhan does ask you to marry him, do us all a favor and hold him to that set of demands. I believe you just might be a breath of fresh air.”
He smiled at her a moment longer, then glanced at the officers of the court.
“No further questions, gentlemen.”
“You may step down, Magister Gadrial.”
She blinked in surprise. “That’s it?”
“For now, Magister.” Count Sogbourne smiled. “If we need to recall you, we’ll be in touch. Please be assured that your testimony’s been most helpful. And, ah, rather educational, as well. It’s always enlightening to see one’s self through the eyes of others.”
Her cheeks scalded. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, Sir.”
“Of course not. You’re Ransaran.”
She blinked. Then she realized that, in his stodgy Andaran way, he was teasing her, and she grinned.
“I could almost come to like an Andaran or two, now that you mention it,” she told him.
“That’s very flattering, Magister Gadrial. But now, much as it pains me, we must return to our very serious duties and you, I fear, must return to yours.”
She bit her lip; then drew a swift breath and nodded. “Yes, you do. And so do I. You know where and how to reach me. I’m not planning to go anywhere,” she added grimly.
She retrieved her business case, nodded to the officers of the court, the attorneys, and even the long-suffering clerk in the corner, whose eyes widened when she included him in her silent farewell. She dropped a solemn wink on the flustered young soldier, then squared her shoulders, marched out of the courtroom…
…and promptly dissolved into tears. She was desperately afraid for Jasak, for his future, and the life she hoped to somehow build with him, if these mad Andaran officers didn’t destroy him over their mad, medieval rules and if his mad Andaran pride didn’t stand in the way of asking her, if things went against him.
She scrubbed her eyes with a savage gesture, furious with herself for falling apart like this. She respected the men on that court-martial board. Under other circumstances, she might even have liked one or two of them. As it was…