“Pretty much,” said Walter. Mira and Aiana nodded in confirmation. “I’m leaving town tomorrow and had some news I thought I’d best share now. With Cedric, uh, detained, I thought I should discuss my business with you. Is there someplace we can talk privately?”
“You can talk in front of them,” I said. Art forgery seemed pretty insignificant now.
He hesitated and then gave a shrug of acceptance. “I have another potential buyer—one willing to pay out a lot more, once he heard there’s competition. And he’s closer too—about a two-hour ride from here.”
“Well, that’s sort of good news,” I said. “Not that it does us much good with Cedric locked up.”
“It doesn’t do anyone any good because he too wants some kind of authentication.”
I groaned. “And here I thought these colonials would be easy marks.”
“Well, the good news is that the other man wanted an art expert to verify it. This new one will settle for ‘any knowledgeable and cultured Myrikosi who can tell the difference between dross and gold.’ His words, not mine.” Walter paused, his gaze falling meaningfully on Mira. “And I heard you have a Sirminican friend. Sirminicans look a lot like Myrikosi.”
Mira glanced between us in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you’re trying to include me with art experts, I don’t think I’m who you need.”
“You’re exactly who we need,” I said eagerly. Cedric had described Walter as someone who would always figure out a way to close a deal, and now I understood. “You can do a Myrikosi accent. I used to hear you do it back at Blue Spring. All you have to do is meet this guy and tell him the painting he’s interested in is an authentic piece from one of Myrikos’s greatest masters.”
“Is it?” she asked, looking impressed.
“Um, not exactly.” After weeks of no movement on the painting, I had a brief surge of excitement over this. Mira in her finery could certainly pass herself off as an upper-class Myrikosi woman, and sell this man on the painting. Then reality hit me again. “But it’ll have to wait. I can’t chase down the painting sale right now. The money from it was supposed to help us build a life together. It won’t do us any good while Cedric’s locked up.”
Walter cleared his throat. “Begging your pardon, but there’s never really a time when money won’t do any good.”
“He’s right,” said Aiana. “I don’t understand the means either, but if you have access to significant money of your own, it could come in handy. You don’t know what you’ll need to do while this trial goes on.”
I didn’t quite follow, but Walter was more blunt: “Never underestimate the power of a good bribe.”
“Maybe . . . but there’s no time. At least not right away. You said you’re leaving town tomorrow?”
Walter nodded apologetically. “For a week, down in Lyford Colony. Other people in need of my services.”
“And I need to be at the courthouse in the morning,” I said. “No one can go with Mira.”
Mira looked between both of us, puzzled. “Why do I need anyone to go with me? I’ve just got to meet this man and act like I know about art? I can do that.”
“It’s too dangerous,” I insisted. “We’ll wait for a better time.” Although, as I spoke, I wondered if there’d ever be a better time for anything.
“Actually . . .” Aiana’s brow furrowed in thought. “Tomorrow might be the best time. There’ll be a lot going on the first day of the trial. Everyone will be distracted. If Mira disappears for part of the day, it’s less likely to be noticed.”
I still didn’t like it. Not because I didn’t think Mira could pull off anything—but because I couldn’t handle the thought of another friend going off into danger. “I’ll be back,” she said, knowing what I feared. “Go to court tomorrow. We’ll take care of this. You can give me the information?”
Walter produced a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her. “Here’s his name and address. And that’s the location of the man holding the painting right now.”
“You don’t have it?” I exclaimed. The second address was in a neighboring town in Denham.
“I survive in this business by making sure nothing’s ever linked directly to me. The painting’s safe, but certainly not hanging in my own bedroom,” he said. “If he agrees to the deal, you can complete the transaction yourself or wait until I’m back to do it. Just don’t spend my commission.”
“We’ll help you with the rest,” said Mira. “We’ll make it work.”
“All for money that may or may not help Cedric,” I muttered.
Aiana rested a hand on my shoulder, a steely look in her eyes. “Having a backup supply of money isn’t just about helping him. You need to accept that there’s a chance Cedric may not get out of this. And if he doesn’t, you’re going to need your own resources to escape.”
Chapter 29
Aiana put together a makeshift pallet in the corner of her sitting room. When I woke the next morning, she was gone, and I set about preparing for the day. The dresses Mira had brought were nowhere near the extravagant affairs of the Glittering Court, but they were still something an upper-class Denham woman would wear. The one I chose was made of ivory cambric scattered with sprigs of pink and purple flowers. The dress felt foreign to me after a month in rough gear, the fabric dangerously delicate. I didn’t mind being back in something nice, but it was a reminder of how much my life had changed.
I just had finished arranging my hair when Aiana returned. “I thought you were going with Mira,” I said.
“I’m going with you. I saw her off—she’s on her way.”
Again, I felt that nervous pang about losing another friend. “Is she alone?”
“No.”
Aiana offered no other information, and I took it that I wasn’t meant to ask more about it.
A crowd had gathered outside the courthouse when we arrived. Even in a lively city like Cape Triumph, this was serious drama. The governor’s son, an illicit romance, heresy . . . citizens were dying to get a front-row seat. Aiana steered me by them and up to the entrance, where a court official waved us through.
The courtroom was already full, with seating set aside for principal players. One of those seats was for me, and I sat down, noticing that Jasper wasn’t too far away. He gave me a cold nod and then pointedly looked in the opposite direction. Over near the front, Governor Doyle sat with Viola by his side and other advisors nearby. Two rows of seats were still empty, and those I watched avidly. At last, a bailiff opened a side door and led in the held men. Warren was first, looking remarkably smug given the circumstances. Cedric came last, and my heart leapt at the sight of him.
He needed a shave, and his arm was still in the sling, of course. But otherwise, he moved well and had lost more of his bruises. I wondered if that was a good or bad thing. It might have helped our case if we’d had proof of how badly he’d been beaten. He scanned the room and caught my eye, giving me a small nod to tell me he was okay. He even managed a ghost of his usual smile, but it was strained.
Everyone rose when the tribunal entered, consisting of seven men. They were magistrates and other prominent Denham figures. Normally, the governor would lead the group, but Governor Doyle had to sit out for obvious reasons. A magistrate named Adam Dillinger had instead been appointed as the lead.
“We’re here to rule on a . . . complicated dispute that took place in Hadisen Colony. Here, we will seek out the truth in accordance with the laws of our mother Osfrid. Let us pray to Uros for guidance.”
He led us in prayer, and most everyone in the room bowed their heads solemnly. Peeking up, I saw that several people were watching Cedric, as though they expected him to stand up and conduct some black rite then and there.
“Mister Doyle,” said Magistrate Dillinger. “Please come up and tell your story.”
Warren strode forwar
d. He’d washed and shaved and wore new clothes, which irked me. That came of having supporters here. Cedric looked shabby by comparison, but who did he have to rely on? Certainly not his family. And I hadn’t been able to dress myself without charity.
No one needed Warren’s background, but he gave it anyway, painting himself as a model citizen who’d followed in his father’s footsteps. He made sure to remind everyone of all the good things Governor Doyle had done and how Warren humbly hoped to emulate his father in Hadisen.
“As part of my new position, I knew it was crucial I seek a wife and advocate of righteous family values. When the Glittering Court began its new season, I began courting one of its girls—a young woman who called herself Adelaide Bailey.”
Half of the courtroom turned to stare at me, and I kept my gaze focused forward, refusing to meet any of them in the eye.
“By all appearances, Miss Bailey seemed like an honest, virtuous girl. She led me to believe she was interested in me and was on the verge of contracting a marriage. It was then that I found out she’d been . . . involved with Cedric Thorn, one of the Glittering Court’s procurers.” There was no mistaking what he meant by “involved.”
“That’s a serious accusation,” said one of the tribunal members.
“Miss Clara Hayes of the Glittering Court witnessed their indiscretion firsthand,” said Warren. “Several others saw the aftermath. You may question any of them for further clarification.”
“What did you do next, Mister Doyle?” asked Dillinger.
“What could I do?” Warren spread his hands wide. “I’d hardly push for a woman whose heart was with another. I felt sorry for them, really. So I decided to help.”
He detailed the arrangement he’d had with us in Hadisen, again painting himself as an exemplary—and charitable—man. Several spectators shook their heads in a mix of anger and sympathy, clearly showing they thought Warren had been taken advantage of.
“I gave Mister Thorn every opportunity to succeed,” Warren said. “Equipment, training. But it soon became clear that he’d taken on more than he was capable of. He’s a businessman—a scholar. Hardly suited to the kind of labor needed on the frontier. His ineptitude resulted in accidents, one fall in particular being especially bad. And he’d make grandiose claims of huge gold strikes but never actually unearth said gold, no matter how long we kept waiting for it.”
I didn’t realize I was starting to stand up until Aiana pushed me back down. “Wait,” she murmured.
The true atrocity came when Warren described that last day. “I wanted to believe his stories of gold on the claim—especially since Adelaide’s contract expiration was approaching. I brought several men out to the claim with the intent of excavating the gold, though things almost ended before they began when more of Mister Thorn’s inexperience nearly resulted in him blowing all of us up. It was clear he and Miss Bailey were growing desperate at this point. There was no way they were going to pay off their debt in time, and things grew worse when we discovered Alanzan artifacts in Mister Thorn’s possession.”
Scandalized murmurs slid around the room, and Dillinger called for silence.
“I needed to talk things out with them, clearly,” Warren continued. “I was certain there was a misunderstanding. I sent my men away for lunch and sat down to discuss how I might better help this couple—and that’s when the treachery started. With me alone, Mister Thorn attacked, intending to kill me and make it look as though claim raiders had done it—thus freeing him of the contract. Through the greatest stroke of luck, two of my men returned to retrieve something and were able to save me in time. They subdued Mister Thorn, but the danger wasn’t over. Miss Bailey took up her lover’s fight and then brazenly offered herself in an attempt to distract me. As I was refusing her, she stabbed me with a knife. I can’t imagine what would have happened if Silas Garrett of the McGraw Agency hadn’t arrived.”
The tribunal asked more clarifying questions, and I was amazed at how Warren had an answer for everything. Each event, each detail was twisted in a way that favored him and supported his lies. When he was dismissed, it was clear he had almost everyone on his side.
Cedric was called next. One of the magistrates held out a holy text of Uros. “Please swear to tell the truth . . . if you’re able.”
I was shocked at the insinuation from a group that claimed impartiality. More buzz stirred in the room, especially when Cedric placed his hand on the book without it bursting into flames or something equally absurd.
Normally, in cases with conflicting views, Cedric would be asked to retell the story from his point of view. Instead, Dillinger asked, “Mister Thorn, are you an Alanzan?”
Cedric blinked in surprise. I was sure he’d prepared for this question but hadn’t expected the irregular order. “I simply had Alanzan artifacts in my possession. But no one saw me worshipping with them.”
“Why, then, would you have such items in your possession?”
“Curiosity,” said Cedric, keeping his tone mild. “I knew Alanzans at the university in Osfro. They gave me the items, hoping to convert me.”
“And you didn’t report these deviants?” asked another tribunal member.
“They were young and rebellious. I thought it was a phase they’d outgrow before returning to Uros and the six glorious angels.”
Dillinger held up a piece of paper. “We have a signed testimony from a convicted Alanzan—one Thaddeus Brooks—who was caught in the act of worship. He swears you participated with him in some heathen rite called a ‘Star Advent.’ How do you respond to that?”
Cedric gave no sign of distress. “I think an imprisoned man would say anything to get himself freed.”
“Alanzan worship is illegal in both Denham and Hadisen,” Dillinger stated. “Illegal religions are punishable with execution if you have no protection from another colony or a royal exemption.”
“I am aware,” said Cedric.
“Is the young woman who calls herself Miss Bailey an Alanzan?” asked the tribunal member to Dillinger’s right.
“No,” Cedric replied swiftly. “Miss Bailey made it clear on many occasions that she believes they’re misguided pagans. I’ll swear to that as much as you like.”
The tribunal pushed the Alanzan angle a while longer, but Cedric remained firm on his defense: that no one had caught him worshipping. But Dillinger made it clear that he thought Thaddeus Brooks’s testimony was proof enough.
They finally let Cedric tell his side of the story. The tribunal questioned and commented in a way that made the details sound improbable and even silly. The members made no attempts to hide their derision, and the courtroom echoed that sentiment. And as I’d feared, the improvement of his injuries disguised just how excessively brutal his attack had been. One magistrate pointed out that a broken arm wasn’t out of line when two men tried to stop a murderer.
Cedric was released, and Dillinger called, “Lady Elizabeth Witmore, Countess of Rothford.”
Anyone who hadn’t noticed me in the courtroom before noticed me now. I moved to the front with all the haughty confidence of a girl who’d spent her life being told her bloodline was superior to all others. I took my vow to Uros and then met Dillinger’s gaze with a coolness that told him he was wasting my time.
He cleared his throat. “Lady Witmore . . . please tell us how you came to be part of the Glittering Court under an assumed name.”
I’d expected this and had my answer well prepared. I spoke of how my family’s fortunes were fading and that I realized I’d have more opportunity in the New World. I told them my maid had run away, and I saw a chance for myself. “A title is nothing without substance,” I declared. “Perhaps I acted impulsively, but others have fought to find a place in the New World with success. I decided to join them.”
This earned a few approving nods until Dillinger declared: “So you lied and deceived others to get y
our way. Did Cedric Thorn know your true identity? Did he help cover it up?”
“No. He’d never met my lady-in-waiting. He didn’t learn my true identity until much later in Adoria.”
I told my Hadisen story, repeating almost everything Cedric had said in his version. When I reached the point about Warren assaulting me, the men on the tribunal showed obvious skepticism.
“Do you have any proof of this alleged attack?” asked one man.
I regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I have my word.”
“Plenty of women make claims like that. It’s an easy thing when there are no witnesses. The man says one thing, the woman another.”
It dawned on me then that I’d been wrong in thinking my title would give me an edge in this trial. The edge here was in being male. Women were easy to dismiss.
“Also,” added Dillinger, “I find it unlikely a woman of loose morals would object so violently to a man’s advances.”
The statement was so ludicrous that it took me several moments to form my response. “I . . . think any woman—moral or immoral—would object when forced against her will. And I don’t appreciate what you’re implying about my virtue.”
“Weren’t you Cedric Thorn’s lover?”
I had my imperious mask back on. “Preserving my virtue until marriage has been a principle I’ve adhered to my entire life. I didn’t give up my virginity to a man I wasn’t married to, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
“You swear to that?”
“Yes.”
“Then why were you drinking cinnamon thorn tea?” I saw a few whispers at Dillinger’s words, which I found comical. Plenty of women drank it to prevent children. Everyone pretended they didn’t.
“Do you have proof I was?” I asked. I’d thrown away the dregs before serving Warren his tea, and there’d been none in my possessions at the Marshall house.
“Mister Doyle states he smelled it.”
“Just as I’ve stated he assaulted me. The man says one thing, the woman another.”