Isaura’s silver eyes grew wide. “To the Southlands? I am going south?”
It is as your mother desires, Princess. You will go and observe. She wishes this. She wishes you to bring the ruby replica so you may aid in the recovery of that Truestone. A certain pleasure drifted through the sullanciri’s thoughts. In there you will learn, Princess, learn much that will determine the future.
Isaura started to smile, then a shiver shook her. She had never ventured outside Aurolani domains. While she hungered to see the world her mother had described—no matter its faults—the prospect daunted her. She feared her reactions but, far worse, she feared disappointing her mother.
She nodded. “I shall do as I am bidden, Lord Neskartu.”
Of course you shall, Princess. The swirling of colors in his form quickened. And you, Vionna?
The pirate looked at the egg, then sighed. “It seems the custom to do as one is bidden. I shall not disappoint.”
Very good. The alternative would have been unpleasant. The sullanciri let an arm flow out to the left. Come and enjoy the rewards the empress offers her allies. Tonight you shall be feasted, and tomorrow you shall earn even greater favor.
19
Princess Alexia smiled carefully as she sat in the audience chamber where Crow’s trial had begun. The room was not exactly small, but was far smaller than the palace’s throne room. Unlike the throne room, this chamber had not undergone extensive restoration. While it still featured strong columns upholding a vaulted roof, the walls had not been covered with wooden panels. Tapestries depicting ancient history, a few in serious need of repair, covered them instead.
At the narrow end of the rectangular room, a set of three thrones had I been placed, with the centermost pushed slightly back. In it sat Prince Linchmere. Though Alexia knew him to be in his mid-thirties, the man’s soft and I unremarkable features belied his age. Of average height and on the considerably rounder side of lean, even the fierce visage into which his mask had been worked could not supply him strength or presence. When he listened to eviI dence, he listened distractedly, and the princess was fairly certain that at least I once he had fallen asleep.
Augustus, wearing a thin, black courtesy mask, took the throne at Linchmere’s right hand, placing him closest to Alexia. Furthest was Queen Carus of Jerana, a small woman with black hair and restless dark eyes. She wore an embroidered gown of light blue, and had been given a lacy courtesy mask dyed to match. In direct contrast to Linchmere, she listened to things closely and questioned witnesses sharply. She savaged Cabot Marsham as the man testified to things he had said before the Council of Kings a quarter century before, and clearly had studied Jeranese records of the proceedings as she called for constant clarifications of his statements.
Crow sat in the prisoner’s docket, with iron shackles securing his feet. He’d been washed and had pulled his white hair back into a tail knotted with black leather. He’d only been allowed simple clothing, but did not appear at all uncomfortable in it, save when a cold draft touched him.
So far the trial had been going well. Marsham had clearly been the cornerstone of the prosecution, but Queen Carus pointed to inconsistencies between what he had said before and what he was telling them now. Moreover, she.pointed out, correctly, that his only knowledge of events had come through conversations with Hawkins. This reduced the whole of his testimony to the level of hearsay, which she was not inclined to countenance.
While early testimony by two court mages—one Vilwan-trained—had strongly linked Crow with Hawkins and suggested they were one and the same, beyond that the prosecution faltered. It seemed unlikely that the primary witness against Hawkins would testify. To take the stand would have left Scrainwood open to the sort of close questioning Queen Carus had given Marsham. And since Augustus had been present during the siege of Fortress Draconis where the treason had occurred, he could correct or counter exaggerations. Without that testimony, and since no one save Crow could testify to what had happened in the warrens of Boragul, the Oriosan case against him began to crumble.
Alexia watched Crow as the queen tore into Marsham and felt a bit surprised. Marsham clearly loathed Crow. The venom in his voice, the anger in his eyes, made his hatred of Crow readily apparent. Alexia had not liked the little man from the first time she’d met him, and was taking great delight in his squirming. Likewise, deeper amid the spectators, Will seemed to be enjoying Marsham’s discomfort.
Crow was not. He kept his face impassive and listened. She couldn’t tell if he felt sorry for the man, or hated him. Alexia found her gaze again and again drawn to his strong profile and the sense of peace Crow possessed. In some ways it calmed her and, yet, in others, it excited her.
Crow’s face remained still, save the couple of times when he turned slightly to glance at her. His head would incline forward, tucking his chin down until his beard touched his chest, then he would give her just the hint of a smile. That left eye would close just a whisker shy of a wink, then he would look back up and pay attention again to the court proceedings.
Every time he smiled at her Alexia had to fight to hide her own smile. It was not that she was unused to smiling at Crow. In the time leading up to the trial, she had smiled much at the mention of his name, and had even taken to toying with the gold band around her ring finger. She visited him as often as she could, and hours talking with him flew past. There were even times when she completely forgot where they were, and the reality of his captivity surprised her. At all times she pushed to portray the image of a woman deeply in love with her husband, and did not admit to anyone that all was a pretense, though many suspected and even more were certain.
She had played the role to the hilt and despite the desperation that had prompted her to fashion that solution, there had been many a pleasant moment. Alexia sorely missed the nights on the road, when she and Crow had shared a tent. The two of them had whispered together, at first telling simple things, relating stories and remembrances. They were all of the nature of campfire stories, and quite harmless. Indeed, at first their interaction was nothing more than what the two of them had shared while on the Okrannel campaign together, or on the flight from Fortress Draconis.
Things slowly had begun to shift. She recalled the question she’d asked, one she had immediately withdrawn, but Crow had answered it nonetheless. “No, Princess, this is not how I had anticipated my life running.” He went on to share what his dreams had been, his hopes, and revealed to her some of the pain he’d felt when his mask had been torn from him. His voice had tightened as it had when his broken leg had pained him, though the agony must have been much greater.
His willingness to open himself to her had surprised her. She and Perrine had shared much, but they were sisters. They had been raised together, and amid the Gyrkyme confidences were treated as sacred trusts. The Gyrkyme would prefer death to violating such a trust. Betrayal of secrets was considered a very human thing to do, so she had grown up very wary of trusting any human.
Her great-grandaunt Tatyana’s scheming nature had reinforced her unwillingness to trust men, though her uncle and cousin, Misha, had begun to erode those walls. Still, Alexia’s aloofness inspired few people to confide in her, and she felt little impetus to share with them.
Crow’s sharing fed straight back into her sense of kinship with the Gyrkyme. He trusted her implicitly. While he had protested what she had done to save him from a summary execution, his gratitude had shone forth in the confidences he shared with her.
They had been friends before the marriage charade, each having saved the other’s life several times during their brief adventures. Traveling together had deepened that friendship. Spending night after night with him, availing herself of his warmth, or just listening to him breathe, she began to find the ordinary in a man who was extraordinary. More than once she’d awakened to find herself pressed tight against his back. She’d pulled away immediately, but more slowly each time it happened, and always with growing reluctance. Visiting him in the Meredo gaol, she regretted the lack of that intimacy and more than once had awakened clutching a pillow to herself.