The power should have been with the nobles behind the imposing table, but instead it emanated from the tall man standing on the mosaic pentacle. As it would have been with Ailim, Ruis realized.
She’d been right.
He’d been so wrong, blinded by old wounds until he couldn’t reason straight. Doubtful of her belief in the law. Untrusting of her knowledge and her power. Untrusting of her? No! But unable to trust her against Bucus. If he’d reined in his impatience and given her more time, at least given her the two days she’d asked for, would Shade still be alive? And the others? Nausea clenched in his gut.
“Yeldoc, the record, please,” Goldenseal said. The JudgmentGrove bailiff stepped forward, not looking at anyone.
Goldenseal sent his gaze up and down the table. The only one he didn’t seem to linger on was T’Ash, Ruis saw. T’Ash stood stoically, and Ruis suddenly remembered that T’Ash, too, had once stood trial before the FirstFamilies’s council.
“Yeldoc, please read the entry of appearance of the advocate for Ruis Elder,” Goldenseal requested, his voice softer than before.
Ruis shivered at the memories and the emotions that gripped him. He leaned back, weakened, on his propped pillows.
Obvious tension surged through the CouncilChamber. He wondered how Ailim must feel, if she was wearing his gift. He looked at where she’d been, but now she was outside of his vision. Worry fretted at him.
Yeldoc rustled papyrus, cleared his throat, drawing Ruis’s attention back to the main players. “There is no entry of appearance.”
T’Oak shuddered. “Bucus T’Elder, the Captain of the Council, stated that Ruis Elder had waived a lawyer to defend him.”
“Yeldoc, please read Ruis Elder’s Waiver of Advocacy,” said Goldenseal.
More flipping of pages. “There is none, Your Honor.”
“Bucus T’Elder lied.” T’Oak words sounded like ice hitting hard pavement. “I took the Word of the Captain of the Council. The Word of a GreatLord. The solemn and sworn Word. And. He. Lied.” T’Oak’s fists bunched.
“That is not the only time T’Elder betrayed his vows. All know of his crimes now.” Ailim’s clear voice cut through the silence of the room. She handed a stack of papyrus to Yeldoc. “The betrayal of his loyalty oath to the infant Ruis Elder. That oath is the foundation of our House and Family system. The illegal usurpation of the treasury and estate of Ruis T’Elder; the beating of a dependent, his wife Calami Reed D’Elder; the torture of a dependent child and Family member under his care, Ruis Elder; the murder of a dependent Family member, the woman Hylde, nurse to Ruis.”
She hadn’t mentioned any of his uncle’s crimes against her or the D’SilverFir Family, Ruis realized. Only those that had hurt him and the Elder Family. He went cold. With effort he pressed a button to increase the heat of the bed beneath him.
Ailim retreated beyond the holo screen, and Ruis yearned with every atom of his being to see her pale, heart-shaped face again. His vindication diminished next to the desire to have her with him.
Goldenseal swept the council with a look. His lips curled. “I resent being called out of retirement due to the prideful bungling of this body of noble FirstFamily Lords and Ladies. You made a mistake, several, and you did not rectify them. Instead you piled error upon error until the whole of Druida wonders at your judgment. You’ve denied one of your own sons his basic rights. You didn’t listen to a divinely inspired revelation by a confirmed prophetess. You stripped the rank and career from one of the best Judges I have known without consulting the law or glancing at the facts of the matter.
“But the first crime was the worst. You denied a Celtan his inalienable rights, you violated the basic tenet of our culture: DO NO HARM. You tried him and sentenced him and would have summarily killed him. That can never be allowed to happen again. You’ve seen the charges against you.
“Yeldoc, read from page forty-three, line twenty through page forty-four, line ten of the charges against this FirstFamilies Council,” Goldenseal asked.
Yeldoc cleared his throat. “The late GreatLady D’Vine addressed the FirstFamilies Council and said: ‘I have nineteen decades of using Flair, and not even a strong, young Null can suppress my wisdom. I am old, a crone—close to the cycle of death and rebirth—and my sensing of Mysteries is great. I have had visions of this young man—and of the fate of our Council, so I must speak. Events have already been propelled down a specific path. Be wary of trying to control the wishes of the Unknown, of usurping the strong Fate now in motion. Not everything is predetermined in this matter, but be assured by seeking to punish Ruis, you will turn the river of Destiny to flood yourselves.’ ”
Goldenseal studied D’Grove. “GrandLady D’Grove, you are now acting Captain of the Council. Do you remember those words?”
“To my great shame, I do,” she said, blinking rapidly.
“Is it often that this august body ignores a prophecy of a renowned seer, a GreatLady or GreatLord of the House of Vine?”
D’Grove bit trembling lips. “Never. We never did before or since.”
“Oh? And in this case?”
She shook her head, raised and dropped her hands. “The man is a Null, he affected us—” She audibly inhaled. “No, that is not worthy of me. We ignored her. We condemned him. I voted for banishment. When he came before us again, I agreed that he should be executed. He is a Null.”
“He is a Celtan!” Goldenseal thundered, the volume of his voice all the more startling for its previous quietness. “Yeldoc, read—”
“Let’s get this over with,” T’Holly said. “You sent us a massive document, but I, for one, read it all, and know every indictment against us, against me, is true.”
“Do any of you wish to go over the record that we Judges of Celta presented you? Do any of you need clarification?” asked Goldenseal.
No one answered.
“How do each of you plead?” asked Goldenseal.
“I’m guilty,” T’Ash said.
“Me, too,” said Danith D’Ash.
He scowled at her. “You wanted to free Ruis, both times.”
She sniffed. “I let your opinion override mine and let you vote our one vote. I stand with you. I am to be punished as well.”
Ruis smiled, saw the faintest curve of Goldenseal’s lips.
“What would you have us do?” asked T’Holly through white lips.
Goldenseal raised thin gray brows. “It is the ruling of the panel of Judges that every individual who voted in the trial of Ruis Elder, be he or she householder or consort—”
T’Ivy sighed and murmured, “My HeartMate is spared, she wasn’t here.”
The SupremeJudge admonished him with a look, and T’Ivy sat upright.
“The next new twinmoons is in four days. An appropriate time for casting off old faults and initiating new, better habits. On the twentieth day of Reed, Ioho, midmorning bell, every individual who voted in Ruis Elder’s trial will wear penitent brown common cloth and walk barefoot from this chamber to the starship Nuada’s Sword.”
Most shivered.
It was going to be cold, Ruis thought.
Goldenseal continued. “At Nuada’s Sword the offenders will kneel and formally request forgiveness from Ruis Elder.”
Kneel! Ruis felt his mouth fall open.
“Kneel!” D’Birch screeched.
“The crime is prejudice that would lead to taking the life of an innocent man. A grievous crime. For such a grievous crime, the punishment and humiliation must be extreme.”
Ruis rolled with laughter until his aching body made him still.
“But the curse of Nuada’s Sword!” cried D’Birch.
“I have been informed by the Ship itself and my Residence that the curse is a thing of the past. A problem Ruis Elder remedied.
“After that vized ceremony, the penitents will proceed to the public SacredGrove,” Goldenseal said. “There they will acknowledge their wrongs to the Lady and the Lord and all of Celta and take part in a P
urity Ritual.”
“We’re FirstFamily nobles, we need a council member to officiate,” D’Birch whined.
“I can do that.” GrandLord Straif Blackthorn stepped forward from the shadows, a wry smile curving his lips. “I can’t say that I wouldn’t be in your place had I been here. But I was absent. I can officiate.”
D’Birch snuffled.
“To also officiate, I appoint the new acting T’Vine, young Muin; the former GrandLady D’SilverFir, Ailim; and the acting GrandLady D’SilverFir, Caltha. To make the couples even, I designate GrandLord Sage, though he is not of a FirstFamily. Are there any objections to this ruling of the Celtan Panel of Judges?” asked Goldenseal.
After a moment D’Grove spoke in a small, gruff voice. “No.”
Silence.
The council members began shifting in their chairs. Goldenseal raised his voice. “Yeldoc, distribute the recommendations.”
The council stilled again. Yeldoc ’ported blue papyrus booklets before each person.
“These are our recommendations in the matters before this JudgmentGrove. First, Ruis Elder is to be acknowledged as T’Elder. We believe that he may be amenable to waiving the title and accepting the honor and rank of Captain of Nuada’s Sword, with full membership in this council by scrystone.”
Ruis’s mind swam—T’Elder, acknowledged the Captain of Nuada’s Sword! It could only be Ailim’s doing. She knew him so well. Not only had she cleared his name, but she had restored him to his rightful place in Celtan culture.
“Ruis Elder should be awarded his entire outstanding noblegilt from his birth to the present day. The entire Council will then decide the value of his services to society in restoring and caretaking the starship, and determine his annual noblegilt accordingly. That is the recommendation with regard to Ruis Elder.
“Now, with regard to the former SupremeJudge, former GrandLady Ailim D’SilverFir, it is acknowledged that she associated with a condemned person, that she violated her oath as GrandLady and as SupremeJudge to the laws of Celta.”
Ruis frowned. He hated this. What would she do? He hadn’t trusted her even though he knew she was breaking her oaths to be with him. His self-disgust grew.
“Yet she is human and makes mistakes. It is the considered opinion of the distinguished panel of Judges that in her misguided actions she did no harm; therefore, we advise that the Council reinstate her appointment as SupremeJudge as well as her title of D’SilverFir, and restore the ancestral estate to the D’SilverFir Family.”
Ruis let out a breath of relief and studied Ailim. Her expression was impassive, but her fingers trembled. He was glad for her, but it would have been more satisfying for him if he could have helped her as she had helped him.
The great discrepancy of wealth and title and rank between them had vanished. That left only the awful barriers of distrust and pride and stupidity.
One last time Goldenseal scrutinized each noble. “I suggest you be very careful and informed about the laws of Celta in the future, FirstFamilies. The Judges of Celta do not want to interfere in such disgraceful matters again, though we are prepared to do so if necessary. For the good of all, I bid you blessings, and remind you of your engagement on Ioho, the twentieth day of Reed.”
There was silence for a long time as the Judges, Straif Blackthorn, Ailim, and her beaming Heir filed out. Samba’s tail flicked with triumph. After a few moments D’Grove banged her gavel. “This meeting is ended,” she said. “Merry meet, and merry part, and merry meet again. Blessed be.”
The next evening Ruis glanced at his watch again, huffed out a breath, and stopped his limping pacing. Finally it was time for him to leave so he could reach the Guildhall after Ailim’s reinstatement ceremony.
He set his jaw. “I’m going to get Ailim.”
Samba sniffed. Rotated an ear, but did not turn her attention from History of Cats.
About time, Samba said.
Ruis shook his head. He donned his new red silkeen shirt, his highly polished boots of the latest fashion, and flung a cape around himself for warmth. He no longer needed outward trappings of his worth. He knew bone deep that he made a vital contribution to his culture in restoring the last Starship.
Better than that, everyone from D’Grove as Captain of the Council down to the lowliest shoemaker’s apprentice knew it, too. But wearing good clothes still made him feel better, and he couldn’t imagine going to Ailim in less than his best.
He left the Ship and strode through Landing Park and the streets of Druida, head high and tread firm. The only stares he received were those still interested in the insignia embroidered on his cape—ancient symbols, venerated symbols.
He had triumphed. He’d proved his humanity and his skill and his worth through his own actions during the carnage in the Guildhall. But Judge Ailim D’SilverFir had exposed the negligence and abuse of the nobles in their dealings with him.
Ruis stood before the large embossed brass doors of the Guildhall.
He squared his shoulders and laid fingertips on the door. The heavy handle felt cold and solid beneath his fingers. He gripped it and pushed hard to release some of his tension. The door swung wide.
As he stepped inside the lights faded until only the skylights lit the gloom. Looking down the corridor he saw the distant lights flicker and dim.
Then, with a little hum, light spread. He went over to a torch bracket and scrutinized it, grinning when he realized a nanotech bulb was there, glowing with energy from a power source that the colonists had originally installed in the building. Ship must have sent instructions to the Guildhall library.
He kept grinning. Perhaps the lights and other technological backup systems were in place because the Guilds hated the thought of being without power, or helpless, but to Ruis it meant that he had been accepted. That Nulls had been accepted as integral to Celtan life.
Words carried to his ears. “Your reinstatement ceremony was lovely, Judge D’SilverFir. Sit here and calm yourself while I put my robes away in my cache.” D’Ash’s voice floated from around the corner, where the Council room was.
Irritation spurted in him. How often had Ailim heard those words in her life—“just calm yourself”? She didn’t need to be calm anywhere except in the JudgmentGrove.
As he neared the waiting benches outside the CouncilChamber, his palms began to sweat. His knees felt weak. His stomach clenched and he began to doubt whether he’d get his tongue around the words he wanted to say. He shoved his hands in his pockets and rubbed them dry, but found that his fingers trembled, so he left them there. He hadn’t been so nervous the first time he was here . . . but then that had all been about his past.
This was all his future.
He licked his lips, swallowed, and with a deep breath he rounded the last corner.
She sat straight, hands folded, on the bench. She looked small—she’d lost weight—and pale, the epitome of serenity. Around her neck she wore his gift, and he didn’t know what that meant. Would she be able to forgive him?
At the sound of his footfalls, she turned her head and faintly raised her eyebrows. The knot in his stomach twisted. She looked every inch the noblewoman, every inch the cool judge—her hair confined in a silver net, her gown exquisitely simple and elegant.
He sat next to her and she turned her head away to stare as if absorbed in the mediocre mural on the opposite wall. His mind froze, all the words he’d planned on saying evaporated, gone. He cleared his throat. “I see you are the only case on the FullCouncil’s agenda this evening, SupremeJudge.”
She didn’t even bother to lift her shoulder a millimeter.
Ruis winced. He closed his eyes. He wanted her so badly his entire body shook. He didn’t think he could live the night through without her. He opened his mouth. Nothing emerged.
Finally, in an act of pure desperation, he slid from the bench to his knees before her. He put a hand over her twined ones. They were ice cold. He jolted at the sensation of pure desire that raced through his blo
od, then folded his fingers over hers, hoping to warm them, warm her into just looking at him.
“I have come to beg.”
She flinched, and he caught her gaze sliding toward him. He sucked in a breath and went on. “I am desperate, lady. I stand convicted of pride and stupidity and distrust. I have been banished from the most important place in the world—by my lady’s side.” He fumbled for phrases. She tilted her head and met his eyes, then glanced away.
He brought her hands to his lips, kissed them, inhaled her scent. It made him dizzy, but didn’t stop the words that finally flew from his mouth. The right words.
“I love you. Tell me that you will be my wife, my lover, my—HeartMate.” His voice cracked on the last word. What could he know of HeartMates? They’d never join mind-to-mind like other HeartMates. But if there was ever one woman for him, the woman, it was she.
He shook with futility. How could she prefer him over others? Now that her Family estate was secure for the future, how could she find any reason to return his love after he had scorned her so?
“Ruis.” It was a breath, but he heard it. His blood pounded through his veins, his muscles warmed with joy.
He bent his head over her hands. He couldn’t look at her. He’d made too many mistakes. She couldn’t forgive him.
She slipped her fingers from his, and he felt stricken, executed. Then her small hands framed his face and tilted his head up. When he met her eyes, her own were warm, her lips smiled, her cheeks tinged with a blush. “Yes, Ruis.”
“You’ll marry me?” he asked and waited an eternity.
“Yes.”
He shouted in triumph and picked her up and spun her around until her shrieks of laughter bounced off the severe marble walls of the Guildhall.
Then he slid her down his hardened body. His lips found hers, tongue plunging in her mouth to claim it, as he would claim her body and her heart. HeartMate.
Her arms went around his neck and her fingers played with his hair on his nape. He shuddered and moaned.
She molded herself to him, her tongue tangled with his. Her little moans ignited his blood so he thought he’d explode.
Heart Thief Page 36
