Truthseeker

by C. E. Murphy

“Corn is technically a grain.” Kelly laughed as Lara gave her an exasperated look. “You have no idea how much fun that was. All these years of you saying things like that, and now I get to get my own back. I did, yeah.” She took the fish out of the oven and slid the sticks onto the plates. “I said what you suggested, that he was probably right but it seemed safer to let you work through it on your own for a while. He was kind of tense, but then we had great makeup sex so I guess it’s okay.”

  “I did not need to know that.”

  “Oh, but I think you did. Is that enough corn for two people?”

  “It’ll have to be. It’s all you’ve got.” Lara put the pot on to boil and went back to her papers. “I also have this idea that because the weapon was used to drown Annwn it might have an affinity for water. So I think if Brendan brought it here, it would be hidden near a river or lake or something.”

  “Look at you, Ms. Extrapolatey. Here, let’s try something.” Kelly came over to pick up the top sheet of paper, then cleared her throat dramatically. “The worldbreaking weapon is hidden at—you actually had to photocopy pages about Niagara Falls? You couldn’t have remembered that one?”

  “I was being thorough.” Lara lost her scowl as Kelly laughed.

  “Okay, okay. Ahem. The worldbreaking weapon is hidden at Niagara Falls in upstate New York,” she said decisively, then looked hopefully at Lara, who gazed up at her in astonishment.

  “That’s one of the strangest things I’ve ever heard. There’s no music with it. It’s completely neutral, like you don’t have any idea of the truth of what you’re saying.”

  “Well, I don’t. But damn, I hoped maybe there’d be some kind of inherent truthiness you’d pick up on.” Kelly went back to the fridge, taking mayonnaise and pickles out to make tartar sauce.

  Lara shook her head. “I guess the power’s not that well developed yet. It was a good thought, though. It’s okay. I’ll just read all of these carefully and see if anything strikes a chord.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe that just means this is the wrong way to go about it. I’ll keep trying to think of other approaches, too.”

  “Are you really sure it was only a day, Lara?”

  “Of course. Why?” Lara looked up with a frown to see Kelly studying her with an odd expression.

  “Because you’ve always been quiet and shy. The only thing I’ve ever seen you strongly opinionated and decisive about is clothing. And here you are acting like”—Kelly shrugged a shoulder and smiled—“a superhero.”

  Lara glanced down again, half wanting to hide herself in the paperwork. “Yeah, I know. It’s partly that I was so scared in the Barrow-lands just in those first few minutes, Kel. I had to pretend I was brave so I wouldn’t completely fall apart. And then dealing with Emyr, I kept having to stand my ground, and it keeps getting easier.”

  “Well, that’s good. I think that’s good. You’re going to need all the confidence you can get your hands on when we go to court. In the meantime …” Kelly drained the corn and plonked spoonsful onto the plates, then slopped tartar sauce down beside the fishsticks. “In the meantime, a delicious repast prepared by yours truly, and you can spend the next week or two honing your truthseeking skills by finding the worldbreaking weapon.”

  Twenty-Four

  More accurately, it seemed, she could spend the next week or two giving herself headaches trying to find the worldbreaking weapon. It seemed extraordinary that being called into court could be a welcome relief, but Marjorie Oritz’s call that Dafydd had been granted a hearing was the first time since she’d come home that Lara felt a surge of real hope.

  For a woman who couldn’t get taken on for jury duty, she had spent a surprising amount of time in courtrooms recently. One, true enough, had been Emyr’s palace court, but if he were to be considered the judge there, he was a far less forgiving one than the woman who presided over Dafydd’s reentry hearing. She, at least, had a glint of humor behind her expression of distaste for the array of petitioners gathered in her courtroom.

  Lara knew she made a good impression: her boxy-shouldered, short-sleeved dress was of a classic style, popular for its elegance and its practicality in the summer heat. It lent her slight form a degree of determination, making a statement that she wasn’t a victim. The judge would very likely see it as just that, but Lara had thought it an important effort to make, regardless.

  Dozens of other people were gathered as well. Lara’s mother was there, watching Dafydd with an open curiosity that Lara doubted had been present any other time they’d been in each other’s company. Kelly was at Gretchen Jansen’s side, and Dickon Collins was at Kelly’s. Worry niggled at Lara when she glanced Dickon’s way: he had tread very lightly around Lara the time or two she’d seen him over the past two weeks. It would take Dafydd to prove herself to Dickon, and whether Dafydd would be willing to do that remained unknown.

  Cynthia and Steven Taylor were there as well. Cynthia looked astonishingly adult in tailored gray, while Steve maintained an expression of reassuring calm. Beside them, on the courtroom aisle, sat Detective Reginald Washington, whose off-the-rack suit looked uncomfortably hot and ill-fitted compared to the tailors at his side.

  Unexpectedly, parole officer Rich Cooper was also there—though after his comment about being turned inside-out by questioners after her disappearance, Lara supposed she ought to have expected his attendence. She might, after all, let slip some detail of where she’d been, instead of the mysterious refusal to discuss it that she’d left him with.

  Dafydd himself looked better than he had in prison. He still had nothing of the vitality Lara was accustomed to seeing in him, but he seemed stronger. His suit had been purchased for him hastily, rather than taken out of storage. Lara breathed a promise to herself that he would soon enough be free, healthy, and returned to the gorgeous clothes of his home court.

  Lawyers, security, and a court stenographer were there, but un-alarming. It was the reporters gathered in the room who made Lara’s heart palpitate with nervousness, and she was grateful there were no cameras allowed within the courtroom itself. The bailiff called for order and the judge leaned forward, elbows on her desk as she brought her forefingers together to point accusingly at Lara.

  “I’m given to understand that you’re here to petition David Kirwen’s return to polite society, young lady.”

  “Yes, your honor.” The title came much more easily to Lara’s lips than “your majesty” had, and she schooled her expression, certain that laughter wouldn’t stand her well just then. “He didn’t kidnap me, and he certainly didn’t kill me. There’s no reason for him to be incarcerated.”

  “Yes, so I understand. And yet you’ve given no one any explanation as to where you were for the past …” The judge made a show of tipping her wrist and examining her watch, as if it had a calendar of all the days Lara had been missing. “Seventeen months, three weeks, four days, I believe?”

  “Seventeen months, one week, and four days, your honor,” Lara said with a touch of asperity. “I’ve been back two weeks now, after all.”

  “Don’t get hoity with me, young woman. You’ve cost the state a remarkable amount of money in terms of manhunt hours, nevermind the cost of incarcerating a man you claim has done you no harm. One more remark like that and I’ll present you with a bill for our time.”

  Lara inclined her head sheepishly. “Sorry, your honor.”

  “As well you should be. Well, Miss Jansen.” The judge waited until Lara raised her eyes again, then spoke acerbically. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to provide some sort of explanation for disappearing so thoroughly and frightening the wits out of your friends and family. I would be delighted if it encompassed the reasons Mr. Kirwen opted not to speak in his own defense at his indictment, if he’s not responsible for your disappearance.”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t. I said he hadn’t kidnapped me.” Lara reached for the confidence she’d developed over the past weeks,
pushing away the embarrassment that had briefly overtaken her. She couldn’t afford to be mild, not when she had nothing but unpalatable truth on her side. She had to make them believe, regardless of the cost.

  The judge’s eyebrows lifted. She glanced from Lara to Dafydd, then turned a thin-lipped, sharp smile back at Lara. “Do go on. We’re all abated waiting to hear the details.”

  “Your honor.” Lara took a breath, then steadied her voice as she met the judge’s eyes. “Your honor, you wouldn’t believe me.”

  Truth rang through the words, making them sharp enough to cut. Fanciful phrase, Lara thought, but even it had precision to it: it was as though the truth, forced into being spoken aloud, actually made the air clearer, made it ring and shape the world. She heard it, and so, clearly, did the judge, whose face went lax, a telling show of surprise before the muscles around her eyes and mouth tightened again. “Perhaps you’d be so good as to let me be the judge of that, young woman.”

  Lara swallowed and deliberately opened her hands, refusing to make them fists. It took concentration: everything took concentration, even breathing, but it was only with that effort she felt she could invest her words with truth. And she had to be believed; she, who had spent a lifetime hearing the truth, had to make it heard now. Anything else would be insufficient; anything else would lead to Dafydd’s exposure, and that was not a risk she was willing to take.

  But she could do it. Her talent had stretched well beyond where she’d once imagined its boundaries lay. She remembered the nightwings, destroyed with a prayer, and drew on the strength of belief and voice she’d had then.

  “You wouldn’t believe the details, your honor. They would make you angry. You would think I mocked you. I wouldn’t, and neither would Dafydd if you sent him from this room and heard his side of the story separately, but you would believe we were lying. That we’d practiced it, though you wouldn’t be able to figure out when.”

  The words hurt. They scraped at her skin, exposing muscle, and went deeper, digging for marrow. There was none of the music she associated with telling or hearing truth, but rather a harsh uncomfortable strain to everything. Maybe that was what relentless truth was to other people; at its worst it could be that way for her, too. She wished abruptly she had another way: a translation of truth into song, the way she sometimes heard lyrics on the radio. It still cut deep that way, still hurt, but music tempered truth in a way raw forced words couldn’t.

  Rustling in the courtroom made her dare a glance over her shoulder. Both policemen wore deep frowns, and the gathered reporters had given up scribbling notes or holding out their recording devices to instead stare uncertainly at Lara. Kelly, sitting beside Lara’s mother, had her arms wrapped around herself, face pinched with unhappiness. Gretchen herself wore an expression of terrible sorrow, her gaze on Lara speaking a desire to somehow save her from herself.

  “I’ll tell you.” Lara looked back at the judge, keeping her voice soft. Soft as shark skin, and so razored in its way. “But it will not satisfy you, it will not make you happy, and it will not change the fact that David Kirwen is not a kidnapper, and should be released from jail. I am sorry, your honor, but this is not easy on any of us. Please let it end now.”

  The judge’s fingers, once pointed so accusatorily, were now knotted together, less an action of distress than frustrated rage. She wouldn’t be accustomed to such flaunting of her authority, and even if she was, she would never have encountered something like Lara’s talent. She gathered herself, spitting a question that came forth hoarse, despite the attempted strength behind it: “What are you?”

  Lara bowed her head and sighed. Not who, but what was she, and there was no satisfactory answer to that. She tried anyway, looking up and speaking as softly as she dared while keeping the truth’s razor edge in her voice. “I’m someone who hears truth and lies when people speak to her. And I can make others hear the truth, too, if I have to. Please, your honor. David Kirwen is guilty of no crime. Let him go.”

  She did, after that. Had him taken away, technically, to fill out paperwork, but the intent was clear: he would be released.

  It was also clear almost no one understood why. Kelly did; Gretchen Jansen did. Dafydd ap Caerwyn, of course, did, but the others let their gazes skitter off Lara and shifted away from her if she came too near. Even the reporters backed off, retreating from the courtroom with low-key agreements that they would interview her on the steps outside. It didn’t surprise her: Lara felt her own presence and actions like a weight in the courtroom, and was as grateful as they were to escape it.

  Kelly was waiting with Gretchen Jansen and Dickon when Lara exited the room. Both women offered hugs, and Lara sighed into her mother’s shoulder before turning to face Dickon, searching for something to say.

  Detective Washington strode up to them, a step ahead of Officer Cooper, before Lara found a way to break the silence, and did it for her: “What the hell was that?”

  “The truth.” Her answer was so simple it almost made Lara laugh. Instead she passed a hand over her face, and more quietly, said, “It’s what I said in there, Detective. My whole life I’ve known when people were lying to me. Today I had to make you hear the truth. I’m sorry. I really am.”

  “You can’t make somebody …” Washington trailed off unhappily as Lara lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “Excuse my French, Miss Jansen, but that’s a load of bullshit.”

  “Okay.” Lara shrugged as discomfort raised the hairs on her arms. Small enough recompense for what she’d put the court through. “Then find an interpretation you can live with, Detective. I told you none of this would make you happy.”

  “You still haven’t told me what happened to you.”

  Lara looked up at him, studying his dark eyes and the deepening lines around his mouth before she shook her head. “The only way you would believe me would be if I did what I just did in there, Detective. If I made you hear the truth. And I think you hate what just happened, am I right? So maybe you should let it go.” She glanced at Cooper, standing silent behind Washington, and sighed. “Both of you. I’m sorry.”

  “You say that a lot. Do you mean it?”

  Kelly gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “Lara never says anything she doesn’t mean. Reg, you really wouldn’t believe her. Let it go, okay?”

  His scowl darkened. “You know where she’s been?”

  “Yeah. And believe me when I tell you that you’d think she was lying to you. God,” she added explosively, turning to Lara. “Is this what your life is like all the time?”

  Lara, under her breath, said, “It’s not usually this dramatic,” but nodded. “With the truth? Yes. It’s always complicated.”

  “I’m sorry for ever giving you shit,” Kelly said fervently.

  “You’re forgiven.” Lara caught the hostility on Washington’s face and sighed. She’d spent a lifetime with that kind of emotion directed at her, even without forcing people to acknowledge a truth they didn’t want to hear. Maybe it was strength to be able to stand in hostility’s face, but the idea of its relentless weight never lifting exhausted her.

  “Here’s our man.” Relief swept Dickon’s voice. He broke away from the uncomfortable huddle to pound Dafydd on the back. “Good to see you in something other than an orange jumpsuit, man.”

  “It’s good to be in something else. I’d have never admitted it in prison, but they chafe.” Dafydd wrinkled his nose delicately, earning a laugh as Dickon released him to the rest of the group.

  His mortal glamour slipped and slid in Lara’s vision, but she jolted forward to catch him in a hard hug. His arms, at least, felt safe and strong around her, and his breath stirred her hair as he murmured, “Thank you.”

  She mumbled “You’re welcome” into his shoulder. “Thank God. I don’t know what I would’ve done if that judge hadn’t agreed to release you.” She knew she should let him go, make some effort to smooth things over with Washington, but she remained still, trying to convince herself everything would be all rig
ht now.

  “You’d have told her the truth.” Kelly sounded wry. “And then she would’ve locked you in a looney bin. David, I owe you an apology.”

  “Not at all.” Dafydd released Lara to shake first Kelly’s then Gretchen’s hands. “The circumstances were impossible.”

  “They still are.” Distortion crawled across Officer Cooper’s face and darkened his eyes. “I want the straight answer.”

  “To hell with you, man,” Dickon said with more conviction than humor. “How about me? Am I ever gonna hear something other than Lara’s delusions?” He added, “Sorry,” perfunctorily, and Lara ghosted a smile.

  “No, you’re not. And Dafydd will explain—” She broke off to wait on his approval, then continued at his nod: “But not here, okay, Dickon?”

  “You mean not in front of the cops?” Washington’s jaw rolled aggressively enough that Dickon stepped forward, pitting himself against the detective. They reminded Lara of gladiators, determined to end—or maybe bring on—a confrontation at any cost. “Right now I don’t care if it’s on the record or off, Miss Jansen. I just want answers.”

  Dafydd exhaled loudly. “At the very least I think we should extract ourselves from these surrounds before arguing about it. Perhaps if we retired somewhere more private?”

  “Well, we can’t take the elevator down to the parking garage,” Kelly said. “There are about a million—” She broke off, looked at Lara, and said, “About twenty reporters waiting around it. Is there a way we can sneak out without being seen?”

  Her no-nonsense tone coupled with the effort to be literal sparked Lara’s amusement. Washington, looking both irritated and accepting, gestured them toward a hall. “I can walk you out the same way they brought Kirwen in.”

  “I’ll use the public elevator,” Gretchen said unexpectedly. “The press know who I am. They’ll be happy to get a statement from me, if they can’t have one from Lara and Dafydd.” She embraced Lara, gave Dafydd a brief smile, and hurried toward the elevators.