Tempered (A Daughters of the People Novel) (Daughters of the People Series) (26 page)

Whether she
could submit to that trust was another matter, but here, as with Lali, was as
good a place to begin as any.

That she even
entertained the notion surprised her. She slid her hand along his sweat-soaked
flank, cupped the firm muscles of his ass. “What was this about loving me
forever?”

He nuzzled her
hair as a soft laugh escaped him. “You know I will.”

“Perhaps.” She
scraped her nails along his lower back, pleased at the low moan he gave.
“Perhaps I wish another demonstration.”

He captured her
hands and held them above her head, out of the way. “Anything you want,
sweetheart. Anything at all.”

He dropped his
weight onto her and captured her mouth, demanding her submission as her heart
wavered on the edge of surrender.

* * *

Two days later,
Hawthorne dressed in a tailored black pants suit and matching sling backs,
affixed sedate pearl clip-on earrings to her earlobes, and brushed on enough
make-up to appear presentable. She stared at the woman reflected in her
bathroom mirror, with her professional demeanor and coldly neutral expression,
so unlike the woman she wished to be. She far preferred the short strands of
her hair tousled by Aaron’s fingers and her dress as casual as his or, when
they were alone, reduced to nothing but skin.

Duty called,
pulling Hawthorne from her heart’s desire, that and a need to mete retribution
upon her niece at the end of a sword.

Duty, love,
honor. Were those not the words the Woman had given her through Lali? All three
seemed applicable here. This one final duty to Una, whom she had loved even
unto death, and the honor lost to them both so long ago, reclaimed only through
the judicious slash of her sword and the spill of men’s blood across the better
part of an island.

Hawthorne made
her way down the stairs to Aaron’s office, and was unsurprised to find Lali
sitting in his lap, doodling on his computer. “Lali, darling, Maria has a snack
waiting for you in the kitchen.”

“Okey dokey.”
Lali put away the stylus and slid off of Aaron’s lap, though not before bussing
his cheek. “I’ll be back, Airn. Don’t eraseticated my stuff.”

“I won’t.” He
watched Lali bounce out of the room, then did a double take. “Wow. That outfit
is hot. What’s the occasion?”

She compressed
her lips together, hiding her humor. “I have a business meeting. Would you like
to attend?”

“Eh.” His brow
furrowed as he swiped his palms over his toned thighs. “What kind of business?”

“The kind you
wished me to share. Come along, now. Time is short and you will need to change
into something more appropriate.”

He manipulated
the switches on his computer before standing. “Are you gonna tell me what this
is about?”

“You will see.”
She raked a gaze over his lean form, oddly put out that he should have to
change out of the flannel shirt stretched over his muscled shoulders and the
worn jeans that cupped him so intimately. Pity he wished to involve himself
with her business rather than wait here for her to strip his clothes off one
tender kiss at a time. Her heart twinged at what she was about to put him through.
“I shall await you in my office.”

She pivoted on
her heel and allowed humor to blossom over the heartache when his low,
appreciative whistle sounded behind her.

Fifteen minutes
later, he stuck his head in the door of her office. “You ready?”

She set the book
she’d been reading aside and rose from her seat on the couch, assessing his
outfit. He’d tucked a white button-down shirt into dark brown slacks and
carried a matching suit jacket in his hand. He’d also taken the time to run his
electric razor over his lower face, leaving it smooth.

She cupped his
jaw in her hands, savoring the clean line of his jaw. “I did not know you owned
a tie.”

“I didn’t know
you owned a business suit.” He shrugged the jacket on and accepted her hands
smoothing it over his broad shoulders, straightening the subtly striped crimson
tie. “Is this ok?”

“More than,” she
murmured. “You surprise me each day.”

“It’s mutual, I
promise. Where are we going?”

“You must trust
me.”

She ignored the
disgruntled grimace in his expression and led him to the garage, drove them the
short distance to the IECS. Endured the stares and whispers of the security
guards at the gate and the silence that stretched between herself and Aaron as
she guided the Land Rover through the IECS campus.

At last, she
parked outside the Archives. After switching the ignition off, she turned to
him. “Follow my lead.”

“Ok.” He drew
the word out. “Now would be a great time to tell me what’s going on.”

She shook her
head. Better that he see it for himself. “I may ask you to speak. Otherwise do
not.” She placed a single finger over his lips, forestalling his questions. “Do
not react, if you can help it. This, above all, is paramount.”

He nodded,
though his gaze had grown cloudy with wariness and worry. She allowed her finger
to slide away from the masculine beauty of his mouth.

“Anything else?”
he asked.

“Is this not
enough?”

She slipped out
of the car and captured his hand as they made their way through the thin crowd
into the mountain housing the People’s most sacred artifacts and histories,
using his gentle strength to fortify her own for what must be done. A security
guard escorted them to a golf cart and handed over its keys. Hawthorne took the
wheel and followed the winding tunnels deep into the heart of the mountain to a
natural cavern that had long ago been refitted into a meeting hall, a place
where the People could judge an individual’s innocence or guilt and deliver
justice accordingly.

They took their
place along the front of the rows of bench seating placed in an arc around the
natural curve of the cavern’s wall, now overlain with concrete, as was the
entire interior save the rock ceiling. Levi and his mother entered not long
after, followed by Ruby and Levi’s closest friends, among them Colin, who had
suffered under Isolde’s hand. They assumed positions to Hawthorne’s rear,
acceding to her role as the head of the family. Others crowded in behind them,
beside them, around them, and Hawthorne nearly shuddered from the mass of
humanity pressing into the cavern around them. Aaron’s fingers squeezed hers,
as if he knew the duress this event placed her under.

Mathias pushed
his way through the growing crowd and halted in front of her.

She rose and
held out her free hand. “Mathias.”

“Hawthorne.” He
brushed a hesitant kiss along her cheek. His lips were cold, stiff, and no less
welcome because of it. “I’m surprised you’re still speaking to me.”

“You hold no
part in your wife’s actions,” she said gently. “Mathias, I would like to
introduce you to Aaron Kesselman, my lover. Aaron, this is Mathias Zellinger,
Isolde’s husband.”

Aaron dropped
her hand and held his out to Mathias. “Sorry we have to meet like this.”

Mathias shook
Aaron’s hand, a faint smile twisting his tensely set mouth. “I think that’s my
line.”

They sat on the
bench, Hawthorne between the two men, waiting for the proceedings to begin. The
murmur of the people gathered as witnesses increased gradually. A few minutes
after Mathias entered, two armed guards escorted Isolde into the center of the
room, her posture straight and haughty, her gaze even in spite of the chains
binding her hands behind her back. The six remaining council members drifted in
behind her in a quiet line and assumed their places at a curved table on the
other side of the room, their assistants ranged behind them along the cavern’s
far wall.

Rebecca Upton
entered last, the click of her heels echoing in the suddenly silent room. She
came to a stop facing Isolde. “Isolde Zellinger, you have been brought before
the Council to stand trial for kidnapping Robert Lake Upton, the second of that
name, a beloved Son; for attempting to kidnap Lali-Alice Harbin, a defenseless
Daughter; for conspiring to commit treason against the People; and for
collusion with outlawed members of the group calling themselves the Eternal
Order, thus acting against the collective good of the People. How plead you?”

At the mention
of the Order, a murmur rose among the crowd. Rebecca raised her hand, hushing
the noise, though her gaze remained on Isolde.

“On the first
two charges, I plead guilty and throw myself upon the mercy of the Council for
judgment, with the understanding that I had no hand in the injuries dealt to
young Upton after his kidnapping.” Isolde waited for Rebecca’s stiff nod before
continuing. “As for the latter charges, I plea innocence. I have and ever have
had the best interests of the People at heart. I have committed no treason, nor
have I colluded with anyone against the collective good of the People.”

“So sayeth you.”
Rebecca stepped back and took her place to the side, between the bench seating
and the Council’s table, next to a group of young women furiously scribbling
notes. “The charges have been read. The trial now begins.”

Lydia, the
de
facto
head of the Council by way of her lineage through the eldest of the
Seven Sisters, stood. “Isolde Zellinger, you have the right of defense. Whom do
you call to your aid?”

Isolde stared
straight ahead. “Respectfully, I call no one.”

Lydia bowed
toward Hawthorne. “As the presumed eldest in the line of Bagda and the mother
of the accused one degree removed, the Council begs leave of Hawthorne the
Chronicler. Should your kin be left defenseless or will you intercede?”

Aaron squeezed
her hand, to encourage her or chide her for withholding her full appellation,
she knew not. He had read several volumes of her extensive collection of
journals. Surely he had by now pieced together that the journals from which he
had drawn his characterization of Rebecca the Blade had been written by
Hawthorne.

She stood and
bowed toward the Council. “Let it be known that my kin and my lover have fallen
harm to Isolde’s treachery.”

Isolde bowed
solemnly. Hawthorne eyed her niece coldly, torn between that wretched mistress,
duty, and the need to bring vengeance upon this woman for her hand in harming
Lali and Aaron, and for the larger role she had played in fostering the Eternal
Order’s agenda. “If the accused has no objections, I shall endeavor to
represent her fairly in spite of this harm, in remembrance of the woman who
birthed her into this world.”

Isolde’s eyes
widened a moment before she closed them, shuttering her expression as she
nodded again.

“So be it.”
Lydia resumed her seat. “You may begin.”

Hawthorne bowed
once more. “Isolde, daughter of Una Longshadow, Harbinger of Justice, and a descendant
of the Sister Bagda, please repeat the words you told me on the night when you
kidnapped my granddaughter, Lali-Alice Harbin.”

“I explained my
belief that if the Prophecy of Light is fulfilled, it will leave us all
vulnerable to the Shadow Enemy’s sword.”

Miriam, the
councilmember representing the Sister Marnan and her descendants, rose. “How
so?”

“With the
Prophecy’s fulfillment,” Isolde said, “we all become mortal, losing the one
advantage the People have: The strong arms of her immortal Daughters.”

And so it went,
back and forth between Isolde and the Council, a civilized discussion moderated
by Hawthorne that ripped and clawed at the underlying fabric of hope that had
held the People together for ten millennia or more. Detractors stood and had
their say, logically laying out the reasons why the Prophecy should be
fulfilled, reminding the assembled crowd of the past wrongs committed by the
Eternal Order, and on and on until Hawthorne’s nerves stretched thin and her
mind ached with fatigue.

After nearly two
hours, the questions wound down. Hawthorne concluded her defense simply. “Have
you anything further to say, Isolde?”

“I have laid my
arguments in front of the Council with the honesty of a Daughter of Bagda.”

Hawthorne nodded
and resumed her place between Aaron and Mathias. Aaron’s hand found hers, his
warm upon her icy skin.

Lydia stood, her
gaze even as she scanned the room. “Are there any here who wish a further say
in this matter?” When no one spoke, she continued. “Judgment to the Council. On
the charges of treason and collusion, I say innocent. How sayeth the remaining
Council?”

Each of the
women rose and weighed in. Eleanor Shadowfell of the line of Ganenda; Gwendolyn
from the Sister Lilleni and Phoebe from Lilleni’s twin, Eleni; Miriam; and
Anya, representing the youngest Sister, Abragni. All called innocence on the
charge of treason, while Eleanor, Gwendolyn, and Anya cried guilt on the charge
of collusion, leaving the Council tied on a verdict.

Hawthorne closed
her eyes in a futile attempt to combat the resignation rising in her. It had
come to this and she had no idea how she would call. She rose from her seat
even as Lydia stood, and listened to the councilmember’s words with a sinking
heart.