Vereesa’s heart sped up. He was too damned perceptive . . . How had she betrayed herself? Did he already know about—
“Of course I am. Why would I not be?” She forced herself to eat a bite of the pastry. The exterior was soft and chewy, the interior sweet but not cloying. Had her stomach not been in knots and her mouth not been as dry as sand, she might have enjoyed the delicacy.
“Well . . . because of what I said in court. I know that you and Aunt Jaina aren’t too keen on giving Garrosh a second chance. And I wanted you to know that I understand why. I do.”
Relief made her feel weak. “And I understand why you feel as you do.”
His face lit up, and at once she felt guilty for the prevarication. “Really?”
“You see the best in everybody, Anduin. Everyone knows that.”
His expression sobered. “I know some people don’t respect it. They think I’m too soft.”
“Hey,” she said, and caught his arm gently. “You stood up in a courtroom full of people who would eagerly kill Garrosh with their own hands, and you spoke on his behalf. Soft people do not have that kind of courage.”
His irritation vanished, replaced by a winning smile. The boy is going to break hearts one day. If he lives long enough. “Thank you, Vereesa. That means a great deal, especially when it comes from you. And . . . honestly, it’s a little surprising. I’m afraid I count you among those who’d like to kill Garrosh with their own hands.”
“No, I would not. I believe in the wisdom of this trial, and I believe the celestials will do what is right.”
“I’m—really glad to hear that.”
As they walked together back to the courtroom, Vereesa felt a fresh rage at Garrosh Hellscream, for turning her into someone who would lie to a fifteen-year-old boy.
To their surprise, a pandaren guard was at the entrance, gently refusing everyone admission. Varian was talking to him, becoming more agitated, then finally turning away. He caught sight of Vereesa and Anduin approaching, and waved them to hurry up. His face was thunderous, and Vereesa felt sweat break out on her brow. Could he have discovered . . . ? No. If he had, he would be attacking her himself right now.
“What is it?” she asked, trying to sound curious and concerned, but not too much so.
“Court is closed for the rest of the day,” Varian said brusquely. “Anduin, come with me. Vereesa, you can return to Violet Rise if you wish.”
“Of course,” said Vereesa. She did not do so immediately. On the pretext of finishing the bun, she lingered where she could look inside the temple. Taran Zhu, Baine, and Tyrande seemed to be waiting for Anduin and his father. Baine began to speak. Varian crossed his arms and set his jaw. Anduin looked confused as he listened, and unable to contain himself, Varian started shouting at Baine. Taran Zhu said something, and Varian turned to shout at him and Tyrande as well, while Anduin tried to calm things down.
“Ranger-General,” said the pandaren guard. “Respectfully—this is not for your eyes.”
She felt heat rise in her face, and nodded. “Of course. I apologize.” She turned and walked away, wondering what new tactic Baine was going to employ to try to wring sympathy from the August Celestial jury for a mass murderer.
Vereesa clenched her fists and strode off. Twilight could not come swiftly enough for her.
“What’s going on?” Anduin asked as he looked from Taran Zhu to Tyrande to Baine and finally to his father. His father’s was the only expression he could read; Varian was extremely upset by something.
“Anduin,” Varian said, “Baine has asked . . .” A muscle in his jaw tightened. “Light blind me, I can’t even say it!”
Baine stepped forward. “Your Majesty, I wish to thank you for even bringing the prince here.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” muttered Varian. “I’m this close to marching him back home to Stormwind.”
“But—what—” Anduin began.
Baine flicked an ear. “I have been asked to make a request.”
“Who asked—” Anduin started, but the words died in his throat. All at once he knew who, and he knew what. There was only one question. “Why?”
“I don’t know why he wants to speak with you,” Baine said, and his ear flicked again in obvious frustration. “Only that he does. He says you are the only person he will talk to.”
“More like the only person who would talk to him,” said Varian.
Anduin placed a hand on his father’s arm. “I haven’t said I would yet, Father.” He looked at Taran Zhu. “Is something like this even allowed in the trial?”
“Under Pandaren law, I determine what is permissible in this trial, young one. Chu’shao Bloodhoof approached me some time ago, and I meditated on this. I instructed him to wait until after you had given your testimony. Both Accuser and Defender have waived their rights to ask you to testify any further, so both have something to gain and to lose.”
“Being blunt,” said Baine, “you are known as a kind and compassionate human, Your Highness. It would benefit my case if you were to befriend Garrosh and exercise your right to speak of it, and harm my case if you were to turn against him and speak of that. Chu’shao Whisperwind faces the same conundrum, only reversed.”
“So why not just forbid it?”
“Because Garrosh is considering breaking his silence in court if you do so,” said Tyrande. “That means I would get a chance to question him directly, and that could strongly help my case.”
“And depending on what happens in your conversations, it could strengthen mine,” Baine said. “As I said, it’s a gamble.”
“I cannot force Garrosh to speak in court, but I feel it would be an important thing if he did,” Taran Zhu said, “no matter what happens. No one could say he did not have a chance to speak, then.”
“So it’s all on my shoulders,” Anduin said. “You’re really not giving me much of a choice, are you?”
“You don’t have to do this,” Varian said. “You know I’d rather you didn’t. I think you’ve been through enough.”
“Then why didn’t you just say no, Father?”
“Because you’re of an age to decide for yourself—and it’s got to be your choice,” Varian said. “As much as I wish it weren’t. I had to bring you the option. You can see Garrosh, or never have to see him again, if you’d like.”
That surprised Anduin, and he gave his father a small, grateful smile. He thought for a moment, trying to calm the flood of conflicting emotions.
He thought again of the bell’s pieces crashing down on his vulnerable body, of the hate on Hellscream’s face, and his bones ached in response. To never again see Garrosh, to sidestep a deliberate invitation to pain—oh, that was alluring. Garrosh had done nothing at any point to indicate anything but contempt and loathing toward Anduin, and there had been ample opportunities. The prince owed him nothing. He’d already spoken more kindly of the former warchief than anyone had any right to expect. He’d done enough to help save the life of someone who had been all too eager to take his.
And yet . . .
Anduin recalled Garrosh’s reaction when he thought the prince dead. Not gleeful or gloating, as one might suspect, but contemplative. And the weariness in Garrosh’s posture right here in the courtroom.
What had Garrosh been contemplating at those moments? What emotions was he experiencing, to reach out to a priest? Might he be feeling remorse?
The ache in his bones receded slightly, and Anduin arrived at a decision. He looked at the faces of those assembled, each one a different race and in a different relationship to him—his human father, a night elven heroine, a pandaren guardian, and Baine . . . tauren friend. Unexpected by anyone’s reckoning, never spoken of—but true.
“Someone in trouble has asked me to speak with him. How, Father, could I say no, and still stand in the Light?”