by Sally Green
March muttered, “Besides that, I’d like to be the one to serve it to him.”
Ambrose looked at Turturo and managed to speak with little emotion. “The princess is not hungry for power but for information. I need to get the details of the case against Edyon Foss for her.”
“Why? Your mistress is the judge, not a lawyer.”
“Princess Catherine must research the law to ensure she applies it fairly. She needs to know the details. She’s new to Pitorian laws.”
“The details come out in the trial. I’m not party to them.”
Ambrose took a moment to collect his thoughts; he couldn’t be stonewalled at each turn. “I need to see the prisoner.”
“I’ve already said that the princess is to be judge, not lawyer; you have no reason to see the prisoner.”
“We must ensure the prisoner is, in fact, Edyon Foss. The princess would hate to be brought to try a man who was supposed to be her equal only to find he was something rather less.”
“Do you know Edyon Foss?”
Ambrose now had an idea. “I’ve seen him once or twice, but March here knows him well. March is the personal servant to Prince Thelonius of Calidor and can confirm Edyon’s identity. We will see the prisoner together.”
Turturo looked like he was sucking a lemon.
Ambrose sighed wearily. “I might have guessed it. It seems that Lord Farrow is the only man here capable of making a decision.”
Turturo sat forward with a sharp look at Ambrose. He waved to an elegantly dressed man near him. “Rathlon, take Sir Ambrose and the Abask servant to the prisoner. Ensure nothing is given to the prisoner or taken from him apart from words. If the Abask says Edyon Foss is not Edyon Foss, then have the man in the cell executed for impersonating a bastard son of a prince.”
Turturo turned back to Ambrose. “You may make your visit.”
“My thanks.” Ambrose bowed, and he and March followed Rathlon out of the marquee.
MARCH
LORD FARROW’S CAMP, NORTHERN PITORIA
MARCH STOOD with Ambrose outside a small stone building at the edge of the army camp where Edyon was being kept prisoner. Rathlon had them searched and found the cloth bag containing food that March had begged and stolen from the camp. It wasn’t the best stuff to start with: some hard cheese, two bruised apples, and some fatty ham. It was hard to believe that only a month earlier he’d been at Dornan, a few days’ ride away, where he’d seen the most delicious pies and pastries, stews, sausages, and fruit.
“It’s for Edyon,” March said.
“Turturo said nothing is to go in.” And Rathlon threw the food on the ground.
March wanted to rip Rathlon’s chubby fingers from his hands—only a fool spoiled food. March had gone hungry to save that for Edyon, but the thought of picking it up with Rathlon watching him made his skin crawl.
“Let us in then,” Ambrose said.
Rathlon had the guard open the door and March went through. The smell hit him and he had to stop in his tracks and put his hand over his nose to prevent himself from retching.
The building must have been used for the slaughter of animals before its current use as a cell. Its walls were bloodstained and it smelled of excrement. Edyon was chained by one ankle to a metal ring that was embedded in the floor and which presumably had previously been used to tether cows or pigs before slaughter. Edyon looked miserable, though his face brightened when he saw his visitors. March did his best to smile and forget the smell.
“Visitors! And two of the most handsome men in the world.” Edyon came to March and embraced him, and he shook hands with Ambrose.
“I’ll leave you,” Rathlon said. He looked almost as green as his hair and was clearly desperate to get back out into the fresh air.
Ambrose watched him go and muttered, “The stench has its uses.”
Edyon agreed. “Yes, I realize now that Prince Tzsayn’s cells in Rossarb weren’t so bad.”
March remembered being hung from chains and cut by the inquisitor. Edyon must have remembered too as he put his hand on March’s. “I mean, they were awful, especially what you experienced there, but at least they were clean.”
“And presumably didn’t have this stomach-turning smell,” Ambrose said.
“I can assure you that after a day you hardly notice it. But let’s talk of happier things. Tell me what is happening in the sweet-smelling world outside. I never expected to see you again, Sir Ambrose. We thought the demons would have done for you. It’s so good that you made it through.”
“Not all of us made it, I’m afraid. Two were killed by demons in their tunnels, and Tash and Geratan . . . Well, we don’t know what happened to them but we fear they are lost.”
Edyon looked genuinely upset. “Tash and Geratan? Perhaps I should be grateful that I’m in a stinking cell. Tell me, what is it like in the demon world?”
“Stranger than you can imagine. Red light—red air! Red stone tunnels that lead who knows where. But warm—even the stone is warm. And strangest of all are the sounds. When you speak, noises rather than words come out.”
“Noises?”
“Like metal chiming and clattering.”
“So how do you talk?” asked Edyon.
“You can’t.”
“Ha!” March interjected. “If only we’d gone in. Edyon wouldn’t be able to speak! Bliss for us all.”
“Actually, that is the strangest thing of all. You can communicate but not through speaking,” Ambrose said. “If you’re touching another person, they can hear your thoughts.”
Edyon’s face lit up. “Now that I would have liked to experience.” And he looked at March, saying, “I wonder what I could learn by touching March.”
March went stiff with fear and relief. Thank goodness they hadn’t gone into the demon world. Edyon would have heard March’s thoughts and would know March’s lies. He would know that March was not who he claimed to be.
Edyon smiled. “March always looks terrified at what thoughts of his I might discover.”
Ambrose cleared his throat. “Well, anyway, we three are reunited, and I’m here to find out what I can about your case for Princess Catherine. She will be the judge.”
“And I’m grateful to her.”
Ambrose replied, “She is in a difficult position. If she finds you not guilty, Farrow will call her biased.”
Edyon nodded. “And the mob will hate her, as they hate me.”
March said, “Turturo is encouraging more people to come to the trial from Dornan. I overheard some men talking about that. But you must maintain your innocence. Holywell killed Ronsard, Tash and I saw that. I can testify in support of you.”
But another idea had been plucking at March since seeing Ambrose. “There is an alternative, though. If Edyon took the demon smoke to give him strength and some of your soldiers helped, he could escape.” March looked at Ambrose in hope.
Ambrose shook his head. “I’ve just walked through the camp. This cell is well guarded. We’re in the middle of hundreds of Farrow’s men. This chain is thick—even with the strength of a demon it wouldn’t break. I’m sorry but I can’t see how it can be done. But don’t despair—Edyon is innocent and Catherine will judge it fairly.”
Edyon looked from Ambrose to March and tried to smile. “Yes, yes, I know it’ll be fine. I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer; now I’ll be presenting my own case. My chance at last to stand up in court and speak! The dead man has family and friends who need to know the truth of what happened.”
“But first you must tell it to me,” Ambrose said.
Edyon nodded and quickly related the story of how he met March and the sheriff’s man was killed. March knew it sounded bad, but Ambrose didn’t comment other than to say, “The princess will be glad to hear that you are remaining positive. Stay strong, Edyon. You won’t be in this vile place much lo
nger.”
After Ambrose left, Edyon came closer to March. “I hope Ambrose is right. I can’t wait to get out of here. Just to breathe fresh air would feel so glorious.”
March embraced Edyon. “The princess will help you. Soon you’ll be out of here and then you’ll be free.” Though in his heart he wasn’t sure what would happen.
Edyon caressed March’s cheek. “Thank you for all you’ve done. Just seeing you, and seeing Sir Ambrose—you’ve no idea how it lifts my spirits.” Edyon kissed March’s cheek.
March looked down, then back at the door. “They’ll come and drag me out soon.”
“Your eyes are what I’ll think of when you go. Your eyes shining, silver and bright and true.”
March couldn’t meet Edyon’s gaze when he said true. He mumbled, “I wanted to bring you food but they wouldn’t allow it.”
“I get slop once a day. It’s worse than pig swill. But I won’t starve.”
“When we get to Calidor you’ll have the best food.”
Edyon held March’s hand and said, “I wish I knew what you were really thinking now. I wish I could hear your real thoughts.”
Perhaps March should tell the whole truth—that March had intended to betray Edyon to Aloysius, that he’d planned to send him to an even worse place than this stinking cell, a place where Edyon wouldn’t even have had a friend to talk to. But this wasn’t the right time. “You shouldn’t be in this place. None of this should have happened to you. It’s all my fault that you’re here.”
“March, I lost the letter from Prince Tzsayn. It’s not your fault. You’re the one person who has stuck by me, who’s given me strength. I’d have given up a long time ago if it wasn’t for you being so brave, showing me how I can be stronger.”
March shook his head. “No, Edyon, I’m not brave.”
“You look so sad.” Edyon caressed his friend’s cheek. “I wish we were in the demon world now and you could hear my thoughts. How much I care about you. I think it is the only way I’ll ever truly know yours, March.”
“Perhaps.”
“And the way your eyes are in this light, they shine like silver in a well.” Edyon leaned to kiss him and March kissed him back. “I somehow think you’d find letting me into your mind more terrifying than being in the demon world.”
March stood straight. There would never be a good time to tell him; he’d have to say it now. He’d stay with Edyon and prove his worth despite his past mistakes. “Edyon, please listen to me. I need to tell you the truth. Something important about . . . about me.”
There was a banging on the door and Rathlon barged in, shouting, “Your time’s up!” And he dragged March out of the cell.
CATHERINE
DONNAFON, NORTHERN PITORIA
Learn to read people as you do books.
Queen Valeria of Illast
LORD DONNELL’S library was a beautiful room with tall windows letting in long shafts of bright summer light. The golden oak shelving contained books from floor to ceiling. The collection was probably four times that held at her father’s library in Brigane, and there was even a librarian to help Catherine select what she needed. She walked around the room, stroking the leather spines and breathing in the smell.
“These are the best ones on Pitorian law, Your Highness.” The librarian staggered to the table by the window, carrying three huge leather-bound books.
Catherine sat at the table and pulled one to her. She had to make sure she understood the law and find out whether there was any way she could help Edyon avoid the full force of it.
Tanya continued to wander around the room. “He certainly likes his books, Lord Donnell, doesn’t he?”
The librarian replied, “He does, miss. And most of them are very old and valuable.” The librarian pushed a book back into place that Tanya had disturbed. He sounded a little anxious as he said, “If you would take care with them, miss. That one you have there is from Illast. A unique item. Illustrated on each page. One of our oldest books in this library.”
Tanya flicked it open and yawned as she looked at a few pages. The librarian paled.
“Very pretty.” She looked around the room. “Lord Donnell must have been collecting these for a long time?”
The librarian took the opportunity to lift the book from Tanya’s hands. “Yes, the library was established one hundred and thirty-six years ago and Lord Donnell’s family have been expanding the collection ever since.” He gently eased the book back into its place on the shelf.
“Not many people here reading them, though.” Tanya moved to the window. “Most people are out there working in the fields.”
“Indeed. But most of those people in the fields can’t read, and food must be provided for the table,” the librarian said.
“Most of the men aren’t even in the fields; they’re off fighting a war.” Tanya returned to look at the shelves and poke their spines. “I’m sure you and Lord Donnell will make good use of the books while the other men do the fighting.”
The librarian strode over to Tanya and shoved a small book into her hands, saying, “I think this might interest you, miss. Some lighter, more modern reading.”
Tanya used the book to fan her face and she came to sit opposite Catherine, who had been observing her. Tanya wasn’t often bad-tempered, and she rarely behaved in a way that wasn’t appropriate for a servant. Catherine asked, “Is something bothering you, Tanya?”
“No, Your Highness.”
“No?”
“No. Nothing bothering me.”
Catherine opened the law book in front of her.
“Except,” Tanya said.
Catherine looked up.
“Except that these books are here for the likes of Lord Donnell and . . . and the librarian and . . . and . . .”
“And?”
“And I know you read a lot and you’re educated and so on, but . . . are you sure you should be doing this?”
“This?”
“Working. Doing men’s work, I mean.”
“Oh. Why should I not?”
“Well, it’s not normal, is it? The men in the field work in the field. The soldiers go to war. Lord Donnell and his librarian read books. Women don’t do those things. They don’t rule and they don’t lead armies and I’ve never heard of one acting as a judge before.”
“No, it’s not usual, but I think I can do it.”
“Well, I’m sure you’re very clever, Your Highness. I’m not saying you’re not. But you went to such trouble to win the people over. I think back to when we were riding to Tornia and the crowds were following you and people were dyeing their hair white. We don’t see much of that now. And I don’t think this will win any more to you. It’ll scare a lot. They’ll think you’re odd . . . ambitious. Already there are so many who believe you brought your father’s army into Pitoria. It’s not just Farrow who thinks you were part of the plot. Do you really want to give them even more reason to dislike you?”
“Well, I am odd in the sense of being unusual. I’m a princess and that’s fairly unusual. I’ve spent most of my life so far in a library. And, yes, I am ambitious. I want to do more. I want to help this country and fight against my father.”
“And do you want power?”
“Power to judge a case, to read the law and understand the facts and make reasoned decisions? Power to rule, power over my own destiny, power to make decisions over my own life? Yes, I do.”
“And power to lead an army?”
Catherine could see herself planning a war with her generals. That was what she wanted to do. And with not just her generals, but Prince Thelonius and Prince Tzsayn, if he lived—with other leaders. And, after the war, leading the country by ruling fairly, being the opposite of her father with his cruel dictatorship. She smiled and said, “Yes, I want power to lead an army and a country, Tanya.”
> “Oh.”
“However, my first job is to read these law books and judge this case.”
Catherine turned back to her book, but Tanya’s questions had set her thinking. What was she trying to do here? And would the people ever trust her? Was the only way to appeal to them to be a non-threatening, pretty woman in a white dress on a pretty horse? Or did they want a leader who could offer more?
Catherine didn’t know the answer, and she had the more pressing problem of Edyon. She loathed the idea of finding him guilty when they had journeyed so far together, survived so much, and had so much yet to learn about each other.
But could she really afford to find him innocent?
Catherine worked through the morning, had a short break for lunch, and then continued to read. By late afternoon the sun was pouring through the windows at the far end of the library and Catherine pushed the books away. She was a lot more knowledgeable about the law and how she should organize the murder trial, but her head was fuzzy and she couldn’t take another convoluted Pitorian law if she tried. One thing was clear: if Edyon was found guilty, he’d be executed.
She went back to her rooms, Davyon and a guard escorting her. She had some dinner brought up. Then she had a bath and Tanya massaged her shoulders, but she was still stiff. “Just leave me and let me rest,” she told her.
In the silence and the twilight she knew she should sleep but there were too many thoughts in her head—the trial, the war, Ambrose, Tzsayn, her father, and her own ambition. Her fear of another assassin, her fear of leaving the castle, her fear that she would always be seen as the enemy.
A sniff of the purple smoke would be just the thing to help me relax and get rid of my aching back and head.
Ambrose wouldn’t know, nor Tanya. But really what did that matter? She could do what she liked. Trying a little of the smoke wasn’t a crime—oh, actually it is a crime! Still. Just one sniff.
She took out the bottle. The purple glow filled the room and she inhaled a small amount of the smoke, letting it warm her tongue, her stomach, her head. And then she lay back and watched the smoke twirl up to the ceiling and crawl and twist along it to the corner, where it found a crack to disappear through. Catherine whispered, “Good-bye, goodnight.” And she felt like she was floating through the ceiling herself. She smiled and thought of being held in Ambrose’s arms as she fell asleep.
