Jane glanced at the man in question, sitting at an adjacent table. “For someone who doesn’t care whether he wins or loses, he’s showing a remarkable killer instinct. I’d hate to take him on when he’s passionate about something.”
“We still have to cross-examine his witnesses,” Charlie said. He’d already told her that he would not present his own witnesses, as she’d been so shortly in Lowth.
“Charlie is very good in the courtroom,” Hugh added.
Jane wanted to believe in her Whelphite. She hoped his expertise in the bedroom carried over into court. Too bad I have to wait for his legal mind to triumph before I take advantage of his physical body.
Court resumed as soon as the staff cleared the lunch remains. The crowd, many of whom had eaten in the courtyard, abandoned their wagering on the trial outcome and returned to the hall. Without air conditioning, the temperature soon rose from a combination of the slant of the sun and the output of several hundred bodies—some unwashed, Jane noticed, trying not wrinkle her nose in disgust. Not everyone has running hot water, she reminded herself, thinking of the work involved in the baths she’d taken every other day at the cottage.
Charlie cross-examined. With deceptive craft, he tore apart Elowall’s earlier work. He made Tivat’s flight sound like the result of an inept prison system, the same system that had later allowed Jane to escape. The late-night pursuit became a comedy of errors as the tracking team argued, adding time to a ticking clock. He questioned Tivat’s “certain” transformation from Elf to animal. The last sighting of the prisoner’s footprints coincided with the appearance of a small stream able to obscure the direction of flight.
No proof. Charlie honed in on his angle. No proof. No body. No murder.
Wow. My lawyer’s like Columbo, Jane thought, her eyes opened to another of Charlie’s layers. So many of his techniques mirrored the TV detective’s: the casual phrase that made the crowd pause and think, his cunning allusion to Jane’s magic—a gift? A threat? The lack of a body when, according to earlier testimony, death had been instantaneous. The time elapsed from escape to the rabbit sighting, and more importantly, the time available to look for a corpse before the fluctuation in the portal had prompted the group’s return.
Jane felt the crowd’s mood shift perceptibly in her favor. By the time the story had been retold by the others on duty that night, Tivat’s skill at trickery had grown wildly in proportion to his pursuers’ ineptitude. Of course, the crowd didn’t decide her fate, but she saw enough doubt on Wesant and Tellise’s faces to think they’d vote in her favor.
The day wore on. The staff silently provided illumination which they placed in holders around the hall. Backlit in such a way, everything took on a more sinister cast, tightening Jane’s throat.
Nonsense. It’s nerves, that’s all. She couldn’t stop a shiver from sliding down her spine, a gesture she attributed to the evening air.
They broke for supper, a meal Jane picked at with half-hearted interest. Her companions chatted optimistically. Several times someone detached him or herself from the crowd and gave her words of encouragement or congratulated Charlie for a job well done. Almost all their comments ended with, “It can’t be certain without a body, can it?”
It ain’t over ‘til the fat lady sings. Her napkin worried into a crumpled ball, the hem nervously picked apart, Jane waited for the next stage of her ordeal.
Elowall and Charlie made their closing statements, both powerful and able to persuade anyone still sitting on the fence. A restless quiet descended on the crowd as the three judges rose and retired to another room.
“Let’s get some fresh air,” Charlie suggested. He helped Jane from her chair. Her knees creaked in protest.
“How long does this usually take?” Jane asked, thinking of Earth verdicts, sometimes days in the making.
Charlie looked at her, his eyes a dark brown reassurance. “It will be soon,” he said. “Eagar will not have the castle house and feed this crowd overnight.”
Rather cheap of him. Expediency in justice to save serving a few more chicken dinners?
They walked the short distance to the courtyard, already thronged with what seemed half the population of Lowth. The sun had set, but the apricot-hued Rest was not yet out. Soft lights from the castle suffused the darkness. Small clusters of people gathered, first by species, then by gender. Jane and Charlie stood near a group of Elven women, some of whom she recognized from the night the cottage had burned.
No one approached as they had at supper. With the verdict imminent, Jane figured they didn’t want any death cooties on them in case she was found guilty. Not that she could blame them. She wouldn’t snuggle up to a soon-to-be-convicted killer, either.
Stone benches littered the courtyard, placed strategically to view the central gardens. She and Charlie found an unoccupied one in a far corner, tucked against a wall. She sat on it and leaned back, tentative at first because she feared another Nenius episode. No more séances with dead masons, thank you very much.
The golden-rose brick, warmed earlier by the sun, felt good through her gown. In contrast, the cool evening air slipped across her cheeks and ruffled her hair. She lifted her hair off her nape, wishing for a cold, wet cloth for her neck.
I don’t know how these women do it, she thought, imagining shorts and halter tops, wispy dresses and two-piece swimsuits. She looked at some of the women moving in and around the courtyard and imagined them in scantier clothing. They’d taken to the idea of chemises and bras; perhaps she could talk them into shorter skirts. . . .
If I have time. I might not get it. By tomorrow . . . She sighed.
Charlie, sitting quietly next to her, asked, “What troubles you? Anything more than the trial?”
“How much time do you have?” she asked, keeping her tone light. “To tell the truth, I was thinking how different our worlds are. I don’t fit in here, do I?”
“You’ve adapted well,” he said.
“Yeah, right. Touching dead people’s lives, inciting a bombing and becoming the trial of the century. Not exactly a stellar beginning, or a quiet one. It’s harder when you look different, when you don’t know how to do the most basic chores because machines have always done them for you.” She paused. “How do you do it, Charlie?”
“What?” He looked genuinely perplexed.
“Fit in.” They’d never talked of it. “How hard is it to be a Whelphite in an Elf world?”
He looked away, watching the crowd so long she thought she’d bungled their friendship. Someone near the hall played a stringed instrument: a guitar, she thought. Its music, slow and melodic, drifted to them.
“When I was younger,” he said slowly, “it bothered me that others could predict the weather a week in advance, levitate small objects or overhear a conversation a mile away. I . . . I couldn’t fly, so I couldn’t awe them. After a while, it became less important. I adapted, found my strengths and concentrated on making those better. Now I can’t imagine another life.”
He sounded forlorn. Jane squeezed his hand. “I heard about the other day when you stopped a posse of men from going after that wizard. Hugh told me you changed their minds. People look up to you, respect you. Have pride in that.”
Charlie smiled ruefully, returning the pressure of her hand squeezes. “I doubt my advice will stay with them. They’ll think of Blacwin the next time the Dymynsh causes another hardship.”
“But you stopped them this time and probably saved their lives in the process.” She warmed to the theme. “Imagine taking on a wizard! Are they crazy?”
He chuckled. “I suppose I did them a favor.”
“There you go.” For a few minutes, they slipped into a more companionable silence. Jane felt compelled to ask, as long as he was so open about his Whelphite origins, “Did you ever want to find the truth about your birth? Who your parents were?”
“My parents are Owen and Claire Tanner,” he said evenly.
Careful now, she told herself, but presse
d anyway. “Your father was on his way to Malin. You might have blood relatives here, people you see every day. Wouldn’t it be nice to claim them as a family?”
“I have a family, Jane.” Anger colored his voice.
See past the trees, into the forest, she wanted to shout.
“What of your father?” she persisted. “Surely, Charlie, if you went to his homeland and inquired, someone would remember a baby born to a Fairy father and an Elf mother. You could get in touch with your roots.”
“My roots? No.” He rose, agitated. He raked his hand through his hair and paced back and forth. “My family is here. Just as yours is on Earth. Would you trade for another?”
No, but her situation was different. “Your true kin—”
“These people are my true kin.” He gestured wildly at the others in the courtyard. “Do I feel alienated at times because we’re different? Yes. Does it matter anymore? Not a bit. I am what I am.”
And that’s all that I yam. Popeye aside, Jane disagreed with Charlie’s decision.
“Then why don’t you show your wings?” She jumped up. “You’ll flaunt them to me, an outsider, but no one else.”
“Flaunt?” His nostrils flared. “You overestimate your importance in my life. Would you like things sprouting from your back? I keep them hidden because it makes others uncomfortable.”
“Yeah, right. I’m so uncomfortable.” She wiggled her fingers in front of her face, as if mocking him. “Does my being the youngest child make you uncomfortable?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“They’re both accidents of birth.”
“Mine’s physical,” Charlie bit out. He turned his back on her and strode away a few steps.
She’d never win this argument. He wouldn’t acknowledge his true self. If only he would see himself as she did. Influential. Important. A leader. Able to be who he really was, all the time.
“Okay.” Unwilling to argue anymore, she crossed to his side. “I was curious, that’s all. I’m sorry. Let’s not fight.”
Charlie tipped up his head, as if looking for answers in the sky. He sighed and turned. “I don’t want to fight, either. Time is too precious.”
He took her hand and led her back to their seats.
Jane leaned against the wall and thought of families and the profound effect they had on one’s character. She’d been lucky, growing up. Three annoying brothers, even her sister, Sheila Perfect—oh, how she missed them. She fought tears, trying not to think about it. She’d see them soon. They wouldn’t believe her story—except her mother. Jane had unfinished business with her mother, to the tune of an Elven love poem.
Sounds of the night washed over her. The guitar music, soft laughs and Charlie’s presence calmed her. She tried to concentrate on them instead of things she couldn’t change.
The breeze, fragrant with late roses, teased her, playing with her hair. She relaxed, controlling her breathing, inhaling the good and releasing the bad. Magic and love and the cosmic universe filtered in through an invisible beam at the top of her head, pulling it in, filling her lungs, and shooting it through her arteries. Her veins collected all the bad, the uncertainty and tension, pushing it through an equally invisible pipeline down her leg, to absorb into and be healed by the earth.
Jane practiced the relaxing technique her brother Kevin had taught her. She drifted on the edge of consciousness. Not asleep. Relaxed. On the verge of twilight between two states. Still aware of this world—the muffled voices, the music, a dog’s bark—but pulled to another. Quieter. Calmer.
The wind in her hair. This world or that? A moon in the sky. The soft rustle of grain, the lap of waves. Leaves talking to the heavens. A voice, the merest wisp, the smallest presence, like a bean blossom three fields over.
Anjinaine.
Hmmm? Too far away to pull it toward her and mingle with the other good.
It came again, a sigh on the breeze. Lethargic, she tried to grasp it. Elusive, it slipped away.
Anjinaine.
A caress against her cheek, the barest brush. Warmth suffused her. Acceptance. Love. Understanding. Exquisite tenderness.
Welcome, Anjinaine.
Then it was gone.
Jerked from the other world, snapped as quickly as a camera shutter, traveling back at an incredible rate of speed, she was dumped into her body on the bench. She heard a cry in the air and recognized it as her own. A tremor rolled over her.
“Jane.” Charlie shook her. “What is it?”
She looked at him with fear and awe. “Someone called my name.”
Charlie scanned the area, but he and Jane sat in a remote spot with few others around.
“It could be anyone,” he said.
Jane shook her head as if to clear it. “Forget about it. I must have fallen asleep.” She felt him tense. “What?”
He stood, his gaze scanning the crowd. In the darkness she couldn’t see his expression.
“The crowd gathers,” he said a moment later. “The judges must have made a decision.”
Oh, God. Oh, God. Her palms sweated; her heart raced. She looked at him in panic. “Charlie?” Her voice wavered.
He took her hand in his, rubbing the back with his thumbs. “It will be all right. We can always appeal to the king.”
Garmade? Jane remembered her last meeting with him when he’d been too weak and infirm to speak for more than a few minutes. “Where is he?”
Charlie looked up at the balconies surrounding the courtyard, though little could be seen in the darkness. “You can be sure he’s aware of everything that happens.”
Strength returns to the land, the king had told her. More is to come, he’d said about her power. She hoped she would have a chance to prove him right.
They followed the tired crowd into the hall and took their seats, Mara, Hugh and Muttle close by. The judges sat at their table, lined up like penguins, black and white and serious.
Muttle? Jane reached out to the Belwaith.
He refused to tell her the decision. Best to know on your own.
Bad news then. She gulped and tried to keep down what little supper she’d eaten.
“Jane Drysdale of Earth.” Eagar’s voice startled her.
She stood, Charlie rising with her. “Sir?”
“In the allegation of the murder of John Tivat of Sylthia . . .” He paused. The crowd held its breath. Hell, she held her breath.
Get it over with.
“We find you guilty as charged.”
She sagged against Charlie. His arms came around her to take her weight. A murmur of disbelief rose from the crowd. Mara touched her, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Jane closed her eyes and clung to Charlie, burying her face in his shirt. She tried hard not to cry out. Her family—she’d never see them again.
“—unaware of the laws of Lowth,” Eagar was saying. She tried to focus on his words, but they sounded so distant. “If a majority vote had been reached, the sentence would have been carried out at once. Because there was a dissension, you will not be punished to the full extent of the law.”
More murmurs filled the room, intensifying as those assembled absorbed his words. Eagar banged repeatedly with his gavel to restore order.
What did he mean, dissension? Who had voted for her? Jane scanned the judges’ faces, looking for a telltale sign, a wink, or the thumbs-up gesture. Nothing.
Eagar continued. “Due to your unusual abilities, sentencing will be delayed until an appropriate answer is found. The court will reconvene at a later date.” He struck his gavel with a fierceness that made her jump again.
Confused, she looked at Charlie.
“What does it mean? I don’t understand.”
He grinned at her, his eyes dancing. “A reprieve. And don’t you see? They can’t sentence you. If they tried to burn you, you could call the rain again. If they ‘tossed you out the castle window,’ you’d bring the wind to lift you to safety. If they imprison you, you can make hole
s in walls. Jane, they’re afraid of you.”
“They don’t know how to kill me?” Truth and irony started to sink in.
“Exactly. They don’t know of a way that will work.”
“They can’t do it in my sleep?” What am I doing, giving them ideas?
“You must be aware of the punishment before they can carry it out. That’s justice.” Charlie nudged her toward the door. “You’re free to go.”
“Home? Earth?” Hope sprang in her chest, radiating outward.
His expression darkened. “No. Not there.”
She felt as if she’d found a treasure map, only to have it snatched away. Her heart cracked in disappointment.
“Jeesh. What kind of—”
“Freaking world do we run here?” Charlie finished. “Come. Let’s celebrate.”
Riiight. Champagne laced with arsenic, compliments of Eagar’s wine cellars.
Oh, what the heck. A reprieve was a reprieve. At least she’d have time to make another stab at seducing Charlie. . . .
Chapter Thirteen
“I have to get out of here,” Jane whined from inside the doorway of Charlie’s office.
He didn’t look up, but concentrated on the papers in front of him. He’d heard her litany over the past two days, since the end of the trial. “I’m bored.” “I hate this place.” “Why can’t I visit Mara?” She repeated them at every opportunity. He wondered if she ever returned to her room. She seemed forever underfoot. The day before, she’d followed him to the gates of Sylthia, where she’d had a tantrum because he wouldn’t let her go farther.
The verdict and lack of sentencing had put the burden of responsibility for Jane back on Charlie’s shoulders. While grateful she’d been spared, the situation didn’t make his life easier. Her constant presence aggravated him in more than one way—he, who prided himself on his calm, logical approach to life. Every one of her sighs, every toss of her apple-scented hair reminded him of the night in the cottage.
What madness! How had he lost control so quickly? Yes, she’d seduced him with her scant attire, big doe eyes and brazenness, but he’d allowed it to happen. If it hadn’t been for the fire . . . He pushed away the thought. He didn’t want to repeat either event, especially that of holding her in his arms. He’d survived without Jane Drysdale for twenty-seven years; he could do so for a few more days until Eagar and the others decided what to do with her.
What Do You Say to a Naked Elf? Page 11
