Canticle poi-2
Page 33
Winters blinked, uncertain why this surprised her. Rudolfo knew the nonverbal language of House Y’Zir, so it stood to reason that his bride would as well. “Thank you, Lady Tam,” she said.
Jin Li Tam offered a forced smile. “You are welcome, Lady Winteria.”
Then, their scouts were in the open, hands ready at their knife hilts as they took up their positions. Winters turned her attention to the cluster of horses ahead and felt the firmness settle into her jawline. The weight that had lifted earlier from her returned, and she breathed deeply as it settled upon her neck and shoulders.
Meirov was easy to pick out though Winters had never seen the woman up close. Hanric had handled her parleys during the War of Windwir. Still, those times she’d seen her from a distance, she’d not imagined she’d be so haggard and hollow-eyed.
She is consumed by grief. But more than that, she realized, the grief had become a bitter rage that sharpened the angles of her face and paled her already fair skin. The long braid of her blond hair spilled out from beneath her helmet, and she rested her hand upon the pommel of her sword. Around her, her rangers stood near and ready, their eyes watchful upon the Gypsy Scouts that stood in a loose circle.
Turam’s general sat beside her. He wore a steel breastplate and a deep purple cloak, holding his helmet under his arm as he leaned over to whisper something to Meirov. The queen nodded, and her eyes met Winters’s. Hatred blazed out from them, and the stark honesty of it made Winters flinch and look away. Her stomach ached, and a sudden urge to flee rose up in her. She risked a glance back, but those eyes bore into her and the firmness of Meirov’s jawline, the white knuckles upon her sword and reins, were clear messages.
She would cut me down if she could.
Winters blinked and looked away again.
As they drew nearer, Jin Li Tam spoke. “Hail, Pylos and Turam.”
Meirov’s voice was cold. “Lady Tam, our parley and kin-clave is with the Ninefold Forest Houses.”
Winters watched Jin Li Tam read the woman’s posture and tone. “The Ninefold Forest Houses holds kin-clave with the Marsh Queen.” And her hands moved again slowly: Her grief is strong; be silent.
Winters shifted in her saddle. Yes, she answered. I will.
Meirov’s eyes narrowed. “So you’ve brought Rudolfo’s Wandering Army against us to protect these savages? Shouldn’t you be home minding your son?”
The word stung, but there was more said than that. Winters read the other messages beneath the words. She’d referred to it as Rudolfo’s army-a subtle way of saying she did not recognize Jin Li Tam’s authority. And there was another message, one that gave her pause and sent her eyes back to Jin Li Tam’s face to look for some sign of it registering there. Your son lives and mine does not.
Jin Li Tam inclined her head. “Lord Rudolfo is aware of this action and joins me in offering our deepest condolences for your loss, Lady Meirov. It is a terrible tragedy that breaks my own heart as a mother.” She turned to the Turamite general. “And we grieve for your loss as well. We are all bereaved at the violence of that night-including Queen Winteria, who lost her caretaker, Hanric, beneath those iron blades. The Ninefold Forest is pledged to helping the Marshfolk identify the killers and deal with this matter.”
Meirov’s face twisted and darkened. “Your condolences are poor currency with me, Lady Tam. If you would help in bringing justice, either turn your army around and go home to mother your son or honor your kin-clave with the rest of us by joining us.” Her eyes went to Winters again, and this time, Winters held them and tried to let the hatred pass over her. The Queen of Pylos continued, her stare unbroken. “The Marshers have been a problem since the days of Settlement; now, it has gone too far. Their babblings and barbarism, their constant skirmishing in the border towns”-here she wrinkled her nose-“even the smell of them has polluted the Named Lands too long.”
Pay her no mind, Jin Li Tam’s hands said, but Winters felt the water building in her eyes. She willed herself not to cry. It would be weak to cry. She listened to the calm in Jin Li Tam’s voice and wished for it to wrap her as tightly as Jakob’s blanket. “I cannot speak to your difficult history with her people, but Queen Winteria is committed to eradicating this threat. Even now, her army searches the Marshlands to find and bring justice to this resurgence. She’s just come from burying the Androfrancine dead at the Summer Papal Palace.”
The general from Turam spoke up. “We’ve lost three caravans en route to your new library; slaughtered and left on the road to rot.” His eyes narrowed, and he looked to Winters suddenly. “This resurgence. what is its nature?”
Winters glanced to Jin Li Tam and her hands. Keep your answer brief.
She swallowed, her mouth tasting like dirt and iron suddenly. “It is an Y’Zirite resurgence.”
She heard their breath expelled together. Meirov looked to her, then remembered herself and looked to Jin Li Tam. “We had feared as much. There were strange markings upon their dead.” Resolve and bitterness crept back into Meirov’s voice. “More the reason for a firm response from all houses in the Named Lands now before this violence grows further.”
Jin Li Tam’s voice was reassuring now and confident. “We are responding firmly,” she said. “I have pledged our support to Winters; we will help her find and deal with this threat against us all by working together with her army-not by invading their territories.”
Meirov stared at Jin Li Tam. “Our kin-clave with the Forest is tenuous at best, Lady Tam. It has not gone unnoticed that your House is the only to have benefited from Windwir’s fall-or that your House has been unscathed in this more recent treachery. If you prevent us from our work here, Pylos will view such action as a revocation of kin-clave.”
The general nodded beside her. “Turam as well.”
“That,” Jin Li Tam said, “would be most unfortunate.” She whistled low, and the Gypsy Scouts started moving in from their positions. “I believe we’ve taken this parley as far as we can for the moment. I welcome further dialog in future parleys under calmer circumstances. I hope that you will-”
But Meirov interrupted her, her voice cold and measured. “We’ve no intention to parley further. If you prevent us from our work here, we will consider it collusion with the Marshfolk and there will be war between us.”
Jin Li Tam turned her horse slowly, and Winters watched the careful calculations that played out quietly in her eyes. “We did not come to make war but to keep peace.” Those blue eyes narrowed, and her voice suddenly grew cold as well. “But if you engage my army or cross farther north into the Marshlands, we will meet you with our knives, Meirov. I am sorry for your loss-it is a terrible crime, and I cannot imagine the depth of your rage and anguish-but these are troubled times in our land, and you must ask yourself: Is there a better path that we might take?”
Winters started to turn her horse, but suddenly felt she should say something-anything-despite Jin Li Tam’s recommendation. She felt her brow furrowing, and even as she opened her mouth, she felt the tears filling her eyes; and at first, her voice was strangled. “My heart is broken for your loss, Queen Meirov, and my soul is pledged to justice for all that have been wronged so deeply by this evil.”
But Meirov did not speak. Her eyes said everything that needed saying.
As they turned and slowly rode from the clearing, Winters swallowed a sob and ran a quick hand to wipe at the tears she could no longer prevent.
They rode back to camp silently, and as they did, she tried to conjure up Jakob’s tiny face, his tiny hands, the smell of him and the way his mouth bubbled when he slept. It was the most peaceful moment she had known in weeks, holding him, but now even the memory of it eluded her. She could not find it or hold it in the midst of this grief storm.
All she saw instead were the hateful eyes of a bereaved mother burning into her, accusing her, cutting her deeper than any scout knife ever could.
Petronus
Petronus paced the small room and listened to the b
uzz of voices just past the oak door that separated him from the council chambers.
In a few minutes, he would be called upon to pass through that door and join Esarov at the advocate’s bench for his arraignment. At the heart of it, it was a simple and brief matter. But still, it weighed upon him.
After the interrogation, house arrest had become much more bearable. Erlund’s own chefs prepared his meals, and he’d access to birds and books in addition to more than adequate time with his advocate, the former leader of the revolution, Esarov the Democrat. The past days had been an endless flood of questions as they prepared for today and for what was to come beyond this time. It was an elaborate strategy and one that Petronus could not only appreciate, but enhance with what he himself brought to bear upon the matter.
He’d amassed a fair knowledge of kin-clave law alongside his mastery of Androfrancine law and Named Lands statecraft over his years in the Order. And Esarov’s clarity of focus and sharp mind for legal tactics-combined with the man’s stagecraft-would serve well.
Today would be brief, he reminded himself. What followed after would take time, but the landscape they’d covered through Esarov’s pile of books gave Petronus confidence of the outcome.
Still, he paced.
He heard the noise beyond the door swell. That meant Erlund and his council of governors had entered the room. Next, the small bell in the corner of the room would ring and the silent guards seated at either side of the entrance would stand and escort him in.
You wanted a reckoning, old man. This wasn’t what he’d had in mind exactly, but Petronus was confident in the rightness of it. His mind had wandered back to that brief encounter with Charles in the market square. And at night, he dreamed about a library stretching deep underground, hidden in some forgotten corner of the Old World. If this reckoning of his could bring back so much of the light, his own personal outcome didn’t matter. And despite his strong confidence in what was to come, some part of him knew that it was a dangerous river he forded here. One misstep and he could find himself swept away.
The bell rang and the guards stood. When they opened the door and passed through, Petronus followed.
The council room was large and round, paneled with elaborately carved oak offset with gold fixtures and trim. The high domed ceiling was painted in themes of early Delta history with scenes from the First Settlers Congress and the signing of that document that guided the fledgling band of City-States into its prominence in the Named Lands.
The nine governors sat on a platform in an arrangement of seats and tables set up like a horse shoe; and set apart from them, centered in the open end of that U shape, stood the Overseer’s dias and upon it, a worn chair and table. Erlund looked up at him from that place and their eyes met.
The disinterest there spoke volumes, but Petronus was not surprised. He knows what is coming.
The Overseer wore his crimson prosecuting robe, and to his right, the prosecutor he’d selected-Ignatio in this case-dressed in similar fashion. Behind them, the governors wore black robes not terribly dissimilar from the robes of an Androfrancine. As Petronus scanned their faces it was not hard to pick out the four that had been chosen by Esarov’s democratic city states. They did not have the blank stoic regard of the others. Their faces spoke of purpose and pride rather than obligation, though in time Petronus wondered if that might fade as the newness of their roles wore off and as the reality of their work ahead on the Delta set in.
Esarov was the only person to stand as Petronus entered. He wore gray as befitting an advocate, and his long hair was pulled back and powdered. His spectacles gleamed in rays of sunlight that sliced into the room from high glass windows, and he nodded once at Petronus, his smile slight but confident.
Apart from these and a handful of others scattered throughout the observation balconies and the audience chamber, the massive room was empty. Guards stood at each of the doors.
Petronus forced his shoulders to straighten and walked to the empty chair beside his advocate. The two of them sat in unison as Erlund brought down a gavel.
Ignatio spoke. “The Governors’ Council of the United-City States of the Entrolusian Delta is petitioned to convene now in judicial capacity for the arraignment of Petronus, former Holy See of the Androfrancine Order and King of Windwir. The charge before you is murder and conspiracy to commit murder for the unlawful execution of Lord Sethbert, former Overseer of the United Entrolusian City-States.”
One of Erlund’s handpicked governors made the motion to convene; one of Esarov’s newly elected governors seconded. All men said “aye” when the question was called, and when they had Ignatio smiled and looked at Petronus.
“It is the position of the accuser that on the fourth of Anbar, during a closed council of bishops convened in the Ninefold Forest, Petronus-acting in his capacity as Pope-did summarily execute Sethbert without benefit of a trial as provided by the First and Second Settlers Congress of the Entrolusian Delta. Further, the accuser posits that Petronus, in collusion with Lord Rudolfo of the Ninefold Forest Houses, did subject the former Overseer to tortures and coercions forbidden under Entrolusian law and conducted its matters of prosecution without regard to common law and reasonable civility.”
Erlund yawned at the flatness of the recital and looked around the room. Petronus followed his gaze. Finally, the Overseer moved the proceedings forward. “The council will now hear the plea of the accused before establishing a date of trial.”
Esarov stood and Petronus stood with him. “Advocate defers to his client and presents him to council.”
Erlund nodded. “Proceed.”
Petronus took in the eleven men before him and pulled himself up to full height. “I choose no plea,” he said in a loud clear voice, “and offer instead a Declaration of Circumstance.”
The Overseer frowned, but Ignatio’s face was unreadable. Behind them, the governors’ faces were a mixed lot, though disinterest appeared most prevalent. Certainly, in Petronus’s mind that made a certain sense. Their own Overseer had been disinterested in this action; they had a nation to rebuild-one with changes looming that formed far more pressing matters. A system that had served Erlund and his family for generations now threatened to topple beneath a wave of democracy that even gave Petronus pause. “Make your declaration,” the overseer said.
Petronus made eye contact with him again. Then, he scanned the room and made eye contact with each of the governors seated before him. “In the circumstance of Sethbert’s execution, we declare it to have been a matter of Androfrancine procedure carried out in accordance with the original Articles of Kin-Clave by ourselves as Holy See and Monarch of Windwir upon confirmation of the accused’s guilt by his own mouth and without coercion, offered, observed and documented as such. We do not recognize the predominance of Entrolusian law in this matter, and we petition-as is our right by monarchy-for the case to be heard and decided by Council of Kin-Clave.”
Petronus wasn’t sure what he’d expected. In one of the dramas Esarov had once acted out upon the stage, at this point there would be indrawn breaths and shocked faces. But instead, his declaration sounded out into the nearly empty room, echoing slightly as it did.
Erlund sighed. Surely, Petronus thought, he saw it as a small price to pay for bringing his civil war to an end and reuniting his city-states beneath him. Now, it was simply a matter of establishing venue and waiting for the council to convene. As such, Erlund would become one voice among many as the heads of state came together to hear Petronus’s case and rule.
Certainly, it could still go badly. The war had rubbed kin-clave thin between many of the Named Lands’ houses and nations. But now the odds were with Petronus. And what came next would further establish those odds.
“Very well,” Erlund said in a dry voice. “This court recognizes kin-clave and your right as monarch to a trial before your peers. A date shall be established and arrangements shall be made to convene the Council of Kin-Clave that they might hear this matter.”
Now Erlund looked surprised and interested suddenly. You didn’t see this coming, young pup. His eyes narrowed and he put the gavel down. “We apologize. We had believed you had made your declaration.”
“The Articles of Kin-Clave specify clearly that choice of venue falls to the accused,” Petronus continued, “that their protection might be assured by the hosting nation.”
Already, Ignatio’s fingers flew through an old volume kept beneath their table. He found a passage, passed the book to Erlund and pointed. Erlund nodded. “It is within your purview.”
Petronus smiled, and it was grim there in the morning light. “It is indeed within our purview. The venue of our choice is our own nation, the free state of Windwir.”
Now there was noise in the room. Now came the indrawn breaths and the uncomfortable shifting upon those wooden chairs. A dark cloud passed over Erlund’s face. “Windwir is no more, Petronus. There is no nation there.”
“Regardless,” Petronus said, glancing to Esarov and taking in his broad smile, “it is the venue we choose. We petition for it as such and petition as well that the Ninefold Forest Houses be contacted for the arrangements of council as named protector of Windwir.”
The room became silent, and all eyes went to Erlund. Finally, he sighed. “Let the record state that Council of Kin-Clave will be held as petitioned,” he finally said, bringing the gavel down.
Petronus wasn’t sure what he’d expected next, but it happened quickly enough. The guards returned for him. He and Esarov stood, inclining their heads to the council and its Overseer, and prepared to go their separate ways. As Esarov shook his hand, he pressed a message into Petronus’s wrist. Well done. I will come soon to prepare for the council.
He nodded. “Thank you.”
Esarov offered a grim smile. “Thank you, Petronus.”