Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1) (29 page)

“Ah, very good! Intelligent. And what cheek, most turn pale at the sight of this most auspicious brow.” He turned to his left and half a score of fine ladies dressed to make a peacock envious tittered.

“Pray silence, my ladies; we must maintain decorum in this most royal court. Tell me, Orion, if you are a slave: I must acquit you and purchase you.”

He looked at Orion, waiting.

Orion didn't speak.

“Where were we?” the Judge Honorable asked.

Another man with a gilded knife standing to the judge's right bowed and said, “As to whether the defendant is freeborn or slave.”

“Ah, yes. Well, does anyone know? I mean, this court requests that a witness speak to this matter. The defendant has spoken quite enough and I am tired of him. Someone else?”

“Your Honor, the boy who stands there is freeborn.” Orion turned to face the speaker. He had not seen him behind the high feathery things the ladies were wearing. His heart sank.

“Yes? And why in your house, pray, if you are indeed the accuser?”

Paris, for Paris it was, glanced at Orion then spoke. “I met him in distant travels. I thought well of him and when chance and good fortune brought me to the markets the day,” he paused and swallowed, “he was almost sold to the Kyrian keeper of the mines. I could not but redeem him. I do not know what need drove him into slavery but, I protest, I could not have acted otherwise.”

High-pitched sounds came from the well-dressed ladies. “The mines!” was repeated in fearful whispers. One lady, neck almost hidden by the gold chains interwoven about it, swooned in horror and had to be borne out by the man with the gilded knife.

“Alas, that I did not know his character. He speaks so well, as Your Honor most assiduously remarked, with a cunning affectation to a country drawl, that one could not imagine a dark vileness hidden within. Yet not two sunrises had he been my guest when my house is overturned in turmoil and the thief flees!”

“Quite. Ah, perhaps I did not read this, the scrawl is so small it hurts my eyes horribly, but what is the charge? What has been stolen?”

“Excellency, most sagacious diviner of justice, I am but late returned from a journey and have not fully cataloged the poor items of my household's possession (nothing that would be but gravel to your eyes, my lord), but request that the defendant be searched so as to hasten the wings of justice.”

A coldness sank into Orion's limbs. Why had he not cast it away? The suspicion that his late arrest had not been by chance became minute by minute more confirmed in his mind. What could he say against Paris? The women adored him and were horrified at Orion's unfeeling gratitude. The pompous noble, in charge of what would in Darach have been a heated argument sometimes ending in blows, had powers Orion did not wish to guess. Imprisonment, slavery, exile, death?

He struggled against the guards then gave up. Any resistance eliminated whatever small favor he might have in these lawgivers. Rough hands pawed over him. The circlet of metal pressed into his flesh.

The guard exclaimed. “A ring!” He held it up for the court to see. A collective intake of breath from the ladies accompanied this announcement.

“Bring it here,” the Judge Honorable said. “We shall mete out punishment appropriate to its worth.”

There was no question of who owned the ring. A rustic peasant boy? Orion hoped the punishment would not be severe. But most of all he hated the thought of being bound while Paris walked away. If he could hurt him now no punishment would seem too extreme. All these thoughts cascaded through his mind in a flash as the guard handed the ring over.

The Judge Honorable's face paled, then the red of a heavy blush as his breathing caught. He choked. “Guards! Guards! Surround this criminal. It is treason! He has stolen the Ring of Artemis!” He stood and held the ring aloft.

The ladies gasped. Two more swooned. The rest stood rooted in place on the marble floor. Orion shuddered. He looked at Paris. Paris bowed slightly.

The Judge Honorable stared at the ring in his hands, turning it back and forth, awe mixed with horror on his features. Recollecting himself he looked hastily around and, snatching up a small wooden hammer, struck in front of him thrice. “The criminal is to be held, day and night, with twenty-four guards under two officers. In this matter of high treason the Court shall,” he paused, and heard the whisper of the man standing next to him, “shall reconvene with Her Majesty the Queen in presence to pass final judgment.”

He ducked his head next to the man again. “A second guard of forty-six,” he looked at the man, “no, forty-eight guards under four officers shall escort my person as I take up the,” more conferring, “the possession of the Ring of Artemis pending final judgment.” He breathed heavily.

The man next to him cleared his throat. “Ah, Court is dismissed. All other cases are moved to the morrow.” He struck the hammer again.

Orion stood frozen. He had come to the city to find the Ring. He knew not why it was important—though he did know the meaning of treason—but wanted it to meet the Queen. And meet the Queen he would. This hope, like leaving Darach, like coming to Avallonë, had turned to ash. Now the very thing that his mother wished to restore him would condemn him.

He thought of all the false hopes that had lit like birds upon him, only to fly off with no return. Where he, introduced to the Queen, could make things right. Stop Paris, find Kerry, and most of all, free Adara and share a new life with her. Even in his darkest moments he believed, deep inside, that the Queen was strong enough, if only he could get to her, to fix all things.

But it was not be. It could not be. He was the problem. And under her great powers there would be no hope for him. He did not know her. How could he persuade her against all reason and sense and the quick-witted silver tongue of his adversary? Why would anyone believe him?

The guards led him away to a large cell. A small army stood at arms in front, the required twenty-four and many more beside.

He sighed.

When evil has overpowered you, there is hope that good might come to your aid. But if you are the evil one, and face to face with the good, where can you look for hope?

Twenty-three

Evandor's face blanched. “Your mother's?”

“Yes. I see her in my dreams and, recently, also waking memory. She sang me a song as she put me to sleep.”

“Where is she?”

“Dead. My—my brother told me so.”

Evandor's brow wrinkled into dark folds.

Adara thought of her brother. Where would he be now? There was not a moment to lose. “Please, you have to help me. My brother was captured by the same man you,” she could not say the words, “by Simon. I think he is a slave in this city. Can you buy his freedom?”

“You have a brother?”

“Yes. He is older than I. It is he that confirmed my dream for he knew our mother, also our father, for many years. Unlike me.”

“Father?” He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Tell me, was your mother wed to him?”

“What? Why would you ask such a thing?”

His arms dropped from her as if stung. “No!” he cried out in a wail of agony. He sunk his face into his hands.

He roused himself. “I am sorry. I lived with the dream of her, somewhere else, alive and perhaps even happy. It is cruel to have that taken away.”

She sat in silence.

He rocked back and forth, hands grabbing at his hair. Every few moments he looked at her with such sorrow that she could not return his gaze.

“Right now I have only my brother. And—you, your kindness. I could never repay you, but, for me, will you find him?” She hardly dared hope. But why not? Orion would surely cost no more than one of the trinkets he had shoved aside without a thought.

“You do not know what you ask of me, Adara, daughter of Astra.” He looked at her with empty eyes.

Cora ran in the room. “My lord! My lord Evandor! Did you hear the news? It's found!”

He still stared at Adara.

Cora came from behind him and faced him. “My lord?”

He turned to her. “What, Cora?”

“It's been found! I tell you, it is no longer lost!”

“What? And why do you interrupt us so?”

“A thousand pardons, my lord. I thought you would wish to know-”

“Well I'm busy-”

“-that the Ring of Artemis-”

“What?” He bolted upright.

“-has been found!”

“Tell me! Quickly!”

“I was just talking with my cousin, you know how your lordship has said that-”

“Never mind how, what did you learn?”

“There was a trial. A traveler was suspected of thieving from the old Greer house. Lord Paris it is who has the rent of those rooms. His men caught the thief leaving. And he had been his own guest too!”

“A thief? After all these years, a thief found it?”

“Yes, isn't that odd? And he's nothing but a boy, from foreign parts no less! I can't imagine where it was hidden. Anyways, no one knew until he was searched at court and they found it! Can you believe it, they found the Ring of Artemis on him!”

At the mention of a boy Adara froze. “What was his name?”

“Lord Paris, it was, who found it out. He'll be even more a darling at court after this, I'm sure!”

“No, the boy?”

“The thief? I swear I don't know, as if that mattered! The point is the Ring is found!”

“What do you know of this?” Evandor turned to Adara fiercely. “Think you still to play on my affections with your story? How could your mother, far away, have it if it has been hidden in Avallonë all this time?” He almost spat as he said the words, his face livid.

“Please, you must believe me! Find my brother Orion and he will tell you. Tell you of my mother for the long years he knew her. How she acted, what she said, all things that no lie could make sound true to you who knew her so well.”

“I begin to think I knew her not at all.” The red-hot flame of his anger had passed leaving nothing but icy steel.

Adara crumpled into a heap. She wept aloud, not caring what he or Cora thought. Oh that she were bought as a serving woman instead of this! She thought of Orion. Who else could be the thief?

There must be some mistake. There was no lie in his tale, that she was sure of. But would anyone else believe him?

“What will happen to him?”

“Who? The boy?” Cora answered.

Adara no longer saw Evandor. “Yes,” she whispered.

“Unlawful possession of any ancient treasure carries with it the crime of high treason,” a voice answered from behind her. Evandor stood at the window. “There is but one penalty.”

“Please, I must see him! If for one last time!”

“You know the thief?” Cora squeaked.

“I fear it is my brother. Please, if you have any honor in you, let me go!”

Evandor whirled around. “You speak of honor to me? You, avowed daughter, dare tell me the meaning of honor?”

“I do not lie!”

“Curse you, and curse your words! I will go to this Court to see justice done. Stay!” He cast her aside.

“Oh Orion!” she wept.

Evandor took his coat and left.

The words of the guards disturbed Orion. He had strained his ears, trying to snatch at pieces of conversation, hoping against hope that something, anything would be in his favor. New guards, pretending it was their duty, often came by and stared at him through the bars. Then the same comments over and over.

“He's just a boy.”

“Can't you see the evil in his very look?”

“Treason! To think of even touching a Treasure!”

Once he heard, “I lay half a shekel he dies by sundown tomorrow.” Then the reply, “That's no wager. Choose before or after noon.”

After hours of this he listened no longer. He thought over his life. His youth on the high sunny slopes of Mount Finola. The seasons of time marked by the trees and meadows and ebb and flow of elk and bird. The young crias with their doe-eyed mothers, gangly yearlings, and three-year-olds spitting and hissing at every adult they came across. He felt Kerry beneath him, muscles rippling as her unshod hooves carried him over hill and dale.

His father, leaving him in charge of the herd for a long hunt. Other times taking him with him. His mother, seemingly ageless, always there, with a gentle kiss and warm hug. Her endless variations on cookery with a herb lesson in every pot.

His friends, Enda and Kerdae. He'd never thought of Kerdae as a friend before, more of a boulder or tree root. Something you could rely on but too real to get familiar with. He'd only stirred up his anger once. Now, though, he would rather have Kerdae here, angry at him, than the sullenly quiet iron bars.

Enda—well, she was his only friend. She'd always been there. Things got a little strange when she grew up: sometimes she surprised him, acted too much like one of the women of Darach or, even more unsettling, like his mother. And strange looks. She had grown more of a mystery over the years but still, he could trust her. He didn't think she remembered Adara: if he could have one wish, it would be for Adara to find her way to Kerdae's home. Then Enda could have the sister she'd always dreamed of.

But she had her father, at least. Adara, oh Adara. Why did I have to find you just to lose you again? Still, the pain in the parting could not drain all the joy of their reunion introduced by tingling chills as the last doubts were struck down. He loved her and she loved him. How he wished he could get to know her again, hear her speak, join her as they finished the journey from child to adult.

He thought himself an adult, or had in Darach. Too many things had happened since then. He felt he would not grow up. Or maybe this was what being an adult was? Having to make the big choices without even knowing what choices were being made.

Was this what his mother felt like? She had chosen to leave Avallonë. He didn't understand why before. Having seen it he understood a little. Perhaps it was best this way. The sooner he died the sooner he joined his parents. He didn't know much about death: all he knew was, neither his mother nor his father feared it. He feared the pain, the ordeal, but didn't fear death itself. Somehow part of the bright visions his mother cast had remained; and in their weave, their was no room for unending darkness.