Descendant of the Crane
Page 8
“Are you trying to outrun me too?”
“Oh.” Hesina exhaled as Caiyan came down the hall, regal in his black-and-gold viscount hanfu. “It’s you.”
He fell into step beside her. “Are you okay, milady?”
She nodded stiffly.
“I understand you have some history with the consort,” Caiyan said as they wove through the maze of facades. “But don’t let it get to you.”
Easier said than done. Maybe if Hesina hadn’t overturned the archives for information on the consort or crouched in the Southern Palace shrubbery for a glimpse of the woman who’d divided her father’s heart, these childhood memories wouldn’t bead like sweat on her mind.
Inside the king’s study, Akira sat on the far window ledge overlooking the gardens. Lilian lounged on her favorite daybed, a green hair ribbon knit between her hands. “Consort Fei, huh? Well, what do we all think?”
Caiyan took up pacing. “The suspect had to have come from inside the palace.”
“But seriously, Consort Fei? That’s like saying you’d murder the king. How would she, even?”
“Poison, clearly.”
“You’re missing my point, stone-head.”
“I see your point.” Caiyan reached one end of the room and turned back around. “And I have my doubts. But we should treat her as we would any suspect.”
Treat her as we would any suspect.
Hesina stood by the wall of books in the lower study, where the shelves would split down the middle if she removed a certain pattern of tomes. A secret passageway to the orchard, her father had said with a wink. It explained the never-ending supply of fresh persimmons on his desk. So many seemingly mysterious things about her father could be explained in simple ways. But why had he broken his vows to the dowager queen for Consort Fei? Hesina would never know.
She knew other things, though, thanks to all the research she’d done on the consort. At Caiyan’s words, and the realization that she could never treat Consort Fei as a normal suspect, something floated belly up to the surface of Hesina’s thoughts.
“What is it, Na-Na?” cried Lilian as Hesina gripped the edge of a shelf for balance.
“Consort Fei. Her grandfather was an advisor to the previous Kendi’an Crown Prince.”
“What are you saying?”
She was saying that Sanjing was right. He’d been right all along, and now, with a mouth too dry for words, she was glad he wasn’t here to see this.
“Milady is trying to say the consort is a scapegoat.” As usual, Caiyan helped Hesina when she could not help herself. He turned from Lilian and to Hesina. “You don’t believe she killed the king.”
She’d seen her father carry Rou on his shoulders, just like he carried her. She’d noticed the occasional wisteria sprig from the Southern Palace caught in the collar of his hanfu. Whether she wanted to or not, she’d witnessed his love for Consort Fei. It was a truth no court or representative could ever find.
“Lilian is right,” Hesina finally said. “Consort Fei had no reason to kill my father.”
Caiyan paced another lap. “Assume many reasons until proven otherwise.”
“I’m with Na-Na on this one,” said Lilian. “But the commoners hate war. They won’t mobilize for it just because the king’s killer has some distant connection to Kendi’a. Whoever framed Consort Fei must realize that.”
Or, thought Hesina darkly, whoever framed the consort had realized that the people despised sooths far more than war and was capitalizing on what had happened at her coronation.
“Anyway, clearing Consort Fei will be easy.” Lilian tossed aside her cat’s cradle and sat up. “We’ll secure an alibi.”
“No.” Akira scooted off the window ledge and padded to the lower half of the study. Hesina took a step back as he passed. One stolen item was enough for her.
Lilian arched a brow. “No?”
“This Consort Fei seems secluded. If her only companions are her son, her personal maids, and her guards, then who,” Akira said calmly, walking to her father’s desk, “would think her witnesses’ accounts unbiased?”
“Akira’s right,” said Hesina as he circled the desk, running a finger along its carved edge. The gesture seemed casual enough, but she never knew what was mindless and what was intentional with Akira. “You saw how the director rejected Rou as a witness.”
Lilian groaned. “So what do we do?”
Hesina waited for Akira’s answer. Just by being here, the ex-convict had proven himself trustworthy. But trustworthiness wasn’t enough. Even with Caiyan and Lilian at her side, Hesina felt like she was staring into the dark maw of a snake she had summoned, the truth obscured by venom and fangs.
Akira’s finger came to a rest on the corner of the desk. “We wait.”
Lilian crossed her arms. “That’s it?”
“Wait.” He lifted his finger. “See if the evidence is fabricated, or if the other representative doesn’t try very hard. One of those things is bound to happen if the consort really is a scapegoat.”
“And if both happen?” asked Caiyan.
For the first time since that day in the dungeons, Akira looked to Hesina, his expression probing like a thread at a needle. “I’ll defend the suspect, if you want me to.”
Slowly, Hesina released the shelf she’d been gripping. Her shoulders squared. “I want you to.”
Caiyan paced by, brow furrowed. “The plaintiff’s representative defending the suspect is unprecedented.”
Hesina’s stomach sank.
Lilian rolled her eyes. “But it’s not against the law, is it?”
“It’s never been done before,” argued Caiyan.
“In other words, no,” said Lilian. “For the love of the Eleven, stop picking at fish bones.”
Caiyan stopped midstep and turned on Akira. “You’re betting on the evidence having holes.”
“Fish bones!” cried Lilian, but the corner of Akira’s mouth had already knifed up, and Hesina saw something of a robber’s deviousness in his eyes as he answered Caiyan.
“I’ve bet on worse before.”
EIGHT
PLAINTIFF AND DEFENDANT SHALL EACH HAVE A REPRESENTATIVE, DRAWN FROM A POOL OF RISING SCHOLARS.
ONE OF THE ELEVEN ON TRIALS
THE MINISTER OF RITES WILL MAKE SURE THAT THE REPRESENTATIVES ARE SELECTED AT RANDOM.
TWO OF THE ELEVEN ON TRIALS
Akira was betting on the evidence having holes. Hesina was betting on the Silver Iris’s Sight being true. A whole lot of gambling was going on, and she wasn’t sure she liked that.
But what could she do? Nothing, other than show up for court the next day to find a pale-faced, bruise-eyed Rou still standing in his mother’s place. Evidently, she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept.
The director presented the court with a complete list of evidence and witnesses the Investigation Bureau had compiled against Consort Fei. Hesina’s jaw stiffened, and when the director invited the consort’s representative to present his defense, she caught herself grinding her teeth.
The scholar dawdled, fluffing out his sleeves and clearing his throat, only to then say, “The defense has nothing to present. The evidence is sound.”
“Bleeding emperors,” muttered Lilian, taking Hesina’s hand.
Hesina closed her eyes, dizzy. Sanjing had known this was coming, and she hadn’t listened. She could almost hear his voice, berating her for being so naive when she, as the eldest, was supposed to be the wisest.
“Then Consort Fei accepts the charges of regicide?” asked the director.
Two voices sounded at once.
“No!” cried Rou, with anguish so sharp it pierced Hesina’s heart.
“Yes,” said the representative.
“You understand that this means you forfeit the case?” asked the director.
“I do.” The representative projected like an opera singer. “The murder of the king concerns the entire kingdom. I dare not put my own interests first.”
&n
bsp; The court clapped, as if he’d done the honorable thing, sacrificed his ticket past the preliminary round of the civil service exams for the truth.
“I’m going to vomit,” said Lilian.
Hesina wasn’t far behind. She swallowed the taste of breakfast—pickled daikon—then opened her eyes to watch Akira ascend the dais.
“Closing remarks?” asked the director, turning as Akira walked behind him.
“Yes.” Akira spun with him like a tail to a cat, eliciting gasps when he clapped the director’s back. The man froze, slack-jawed, allowing Akira to point at the list of witnesses he clutched. “Can I see this maid you have listed?”
The director’s jaw snapped shut. “Insolence!” he cried, jerking away from Akira and straightening his robes.
“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”
The director grumbled, then waved a hand at the doors. The guards opened them for a servant, clad in a cream ruqun, the hydrangea-blue sleeve cuffs denoting her as a lady-in-waiting. She floated down the walk, head high as she entered the witness box.
“Repeat your account to the plaintiff’s representative,” ordered the director.
“I was cleaning my lady’s vanity four days ago when I came across her powder,” began the maid. “The top of the box hadn’t been properly replaced. I was about to close it when I realized the color of the powder was off.”
“How did you know the color of the powder was off?” asked Akira, leaning an elbow against the witness box.
The lady-in-waiting regarded him as she might a roach in her rice congee. “Because she uses it every single day.”
Akira gestured at Rou. “And would her son be able to confirm the color of this powder?”
“Men wouldn’t know such things,” sniffed the lady-in-waiting. “At first, I thought my lady had simply switched powders, even though it didn’t make much sense. This new powder didn’t match her skin tone. Then I heard the Investigation Bureau was looking for anything suspicious. I remembered the color change and brought the box of powder to them.”
“Very thoughtful of you,” said Akira.
“Desist from the commentary,” snapped the director. “Questions only.”
“Understood. Wait. Er…forgive me?” Akira faced the lady-in-waiting. “By all means, will you please go on?”
Lilian held back a snort.
“The Bureau had the Imperial Doctress examine the powder,” said the lady-in-waiting primly. “She said it was poison.”
The court fractured with voices, and Hesina’s throat filled with shards. She didn’t always agree with the Imperial Doctress, but she trusted the woman’s loyalty. If the Doctress deemed the powder poisonous, then it very well was. Golden mist or not, planted or not, poison was poison. They’d found a hole, all right, and they’d fallen straight into it.
“May I inspect this powder box myself?” asked Akira.
Before the lady-in-waiting could speak, the director inclined his head to the imperial balcony. “My queen,” he said. “I believe your representative doesn’t understand the rules.”
Then he turned to Akira. “Boy, your job is to represent the queen and the queen alone. You’ve convicted the murderer and won the case. When the preliminary rounds open with the new year, you’ll be exempt—”
“Director Lang.” Hesina’s voice drew the heat of every gaze. She tried not to shrivel like a sprout under the sun. “My representative has the right to examine any evidence that is listed.”
The court muttered.
It’s never been done before, Caiyan had said.
But neither had an investigation into the king’s murder.
Neither had the use of a convict as a representative.
Hesina stood. Everyone in the court rushed to stand with her. She pretended they were her warriors, even if they were just following etiquette.
“The box,” she ordered the director.
The director flung out a hand. “The box!”
A page carried a gilded tray to Akira, who lifted a small, ceramic box from it.
“Does the consort have any other boxes like this?” he asked the lady-in-waiting as he flipped open the top.
“No. This is her only box of powder.”
Akira sniffed the powder, then swiped a finger through it. “Who said this was poison?”
“I did,” muttered the Imperial Doctress from the opposing witness box.
“Can you describe the properties?”
“The powder comes from the desiccated root of jinsuo.” The Doctress sounded as though she’d much rather be in the infirmary, tinkering over her tinctures. “The plant flourishes only in dry, hot conditions. In the context of our kingdom, that means it’s found along certain sections of the Yan-Kendi’a borderlands. If taken with a water-based substance, immediate, painless death is guaranteed.”
“And in its dry form?”
“Not poisonous but sure to burn skin through prolonged contact. So I’d suggest wiping that finger.”
Do what the Doctress says, Hesina mentally ordered, irritated when Akira did not.
“So it’s corrosive,” he said.
“Extremely. It can even discolor glass.”
Lilian growled something about the Eleven and their mothers. Hesina didn’t have enough air in her lungs to do the same.
But Akira seemed unaffected. “I have a task for you,” he said, pivoting to Rou.
Rou looked slightly green. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” The court tensed at the sudden ferocity in Akira’s voice. “Fetch me the consort’s most recent trash.”
Silence.
The court broke into laughter.
“Enough of this!” bellowed the director, but Rou had already scampered to the doors. The guards, snickering themselves, didn’t give him a hard time, and in a flash of blue, he was out of the court.
“What’s Akira’s endgame?” Lilian whispered to Hesina.
To help me find the truth. But right now? “I have no idea.”
The Southern Palace was a twenty-minute walk to and from the court. To burst through the doors less than ten minutes later, Rou had to have sprinted. Red in the face, he huffed up the dais with a woven hemp bag and emptied it at Akira’s command.
The director wrinkled his nose as trash spilled onto the marble. “Do you take this court for a pigpen?”
Akira ignored him and knelt by the crumpled knickknacks. He picked up something white. “Was this yesterday’s trash?”
“And the day before,” said Rou without missing a beat.
Hesina straightened. Where had her half brother’s newfound confidence come from?
“Do you agree with your prince?” Akira asked the lady-in-waiting.
She considered the heap. “Yes, I think so.”
He stood. “Then why,” he said, holding out a white square of silk, “would this facial handkerchief be here?”
He raised the square for all to see, and Hesina squinted along with the rest of the court.
Peach-pink powder smudged the white cloth.
“Is this the color of the powder before the change?” he asked the lady-in-waiting.
“I don’t remember.”
“But didn’t you suggest only men lacked an eye for these things?”
“It could be the switched powder. It could just appear darker on the cloth.”
“No.” Akira’s gaze glinted like whetted steel. “No poisoner would be so foolish as to apply corrosive powder to her own face.”
“Maybe she used another box.”
“But you claimed she only has one box. Do you doubt your answer?”
Courtiers and ministers whispered among themselves. Hesina caught Caiyan’s eye among the viscounts and he, for all the gripes he’d had before, had a set to his brow she knew well. He thought they could win. He was never wrong.
Hope hatched in Hesina’s chest. Fragile, delicate hope, almost crushed when she returned her attention to the dais below and saw the director marching over to Akira.
Akira peered into the ceramic box, then held it out for the court’s viewing. “Look carefully at the inner porcelain. What do you see?”
“Nothing but white!” jeered one courtier.
“Are you certain?”
“Do you take me for a fool?”
Akira’s lips quirked. “Of course not. In fact, I think you’re very smart for reading my mind. I find it interesting that a poison with the ability to discolor glass should leave its porcelain container perfectly white.”
The court fell silent.
Hesina’s head spun. Had the Imperial Doctress lied? Was the poison not poison at all?
“The poison is real enough,” said Akira, handing the empty container to a page. “But I daresay this powder box is a duplicate. The consort probably continues to use her old powder without a clue. I also daresay that the poison has been in its container for no more than a week. If you gave me the time to make a sample, I’d show you what a month of corrosion looks like. Regardless…”
Akira’s gaze hit like a pebble in water, casting ripples through Hesina’s heart, each echoing the same question.
Shall I tell the truth?
She nodded.
Akira turned back to the court. “…I think we can agree that this powder was planted.”
Shame was a wildfire. It raged in Hesina’s chest as she left the court. Flames of it blistered her throat, consuming her as she made for her rooms. But like a wildfire, it was unsustainable. When there was nothing left of her to eat, it crackled and popped and grew.
Shame became blame.
Hesina couldn’t escape it. She was to blame for this farce of a trial.
But she wasn’t the only one.
She took up her sword and left her rooms as quickly as she had come. Step by step, she gained momentum, blame snowballing around shame, and rage melting both. Nothing and no one could stop her this time. Not the charms, not the talismans, not even the chains on the Bureau doors.
The guards tried to hold her back, but she unsheathed her sword and spun, daring them to unsheathe theirs. When they didn’t, she lunged at the door and struck. Another strike, and the chains fell. She wriggled out of the guards’ grasp and shouldered through the halves of stone.