Keir (14 page)

A trio of arches faced him, with a second set of three above, rising to the pointed roof of the court. The highest, central arch held a larger-than-life bronze statue of General Corizi. In one hand, it held a torch with which he had purportedly burned down half the city. In the other, a sword was held point down, to symbolize having the city at his feet.

The two smaller top arches held marble statues–of Sanari, the full-bodied goddess of healing, and Atlar, the muscular god of strength, each of whom had supposedly supported General Corizi in his campaign against the great plague. Their images had never held much meaning for Keir before but now he had seen the city in darkness and smelled it burning. Below the figure of the General, steps led down to the supporting main arch and the entrance to the court. Keir felt as though he was being funneled into a trap as he entered with the others. As the last walked through, the doors clanged shut behind them with a solemn finality. He was committed now, with little chance of escape.

The ancient Matriarch sat on the central throne against the back wall, raised above her inferiors by an elaborately carved platform set on small, marble pillars. Seated like a queen, her regal face was creased with myriad lines and her hair, though styled into an elaborate cascade of curls and held up by dazzling silver combs, was snow white. Keir could not take his eyes from her as the rest of the court milled around him.

Even in her dotage, she still struck a powerful figure. Keir regretted not having spent more time in her company. Arrogant and unyielding, yes, but his grandmother had been one of the few members of the Family who had visited in his youth and taken the time to speak to him. She had never been a kind woman, but neither had she been cruel. She had not shown him any special affection, yet had always been quick to praise him for his intelligence when they had discussed the day’s cases in court.

His life might have been different had he been taken into her immediate household as she had once suggested. Rialto had forbidden it, of course, resulting in a terrible quarrel. Not long afterward, his father had opened the door to the hooded figures. Had she known what Rialto planned and tried to protect him? Or had her request merely precipitated his father’s decision to take immediate action? He would likely never know.

To either side of the Matriarch sat a smaller throne–one for the prosecutor, his father, and the other for the defender. Before the thrones stood a small raised square of stone with a single step to the back, on which the accused would be placed. A clerk entered from a small door to one side of the throne platform and rapped his staff of office on the marble floor.

“Silence,” he called. “Please take your places for the Dawn Assembly.”

The request stirred the elite into purposeful movement as they seated themselves along the adjacent walls, removing helmets and throwing back hoods–aside from the occasional Church representative, who remained hooded. Keir knew from experience that the seats were not always full and their boxed sides would hide him. Although it was considered offensive to miss Assembly without good cause, anyone who did not take advantage of their right to sit at court was considered more fool than traitor.

True to his memory, at least half a dozen seats remained empty and he chose one furthest from the triple throne, leaving a judicious gap between himself and the nearest resident. He leaned back within the long, wooden sides and inched his hood as far from his face as he dared. It gave him a good view while keeping him in shadow. Once everyone had been seated and the murmured conversations dwindled to a respectful silence, the clerk hammered the floor with his staff again, then turned and bowed to the Matriarch.

“Your Dawn Assembly awaits, Matriarch.”

The grand lady steepled her fingers, elbows resting on her throne. “Call the prosecutor and defender to attend me,” she intoned, her deep voice crackled with age.

The clerk bowed again and stepped to the side door. “Prosecutor and defender, take your stand,” he commanded, and two figures swept into the room.

Even without his father’s image burned into his memory, Rialto was instantly recognizable. Keir felt a wash of shame to see so much of himself in his father’s face. Age had not been kind to him. He limped more severely than ever, and the hardened lines of his face spoke of pain and anger. He had swapped his armor for robes of office in the red, black and silver of the Corizi Family with their complex twisted knot symbol, overlaid by the blue sash of the prosecutor.

He was so intent on his father, so full of the old fear and hatred for the man who had made his life a misery, Keir barely registered the person who followed. When he finally wrenched his gaze from the prosecutor, her youth and beauty came as a greater shock. Long black hair–dressed and pinned with ornate mother-of-pearl combs–spiraled in lavish coils down her back almost to her waist. She had a small, oval face, bright-blue eyes and a full mouth that gave her a sulky appearance. Despite the impression of vulnerability given by her tender age, her eyes were as fierce as her opponent’s and she moved like a warrior marching to battle.

Both knelt before the Matriarch with bowed heads until she ordered them to rise and take their places alongside her. As the girl did so, she glared at Keir, blue eyes intent. Paralyzed by her piercing stare, he knew in that moment she was not only aware of his presence, but also knew exactly who he was.

Heart pounding, he tried not to let his thoughts betray him, tried to close his mind as Quin had taught him. The clattering arrival of the Captain of the City Guard shattered the invisible bond her gaze had forged between them, and the soldier’s noisy salute to the Matriarch drew everyone’s attention.

“Captain, bring forth your prisoner for judgment.”

He bowed, turned and gestured to another of his men at the doorway. Two more guards came marching up the steps with armor clanking, a third figure between them. They had done her the honor of dressing her as the lady of Family she had once been–soft velvet in the Corizi colors, and a simple headdress to hide the cropped hair favored more by the peasantry.

Regal as any queen coming to her throne, she approached the central plinth with a calmness that belied the severity of her situation, and halted before the Matriarch. Rialto leaned forward with a hungry expression as the clerk of the court read the charges–consorting with demons and aiding the escape of a known criminal. The accusations elicited not a flicker of response from her as the words rang through the court. Serena then denied the charges in a clear and firm voice, without a tremor to suggest any hint of fear, and Rialto sat back with a frown.

After a brief pause as if to ponder his tactics, Rialto got to his feet. He approached Serena until he was so close a sharply exhaled breath stirred the gauzy fabric that overlaid her cropped hair. Telltale signs of anger mixed with revulsion dug grooves into his face, and the merest trace of a smile curved her lips.

Rialto’s hands clenched into tight fists as if resisting the urge to place them around her throat and choke the information from her. For a moment he gazed at her then stalked around the prisoner’s plinth with his hands clasped behind his back. He met the questioning gazes that both the Matriarch and defender were aiming at him before turning back to the accused.

“You are Serena de la Tirelle, once Corizi?” he asked, his tone mild.

Serena drew herself taller at his implied slighting of her rank. “I am Serena de la Corizi.”

Rialto glared at her, shaking his head. “You are no longer entitled to the Family name,” he told her. “The Matriarch herself approved our divorce in this very court after your…departure.”

“You may have divorced me and disinherited my son,” she snapped, “but you cannot take my name. I am Serena de la Corizi.”

Rialto waved it away, as if unimportant. “But you are the mother of Keirlan de Corizi, known as the Blue Demon, are you not?”

“Yes. Our son, Rialto.”

“Again, the prisoner is incorrect. The birth of this creature proves that you have consorted with demons and conceived a son.”

“That is no proof. He is
our
son.”

“He is not
my
son.” Rialto held a hand out to the defender, prompting the assembled elite to whisper at such a move against protocol.

She hesitated and glanced at the Matriarch. The great lady looked thoughtful, as though considering his apparent disregard for convention. “Is there relevance to this move, prosecutor?” she inquired.

Rialto inclined his head. “I wish to show the court proof that I do not father demons.”

An arched eyebrow was her only comment, and she indicated her assent.

Keir could barely keep his seat as the defender stepped down and took his father’s hand, a terrible sense of foreboding coursing through him like cold water down his back.

“I wish the court to recognize my daughter, Kisella.” Rialto could not keep the pride from his voice as he paraded her around the edge of the court to ensure her acknowledgement by all its members.

Kisella kept her head bowed, a sideways glance at Keir and a tiny shake of her head as she passed the only communication she offered her brother. Breathless at this revelation, he gazed at his mother in disbelief, but she showed no surprise at the announcement.

“I doubt there are any here who have not seen your daughter in this court before, Rialto,” the Matriarch said, her tone irritated.

“It has never been required as proof before, my lady,” he replied. “I merely wish to show that I am unlikely to father a demon when I have such a beautiful daughter, thus proving the infidelity of my former wife with otherworldly creatures.”

“It is no proof. One child born without blemish does not disprove you of fathering Keir,” Serena persisted.

“It at least makes it seem unlikely.” There was a murmuring in the court that signaled agreement with his sentiments. “In the absence of witnesses, no other proof is available.”

Serena blushed at the insinuation, dropping her eyes to the ground. Kisella gave her a sympathetic look before she resumed her seat, clearly embarrassed by her father’s behavior.

“The court will remember that I divorced my former wife and disinherited the creature she claimed to be my child,” continued the prosecutor. “I remarried for the sake of the Family, and Kisella is my rightful heir. I have absolved myself of all responsibility for the Blue Demon, which belongs solely to its mother. Only a monster could beget a monster.”

“The only monster here is you, Rialto,” Serena cried, spurred to anger. “To have treated your own son in such a way, taken in the dark of night and tortured! I found him abandoned in a gutter, barely alive. It was three months before he recovered from the wounds and loss of blood.” She addressed the Matriarch directly, one hand clutched to her heart. “I kept him safe. I kept him hidden. When he disappeared I spent years trying to find him, listening to rumors in the market place and gossiping old women. I watched him chased from the streets by a mob with stones because he was trying to find food. You–” She turned back on Rialto, jabbing a finger toward him in accusation. “–have hounded him, tormented him and made his life hell, all because he was born different. But it will be you who burns in Hell for your sins, Rialto, not him!”

Outraged whispering from the elite rose to shouts and catcalls at her rant. Rialto’s face burned white with anger, and his guards hurried forward to seize Serena.

“So you would defend him?” he challenged her.

“To my last breath.”

“You would protect him? From any that sought to harm him?”

“With all my heart and soul!” Serena threw at him.

“You would shield him from me? From all in Adalucien?” He stalked up to her. “You would defy the city for the sake of this creature?”

“I would.”

“Do you hear that?” Rialto turned back to the court, raising his voice. “She would aid this demon even against the good citizens of Adalucien. Against all of you!” He flung out a hand toward the elite, and the majority yelled protests at such defiance.

“Silence!”

Everyone fell quiet as the Matriarch rose to her feet, arms raised and her face stern. Keir gripped the sides of his throne so hard it hurt, torn between the desire to scream a denial of his mother’s guilt or attack his father for the unjust accusations.

 
Kisella’s gaze met his, and a voice in his head spoke:
“Keep still and do nothing.”

“I have to save her!”
he cried back.
“They will kill her.”

“Trust me,”
urged the voice.
“Be patient and do nothing yet, my brother.”

Her thoughts smoothed over his, promised him, assured him of her intentions. Despite his misgivings, he forced himself to calm and consider the situation more coolly. Even if he chose to ignore Kisella, what could he really do against the whole court, with armed guards within easy call? He had no choice but to trust her. For now.

The Matriarch established order once more and eased herself back into her seat. “I will have no more of this,” she commanded. “This is a court of law and justice, not the dueling grounds. The defender should now speak, if the two of you have finished?”

Rialto deferred to her with a gracious nod, throwing a black look at Serena as he took his own seat. She stood, shaking, her composure shattered as tears ran unchecked down her drawn face. Without Kisella’s insistence, Keir could not have continued to sit and submit to the interrogation of his mother. Kisella stepped forward, coming as close as Rialto had to the weeping prisoner, but there was compassion in her face as she spoke in soft, clear tones. “Even my father has admitted that there were no witnesses to the conception of either child and, therefore, no definite proof. There are, additionally, no clear statements from witnesses concerning any act of dark magic performed by Keirlan de Corizi.”