CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
AN: My most wondrous and magnificent readers, I am so sorry to have left you hanging last Saturday/Sunday (depending on your timezone). I was very frustrated not to bring you your chapter, but the reality of the situation is that I was simply out of time. The following chapter has been plaguing me for some weeks, and while at any given time, I am usually two or three chapters ahead of what I am actually posting, this chapter provided such trouble that I lost my magic buffer and was left finishing this chapter the week it was due.
That, in itself, was not too great of a problem, except for the coninidence of my graduation with a most dreadful week at work. I was leaving the house at 6.30am and arriving home at 11pm, which left very little time to polish this chapter and have it ready for you all.
On top of that, I was an emotional wreck, having been made to work on the day of my graduation and missing the opportunity to celebrate the successful last five and a half years of study with my family. I did get to sneak out for a few hours to get capped, but the ceremony was so large that it felt entirely impersonal. I would rather have just had a morning tea with my family, and I was left feeling rather that I'd been deprived of something very meaningful for the sake of something that means very little to me (except that I despise it). That, combined with the sympathetic apologies of co-workers (some of whom, being very senior, declared that my having to work was "out of line") aggregated to make a rather hysterically frustrated and unpleasant OverlordoftheBees for the ensuing week.
Luckily, I've had the weekend to revise this, and I think it will be better for having a second round of attention. I'm still not entirely pleased with it, but I think that is probably to do with the fact that I had the brilliant idea of writing a chapter regarding a trial, on a week where I am particularly displeased with the profession of law. But hey, none of these characters ever professed to be legally educated (except Azazel, as we shall see), so I suppose their clumsy attempts at cross-examination may be excused on that basis (and definitely not their author's incompentence) :P
I must give my most enthusiastic thanks for your spectacularly kind and sweet comments. Even so many chapters in, I am always awed to be the subject of such dedicated and loyal readers, who are so generous as to leave their reviews, kudos etc. You all have my most absolute and sincere thanks and appreciation, and I offer as many virtual hugs to you all you wish to have – of the squeeziest and cuddliest variety!
2013
The news of the cessation of his storytelling was met with passive confusion. Castiel did little other than declare that he would not speak, without offering further explanation. The group met the words with curious glances, and mumbled assent, before Bobby suggested that they take the day to spend at the castle, if Castiel had no objections. He didn't and they left quickly. Greg shuffled on his feet in the centre of the room, as they listened to the sounds of the rest preparing for their trip. After a few caught and held glances, which made Greg flush and hold his breath, he suggested mutely that maybe he accompany the group for today, since he had not had the chance to see the tomb since they had found Castiel. Castiel nodded, and Greg escaped the room quickly to pack his things, murmuring only a quick goodbye to Castiel as he hurried to Jessica's room to meet the others and explain his accompaniment.
He heard, through the wall, their murmured speculations as to Castiel's changed mood, but they smiled kindly enough through the window as the departed, and Jessica poked her head in and asked quietly if he wanted to come. He shook his politely, and she gave him a small smile as she left, though he heard their murmurs of confusion as they made their way down the stairs and into Bobby's wagon.
He seated himself quietly, and listened for the sound of their departure, before he leaned backwards into the couch and closed his eyes, letting his mind stray to the memory of Dean before him, in the small cottage on the edge of the City, hurriedly explaining in a tearful whisper what had passed since their past meeting.
1425
When the trial commenced, the City was well-informed as to the nature of Dean and Lilith's relationship. When he arrived in the grand hall, and made his way to the jury box, the various Lords assembled there made way for him to be seated in the front centre of the box, directly opposite Lilith's throne. They'd made space for Garth beside him too, who stood and nodded wordlessly upon his arrival, acknowledging their camaraderie with only with a light touch to his shoulder.
Dean seated himself in his allotted space and shuffled as he adjusted at the collar of the robes he'd been given to wear for the occasion – long and black to mark the severity of the hearing of a murder trial. At the head of the hall sat the Lord Azazel – Lydia's husband – dressed in similarly heavy black with a velvet cap to match, a scroll and inkpot before him, and a quill in his hand. The position marked his status as Lord Chancellor – that man most learned in the Kingdom in the way of law who would hand down the jury's verdict with a slam of his mallet.
To Azazel's right and facing directly to the witness box, were the thrones positioned to house the Royals, when they chose to attend trials. Lilith was positioned in one, at the right hand of the centre throne – the spot traditionally reserved for the Princess. The other two were empty, and draped in the same black that had hung in the halls of the Palace. Somehow, in the empty space of the Hall, a breeze found the force to rush through, and make the material at the base flutter where it hung. She gave a small nod to acknowledge Dean's arrival, although it was all but indiscernible beneath the black veil that she had hung from the Crown of her head. Otherwise, she sat motionless at her seat, hands clasped tightly around the arms of her chair.
Courtiers gathered to watch the spectacle in the public boxes that sat at the back of the hall, all dressed still in the black of mourning in mimicry of their Princess. They mumbled amongst themselves, creating a hum of noise in the din of the Hall that scarcely seemed to reach its ramparts, which sat above them in stoic sorrow. Behind them, in the public boxes, many of Dean's men and a number of the city were gathered, dressed in their best for the occasion and awkward and silent as they navigated the complex social matrix of decorum which they were unused to – having so little opportunity to witness a royal occasion. Even with the murmur of the courtiers they were still - perhaps a more common but certainly no less meaningful mark of respect for the Royals.
The Lords around Dean and Garth mumbled gruffly through tangled and yellowed beards of the discomfort of the wooden chairs which they were subjected to. They seemed to know one another well, and none made an effort to approach either Slayer seated with them, instead turning their backs to each and discussing their maladies with their counterparts. After a few minutes of awkward attempts to look dignified in silence, Garth leaned over to Dean, keeping his voice light, and asked: "Have you seen Alastair today?"
Dean shook his head lightly. He turned his eye around the room quickly, searching the public boxes quickly. There was no sight of their tall colleague in the assembled audience, nor in any official sitting capacity at the front of the hall, where he would have been expected to be seated – directly within the eyeline of the Princess.
Dean threw a quick glance at Garth, who looked out across the courtiers' boxes and shook his head at Jo. She caught his eye and nodded, turning to Lydia beside her and leaning over to whisper to her, so close their temples were almost pressed together. When Dean caught his eye again, Garth quirked a fake looking smile and looked back to Azazel upon his platform, in time to witness him stand and proclaim: "All rise."
The entire Court rose upon his instruction, including the peasants who brushed themselves off and adjusted their posture, as though they might be punished for an imperfect showing. Lilith was the last to stand, slow and careful. She turned to the Court, hands clasped before her and gave a small curtsey to the waiting room, and the entire Court rumbled as her citizens made to return the favor.
There was a similar burst of sound as the citizens lowered, but the jury remained standing – Dean making an aborted attempt to sit with them before being stopped by a whack of Garth's arm to his. Azazel looked out to the jury, eyes steely, raising his scroll as he read aloud:
"Gentlemen of the jury, you understand the nature of the crime which you are asked to adjudge today?"
The Lords nodded their assent, although it seemed only a necessary formality, for Azazel continued regardless. "In order to find liability for the charges of murder and treason, it must be proved that the accused both did kill, and intended to murder will full malice and evil their majesties the Empress Eve and the Lord Protector, Samuel Campbell, may God rest their souls."
There was a shuffle across the room as the Court crossed themselves with the mark of Christ upon their chests, and murmured prayers of safekeeping to their God. Dean, despite what he knew of their Father's existence, merely watched the gesture with a blithe eye and swallowed when his neighboring Lord looked upon him in disapproval. He was reprieved from censure by Azazel's further instructions, which rang out hollowly in the empty space: "The evidence and testimony of those accused will be laid out before you, and you will conclude as to its truth. If you believe, beyond reasonable doubt , that the accuseds are guilty of the charges laid before them, then they will be sentenced to death, for treason against this nation and its monarch."
Dean swallowed as the Lords around him nodded gruffly, murmuring assent to the terms of their engagement.
Azazel solemnly nodded his assent and raised the scroll in front of him, proclaiming in a loud, perfectly enunciated voice: "Bring forth the accused: the Palace Cook – Missouri Moseley, her assistant and the royal taster – Pamela Barnes, and the runner – Edward Braithwaite."
Dean started as the accused were brought out, weighed down with chains at their ankles and wrists, strung in a line and garbed in thick hessian. The Cook was first, a clear-eyed, dour looking woman, with dark clear skin and strong shoulders. Her mouth was a grim line as she walked, but a slight tremble at her wrists gave away the terrified pound of her heart that marked every step to the accused box. The woman behind her was far younger, but that was evident in stature only, for she kept her eyes fixed downwards as they were escorted to the box. Worst was the small body that followed them, freckled every inch that was on display and crowned by a head of fierce red hair. He was sniveling audibly, and his knees trembled so violently that they knocked together as he walked, and he zig zaged across the room, yanking on the young woman in front of him.
Garth leaned over to Dean, and raised his eyebrows in silent question, for any words in the heavy silence of the Court would have felt like a thunderstorm. Dean heaved out a trembling breath as he cast his eyes over the boy again, and nodded.
Beside him, Garth reclined back in his seat. But his fists clenched around the material of his breeches and shook with the exertion.
Dean didn't register at first where he knew the boy from, but that he knew him. But as the child was hauled up into the accused box, and given a box to stand on so that he could be seen beyond its barbed iron fence, that the recesses of his memory supplied the image for him – a young runner, buck-toothed and red-haired, leading him enthusiastically through Ardus' streets for an audience with the Princess. Dean had paid him a coin, and ruffled his hair, knowing he might have just made the child's year, before entering and thinking no more of him.
Until now. As he watched the child whimper and sob on the box as he stood before Azazel, under the Chancellor's wary eye, until the younger woman reached out, and with a trembling hand of her own, took his hand between hers and squeezed tightly. Behind her back, the older woman reached across and laid a soft hand on his shoulder, clenching tightly, but otherwise staring stoically ahead.
Dean's eyes flickered to Lilith to gauge her reaction to the display. Beneath the veil it was obscured entirely, and her posture was perfectly restrained – a statue against the onslaught.
"I call first the Chief Witness– her Highness, the Crown Princess."
The first sign of life from Lilith was her standing slowly and taking measured steps across the hall as she made her way to the witness box. The veil covered the movements of her neck and head, but it seemed she barely to look at the accused as she passed them by, even though Dean could hear, even from across the Hall, the breathy plea of the older woman as she passed: "Please, your Highness. Please."
Lilith failed to acknowledge the words as she made her way to the witness seat, only pausing to pull the veil away from her face, parting it at the middle as she sat down slowly. Even from the distance, Dean could see that her face was tear-stained and puffy.
There was a murmur from the Lords, and her eyes flickered up the jury box, where she caught Dean's gaze and held it for a moment, before her lips parted and she turned to Lord Azazel, smiling forlornly. There was a tremble at her bottom lip, so utterly perfect that it seemed contrived, to Dean at least, who looked back to Garth quickly and was met with a curious furrow of Garth's brow.
Azazel bowed before her, before seating himself and shuffling through his papers. He extracted a bible, which was handed to the Princess. She placed her palm on it, delicately equipped with even black jewellery, and stared up at her Lord dutifully, awaiting the instructions no doubt she already knew by heart.
"My Princess, do you swear to speak with utmost fealty to the throne of her Majesty, and with honesty and verity, so help your soul before your God?"
Her voice was mild, light, and perfectly cracked to convey emotional bravery: "I do." Dean's mouth twitched as he watched the display, and he leaned backwards and stared down at his hands, interlaced at his lap.
Azazel nodded once and she took her seat before the court, crossing he hands in front of her and staring out with wide eyes at the jury. Garth dropped his head beneath her gaze and jostled against Dean, who swallowed and held it as long as possible, before he too was obliged to look away. He didn't miss the glint of a smile that lit up the side of her mouth as he did so.
"My Princess, would you please describe for the Court and the jury the events that passed on the second to last day of Autumn, in the evening, just after dark?"
Lilith nodded once and adjusted, straightening her spine and gazing out to the jury.
"I was assembled with my Father and Mother, their Majesties, in the Court of Ardus, at the High Table. We were dining with our courtiers, as is custom, in celebration of the successful year's trading."
Her voice was clear, and rang out, though it was light, up to the ramparts of the Hall, filling it with her rehearsed lilt and careful complacency. A hush even heavier than the silence that had preceded it settled over the Court.
"We dined in normalcy. I ate little, for I was feeling unwell that day."
She let her head survey the room, before dropping her eyes down to her hands and continuing softly.
"A soup was brought out for us to try – a final course before dinner – a new concoction of the Palace's Cook's, we were told."
She adjusted her jaw lightly, causing the line of her face to tremor momentarily.
"My Father and Mother both took a serving, and they toasted to the City's good health. I took a little too, though, as I was unwell, I set it aside momentarily."
Azazel cleared his throat and Lilith's eyes flickered up to him, suddenly merciless, and he bowed his head quickly. Her eyes flickered down again and she adjusted her hands before her, before continuing: "They both took a draught, and seemed to enjoy it, and my Father bent forwards to whisper in my mother's ear." She paused, inhaling quickly, and pressing her lips together, before shakily pronouncing. "A moment later, the runner who had delivered us our food started to scream."
She brought a hand to her mouth and let out a soft cry. Quickly, she dropped her head, and a murmur overtook the Court. The assembled Lords and even Azazel looked around quickly, uncertain of how to appease the Princess where she sat alone on the dais. Neither her mother or father was beside her, and her ladies sat impotent behind the bar that marked the courtiers' barrier to Court. In the moments following her first declaration, Lilith let out another cry, and sobbed in earnest. Beside him, Garth nudged Dean urgently.
When Dean looked to him in confusion, Garth stuffed a handkerchief into his hands – white and laced at the edges – before shoving him against the Lord beside him in an effort to motivate his leaving the box. The Lords blocking his passage stood and made way before Dean had the change to do or say anything, and at the sight, Azazel, who it seemed had imagined he might move down from the platform, froze in his position, and seated himself deferentially. Dean swallowed quickly, and the moved quickly down the line and across the floor of the hall, bowing before Lilith before moving up beside her and holding out the handkerchief. She let her fingers trace his lightly as she took it, before burying her face in it silently and letting her shoulders shake with a sob.
He looked up and opposite her, saw the wide terrified eyes of the accused appraising him. The young boy – Edward, Dean seemed to remember Azazel had called him – muffled another sob and hid behind the younger woman. She started at his movement, and as she momentarily raised her gaze, Dean saw the milky white hue of her irises. She was blind.
Lilith fumbled for his hand and clutched it, face still buried in her handkerchief, and Dean saw a few Lords narrow their eyes at the familiarity of the gesture. Garth turned and eyeballed any that seemed affronted as Dean awkwardly raised his other hand and stroked Lilith's skin lightly, with a rough thumb, until her quaking breath calmed.
He heard the gasp of the older woman – Missouri – across from him, and he looked up to see her eyes fill with tears and her head shake minutely. A second later she looked away from him and hung her head, and beside her the young woman began to sob openly. He felt his jaw twitch under the appraisal of the young boy, and looked away quickly, giving Lilith's hand one or two more pats before departing without her leave and crossing back across the hall to join the Lords in their jury seats. They made way for him silently, and seated themselves only when he did, looking back out to Azazel with severe expressions.
"Are you able to continue, your Highness?"
Azazel's voice was soft and cautious, and Lilith looked up at him sharply, before her expression softened and she nodded quickly.
"Yes, I... I apologize.""
She looked down and twisted the handkerchief between her fingers, the white stark, even stained with her rouge and powder, against the black of her garb. Slowly, when she had waited another minute, she raised her gaze back to the jury and continued, shakily.
"My Father, he started choking, as did my Mother. I screamed for help, at once, for I could smell the poison on them almost immediately. It smelled like fire and ash."
She brushed at her cheek.
"They both began to shake, and their fingers turned black. It spread up their bodies like it would consume them."
Her voice recommenced its shaking and turned higher, as her gaze darted around and landed on the accused.
"My Mother, she tried to speak. But she could not, for her tongue was swollen with it, and there was... blood leaking from her mouth."
Her last words faded to nothing as she stared at them all, before looking back up to Azazel, with shimmering eyes.
"The doctors came, but they were too late. My Mother and Father died in front of me. Their faces turned black and their eyes bulged. They would have screamed, but they were choking on their own tongues."
The Court fell silent as Lilith heaved out another sob and she brought the handkerchief to her eyes to dab at them daintily.
"Your Highness, if I might trouble you only a little further, may I ask you a few questions for the jury?"
Lilith gave a muffled "Yes" into the handkerchief and raised her face stoically, eyes blank and staring straight ahead. "Yes," she repeated carefully, "yes, please proceed."
"What was the dish in question, that poisoned your Mother and Father?"
"A duck soup."
Azazel nodded, and made a note on his scroll.
"Did the soup appear strange at all, before your parents ate it?"
"No. It was a new dish, but it smelled lovely. Had I not felt unwell, I would surely have participated."
Azazel nodded again and looked her directly in the eye.
"Who was the runner that brought the soup to your family?"
Lilith's eyes flickered across the accused box until she laid them on the small, red-headed boy, cowering behind the blind girl. "Him. Edward Braithwaite." The boy wailed behind the woman, and she pulled him into her skirts to muffle his cry. Lilith's gaze flickered back to the accused quickly, but she smoothed her face blandly as she watched them, before turning slowly back to Azazel and awaiting his question:
"Have you been served by this boy before?"
"Yes, many times."
"Did he act strangely, the night of the feast?"
"Yes."
"Can you please describe it?"
Lilith shuffled in her seat, and raised her handkerchief to her mouth, speaking through it with a trembling voice. "He was... very slow, and shaking a little. And he insisted when he brought the soup that we must try it. Usually a runner would never dare address their Majesties without an address first."
The boy shook his head behind the blind woman and scrunched his eyes shut.
"Did you or your parents say anything at the time?"
"No. My Mother and Father, they were so kind. Such an indiscretion would scarcely have been noticed."
"When this boy has served you before, was he ever quite so nervous?"
"No. He was always quiet and polite – very well-trained."
"So you do not believe that he was nervous around their Majesties because of inexperience, or their grandeur?"
"No."
Azazel nodded once, and laid down his quill. "Thank you your Highness. Does the jury have further questions?"
The older men shook their heads and grumbled, and Dean stared mutely ahead – gaze flickering between the red-headed child, cowering visibly before the Court, and Lilith's smoothly arched posture as she raised her handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed there carefully.
Beside him, Garth leaned forward and Lilith's eyes flashed: "Your Highness, a few questions if I may?"
She ceased dabbing at her face and nodded once. "Of course, Slayer."
Her eyes flickered to Dean's at the use of the nickname, now formal rather than coy sounding in the Grand Hall, but her smile belayed the undercurrent to its usage in such a circumstance. He swallowed and looked back to the accused box, where Edward and Missouri watched him with wide eyes, and a passing moment of sickness struck him that they should be privy to such an unexpected and inappropriate flirtation, however well-veiled, in their circumstance.
"You say that after Edward served you, he did what exactly?"
"He stood near my parents, insisted we try the meal, and then waited."
"Is it normal for a runner to wait for the food to be tasted?"
Lilith shook her head. "No. My parents would call another if they wished for the food to be removed."
Garth nodded slowly. "Why do you think the boy stayed to watch?"
"I believe he wished to witness my parents' murder. To ensure that he had done his job and report back to his master."
Garth nodded again. "What did you parents say after the boy insisted they try the food?"
"They agreed, and served themselves. And they told him to pass their thanks onto the cook."
"But he did not leave?"
"No."
Garth nodded slowly, casting a glance at Dean and raising his eyebrows. Dean lost the implication, although the way Garth licked his lips as he asked his next question betrayed a small nervousness beneath it.
He looked carefully over to the small boy, who let a small sob, before looking back to the Princess. "Princess, you said the boy screamed when your parents ate the first bite?"
"Yes."
"Before the poison had set in?"
"Yes."
"How long would you say?"
Lilith raised her eyes to Garth's and they flashed again. Garth swallowed and repeated carefully. "How long... between your parents taking their first bite and the poison setting in? At what point did the boy start screaming?"
"A matter of seconds," she said breathlessly, "it happened so quickly."
"And afterwards, did he try to escape?"
"No."
Garth nodded slowly again and raised his hand to his chin. "How would you say the runner looked after he saw your parents... murdered?"
"He was... crying, and screaming."
Garth nodded again, saying mildly: "No further questions."
He leaned backwards as Lilith departed the witness box, and looked to Dean sorrowfully. Dean murmured a quick "what?", but Garth shook his head and looked back to the witness box, where another courtier deposited herself at the stand.
They cycled through four or five courtiers this way. Each gave their account of witnessing the events from various positions in the Hall, and Garth questioned each of them as to the same matters. They all recoiled slightly, and stammered through their answers when he spoke to them, even though his smile was kind and his voice soft. Across from them, Lilith had replaced her veil, but the direction of her gaze seemed to fix firmly on Garth, even when Azazel or the witness spoke.
Eventually, they moved on to another set of witnesses. They were those concerned with the goings-on in the kitchen the day of the murder. Missouri was called first, and she crossed the room carefully, dignified despite her chains and shackles, and sat with queen-like posture in the witness chair.
Azazel cleared his throat as she sat, and shuffled his papers, before asking: "Can you please tell the Court your name?"
"Missouri Moseley."
"What is your occupation?"
"I am the Chief Cook for Ardus' royals."
"And how long have you held that position?"
"The last ten years. But I have been a cook in the Palace since I was but a child."
Her voice was high and bright, far softer and sweeter sounding than Dean had anticipated. She stared straight forward at the jury, although her expression was soft rather than steely. There was a faint tremor at her hands, but she kept them sandwiched firmly between her knees to hide it, and a close eye on her colleagues in the accused box.
"Missouri, would you please describe for me what happened in the kitchens on the day of the murder?"
Missouri sighed and leaned back. "I prepared the meal as usual, over the course of the day. When the time came for the feast, I garnished it, and sent it to the Royal taster. She tried it for me, and pronounced it acceptable, and we then passed on the plate to the Runners to take to the Empress and Lord Protector."
"Did you detect anything wrong with the meal?"
"No. It was prepared with ingredients used in other meals. The duck was left over from the roasted duck that went out as course one and the broth was made from its bones. I used the same vegetables as I did from the banquet served to the guests. There was nothing new there."
The Lords behind Dean and Garth mumbled and Garth swallowed.
Azazel nodded and wrote something on his parchment. "Did you pass the dish onto the runner Edward Braithwaite with any kind of message?"
"I passed on no message. I passed the dish to the boy, and told him to scurry as fast as he could. We were late on the dishes and he was needed back as soon as possible."
"You told him that?"
"Yes."
Azazel nodded and Garth stiffened beside Dean.
"How did the boy seem to you, when he left with the dish?"
"Edward's a good boy. He did just as he was told. Ran straight off with the dish."
"And did he seem nervous?"
"Not at all. Boy has been a runner of mine for years."
Azazel nodded. "Any further questions from the jury?"
The Lords grumbled amongst themselves again, but said nothing. Garth, however, leaned forward, under the burn of Lilith's gaze, and raised his hand to his chin again: "How many staff work in your kitchen?"
" Around thirty for a meal such as that."
"And you supervise them all?"
"As best I can."
"How many of them work on the meals prepared for the Royals?"
Missouri swallowed and met Garth's eyes carefully.
"I generally prepare them myself, my Lord. But I rely on my staff to assist in keeping the meals warm, adding herbs and spices, and so on. We prepare so many dishes for the Royals – I cannot watch them all myself."
"Did any of your staff assist you that night?"
"A great many, my Lord. It is impossible to remember who with what. Our kitchens are so frantic, you understand."
"I do."
Garth raised a few knuckles to his mouth and pressed them there.
"You say you passed the meal to the runner yourself to send to the Empress and the Lord Protector?"
"Yes."
"And the boy was not nervous or shaking?"
"No."
Garth nodded.
"Why did you tell the boy to scurry back?"
Missouri tilted her head in silent question, but continued mildly: "We still had some meals to get to the Royals, and I am ashamed to say, we were a little late in our service the evening, my Lord."
Garth nodded slowly.
"So there were other meals to go to the Royals following the duck soup, and a dessert service?"
"Yes."
The court began to murmur lightly, and Garth cast an eye behind him.
"No further questions."
Missouri was replaced by Pamela, eyes darting back and forth anxiously across a Court that she could not see and hands fiddling nervously in her lap.
Azazel stood again, voice ringing out clearly across the Hall, as he repeated the questions he had asked Missouri, and she had answered: "Pamela Barnes. I am the Royal Taster for the kitchens, a position I have occupied for ten years. I've worked in the kitchens for another ten years at least."
"Please tell me what happened on the day of the murders, Pamela."
"Everything went as usual, my Lord. I spent the day in the kitchens, helping prepare the meal. Once things were cooking, they moved me to my tasting table, and I spent the evening tasting everything that came past."
"How does that work?"
Pamela cocked her head, and her hands trembled. "I usually, smell the dish first, in case there is something off with it. After that, I taste it. We wait for a few minutes, in case there are any symptoms. If everything is fine, we take things to the Empress and her Lord Protector."
"And you tasted the dish in question that evening?"
"Yes. Duck stew."
"And you found nothing wrong with it?"
"I'm alive."
Her bluntness caused a ring of murmurs across the Court and the Lords behind Dean and Garth jostled a little. One raised his hand behind Dean, and Azazel met him with a nod. The Lord rose and asked, slowly and carefully, through a rough and weathered voice that seemed to ache after the first two words: "Are you blind?"
Pamela stiffened in her chair and looked upwards to the direction of his voice. "Yes, my Lord."
"How long have you been without sight?"
"My whole life."
The Lord coughed gruffly into his beard, hacking out what almost sounded like a hairball to Dean, before continuing: "Do you think it is possible that on the night of the murders a plate was brought past you, that you did not taste?"
"No."
"But you concede you are without sight."
"There is one route for the plates, my Lord. They must come past me."
"But suppose another was diverted?"
"The duck stew was not."
The Lord stared at Pamela for a long moment, before stroking his beard and sitting down leisurely, leaning on the framework of the jury box in front of him to do so.
"No further questions."
The moment the Lord. Garth stood immediately, almost falling forward out of the jury box in his haste.
"My Lord, a few questions please?"
The irritation in Azazel's voice was palpable as he answered: "Of course."
Garth nodded in thanks, either deliberately ignoring or oblivious to Azazel's tone as he leaned forward, hands clenching tight around the filigree of the jury box. "Pamela, you say you have worked in the kitchens for around 20 years?"
"Yes."
"And you have always been blind?"
"Yes."
"How do you find your way around?"
Pamela paused for a moment, pursing her lips as she seemed to search the empty air somehow in front of her, turning to face Garth properly and meeting his eyes with her blank ones.
"By smell, mostly. But sometimes by sound, by touch. By memory of the place."
"You must have a good sense of smell, having relied on it for so long."
Pamela nodded slowly. "Yes."
"And sound, touch and taste too. All those things, you understand proficiently."
A small smile flickered across Pamela's trembling face, and she nodded again. "Yes. It's the reason I was appointed as Royal Taster to begin with. I can smell poison – on people or in food."
"I see."
Garth adjusted himself in the box, standing up straighter and looking to Azazel.
"I wonder, Pamela. Have there been many occasions where you have detected poison, in food or on a person?"
"Yes."
"Can you think of some examples?"
She stopped for a moment and ran her fingers along her mouth, clearly thinking carefully. "There was an instance, once, where the import from Rehin was diseased. I smelled it on the fish. We threw the away."
"Did someone test the fish?"
"We fed them to the pigs. They died."
Azazel made a note on his parchment and Garth looked around the other Lords carefully, meeting a few eyes as he did so.
"In your work as the Taster, have you ever made a mistake in ten years?"
Pamela shook her head slowly, and her eyes swivelled to look at Garth, even if they remained unseeing.
"No."
"Did you smell or taste poison on the food the night the Empress and the Lord Protector died?"
"No."
"And did you smell any poison on the runner that came to take the meal?"
"No."
Garth nodded carefully. "Pamela, the job of a Royal Taster is exceptionally dangerous, wouldn't you agree?"
She stared for a moment, before answering carefully: "yes."
"If you were to taste a meal intended to poison the Empress, the Princess or the Lord Protector, what would your chances of survival be?"
Pamela cleared her throat: "The most common poisons I detect... they are utterly lethal. Most times, there is no cure. They're fatal."
"What are you compensated for your service?"
Pamela hung her had a little and shrugged. "A home, food, and a bronze coin every week, sir."
Garth thumbed at his chin contemplatively.
"You know, Pamela, I risk life and limb for my City too. For my Empress and her family." He cast a quick look at Lilith and bowed. "I am compensated a gold coin every week. That is more than ten times the worth of your wage, is it not?"
Pamela took the time counting out the worth of Garth's wages on her fingers, though the calculation had the Lords rumbling behind Dean long before she had worked it out and answered with an uncertain nod.
Garth looked behind him, surveying the faces of the Lords that watched him, before flicking his gaze down to Dean and continuing.
"One might say you are compensated unfairly."
There was a startled chuckle from the courtiers' box and the entire room turned to find its perpetrator. None was to be found, but the sound was enough to provoke a startled kind of mimicry, as it the courts' citizens looked one another in the eyes and saw the absurdity of Pamela's predicament.
Garth shrugged, gave an impish smile, and looked back to Pamela, as though her life did not hinge on the question.
"I may safely assume that you did not enter the task for your wage, my lady."
Pamela jolted at the endearment, and curled her hands together tight in balls. Garth responded quickly, seizing beside Dean and dropping his voice lower and kinder, as he continued: "Would you tell me why you did enter the profession, Pamela?"
The woman's lips trembled and she dropped her face to her hands. A few moments later, her sob was audible throughout the hall. But unlike Lilith, none was ready to rush forward to protect her, and she endured her tears alone until she was able to wrack up the courage to speak, twisting her hands in her hessian as she did:
"My parents... they brought me from Etrea when I was very young. I was born without sight, and... they wished for it restored."
She swallowed slowly.
"The City granted them entrance, though they had little to offer. We tried medicines of every kind. Every remedy available."
She brought a shaking hand to her eyes and ran a finger around the edge of its lid.
"The Empress ... she granted an audience to my family. She tried to use her power to... heal me. She could not."
Pamela hung her head and sniffed. "But her kindness was such a gift. She offered that I stay with her in the Palace. That I could earn a wage, in the kitchens, and make myself useful. I had thought... I had thought I could never provide for myself. It was the kindest gift. She protected me."
Pamela wiped at her blind eyes aggressively, before stalling on a shaky breath and whispering. "I worked in the kitchens for years. For years in service to her. And when the opportunity came to protect her, I did as could – I repaid her favor to me."
Garth nodded slowly.
"You loved the Empress?"
"Her kindness changed my life, sir. She may have even saved it. That I could not save her..." She bent forward again and began to sob in earnest properly. Lilith stiffened in her seat and pressed back against the throne. Pamela's sobs continued as Garth sat slowly, nodding to Azazel the cessation of his questioning.
Pamela ignored the approach of the guards to her chair at first, but she allowed them to take her by the hand and lead her back to the witness box, still sobbing. When she arrived, Missouri took her and held her carefully, rubbing on her back and stroking her hair until her sobs quieted and Azazel could stand, calling for the next witness.
The boy was silent when the guards removed him, though he stumbled several times on his way to the witness box and his chains clanked together, echoing with painful volume throughout the empty hall. Upon the stand though, with no one left to hold, the boy's fear spilled forth, and he curled in on himself, heaving heavily chained ankles and wrists together so he could curl in on himself and bawl.
Dean fought to stay in his chair, but brought his hand forward to clutch at the edge of the jury box, as Garth did. The cries seemed to go for hours, during which time, Azazel made aborted attempts to start and restart the line of questioning that, it struck Dean as he stood waiting, was about to condemn the boy.
Garth, it was true, had tried valiantly to spin the tales of the accused to their best benefit. Missouri, with the timing of the dish's departure and arrival. Pamela, with her loyalty. But this child, who had screamed at the murder site, who had carried the offending plate, who was the last bastion of explanation. What could he rely on to prove himself, when the circumstance was so stacked against him? When he was but a child, and a terrified child at that?
"Boy, what is your name?"
Azazel's address was harsh, and it struck Dean, as it seemed to strike Garth, who was seated beside him, that the boy's verdict might be pronounced with the same tone.
"Ed-Edward Braithwaite."
A drop of water in a well a mile away might have been audible in the silence that befell the Court.
"You are a runner for the Royal Court on the occasion of state dinners?"
"Y-y-yes."
A shaking in the boy's wrists and ankles started so violently that his chains clanked against his seat with such veracity that they obscured his tinily pronounced words. Under Azazel's stare, he wilted, curling in on himself further and pressing his nose beneath his knees, until, with Azazel's nod, a guard stepped forward and pulled the boy into a proper sitting position. He cried out, and across from him, in the accused box, Missouri and Pamela started forward.
"Please describe for the jury what happened the night of the Empress' and Lord Protector's deaths."
The boy's voice was a whisper, suppressed beneath a throat swollen with fear, dry lips and the frantic beat of his own heart. Across from him, Dean felt Garth shift and tense, and his hand, clenched in a fist, dropped beside him.
"I... I was giv'n the meal to deliver. Just as usual. I took it up the corridor to the Hall, and I brought it to their Highnesses."
"The Empress was her Majesty, boy, and the Lord Protector was his Lordship."
The boy cowered under the stern reprimand from Azazel and made to move his head back to his knees, but the guards rushed forward and pulled them apart.
Garth stood, and reached out, as though he might say something, but Azazel merely stared blandly back until Garth slowly descended back to his seat, hand shaking as he brought it back beside him.
"When they ate it, they... they started coughing, and then they turned black. I didn' mean it, sir! I swear to you!"
The boy's voice turned high and frantic with no warning and he curled in on himself properly. When the guards pulled him apart he was howling in earnest, mouth wide open as though it had been stuffed his terror as he struggled to breathe.
"Did- Did – Did you poison the meal?"
Azazel had to call out over the boy's sobs to make his question known and the boy collapsed in his chair, bringing small freckled hands to his face and pressing his fear into them.
"No! No! I swear!"
The cry was made through his fingers, and the guards pulled his hands away from his face and held them firm in his lap. Garth's mouth opened and shut beside Dean's and he held his breath. Dean leaned forward, prepared to do more, aware now of his new status at Court, but Garth stopped him with a hand to his arm and shook his head minutely, before turning back to the trial.
"The Princess says you screamed when her Majesty and his Lordship ate their meal. Why would you do so?"
"B-Because, I knew it would hurt them. I was... tryin' to tell them not to. I was screaming for it. But... I couln' say. Not till they'd eaten the bite. I promise, I tried, I did!"
Azazel narrowed his eyes atop the witness stand and leaned forward.
"Are you saying another poisoned the food?"
"Yes! YES!"
The boy wrenched forward of the guards arms, stumbling forward and racing to the witness box –reaching for Dean and Garth, eyes wide.
"The hooded lady. She made me stop. She poured it in the soup. She told me what to say. I swore I wouldn't! I swore I wouldn't kill them. She told me I would. And then it went so dark. When I came back, she had my arms. She made them move. I- I-"
The guards rushed forward and grabbed the boy, pulling him backwards with such strength that his head slammed on the floor of the Hall with a sharp crack. In a second, he was limp and the guards pulled him back, without a struggle to his seat, depositing him there without ceremony and letting him loll in the chair.
"Boy, you will behave yourself in this Court!"
The boy's eyes flickered open and he let out a small moan before shutting them again and cradling his head. Missouri let out a cry in witness stand and screeched at them: "What have you done to him?"
The cry earned her a slap to the face and she fell back down into the stand, where Pamela rushed to meet her, running her blind hands over her face carefully and murmuring quiet words.
Across from them both, Lilith still sat stoic, unmoving in her throne, hands curled around its edges.
"Who was the hooded woman, boy?"
The boy shook his head blankly, and the movement was so lethargic it was unclear whether he meant it as an answer to the question, or as a means to expel the dizziness from his mind.
"Boy, answer me!"
"I couldn't see... I couldn't see."
Azazel narrowed his eyes and deposited his quill beside him.
"If you knew she gave you poison, why did you take it to the Empress and the Lord Protector?"
"... I couldn't stop... she made my feet move and my mouth shut. I couldn't..."
The boy's head lolled to one side and he raised a handcuffed hand to hold it, wincing.
"How, boy?"
"I don't know... I tried to fight her, but... I couldn'. I'm sorry, I'm sorry."
Azazel leaned back, pressing his fingers together and staring down his nose.
"Witchcraft. That is your story?"
The boy grimaced but said little more, holding tight to his aching head and squeezing his eyes shut.
Azazel's gaze flickered to the Princess, and he leaned forward slowly, eyes flashing.
"Are there any questions from the jury?"
Garth made to stand, but a grumbling Lord beat him to it, rising slowly, but definitely enough that Garth's youth could not beat him. He leaned forward across the jury box and stared down at the boy.
"You say you were cursed, boy?"
"Yes. Yes." The words were strong and insistent, even beneath the mute and dull tone that marked the boy's injury. His eyes flickered shut as she spoke and he adjusted in his seat, hands cradling his head still.
"How is that possible?"
The boy shook his head slowly, eyes squeezing shut and words slightly slurred: "I don't know. I don't know."
"We know of no witchcraft in these lands, now or ever. It is a fiction."
"I-I-..." The boy sobbed again, though this time it was meek and defeated and he curled in once more. This time, the guards stood back, eyes cold; one kindness in a midst of cruelties, watching as he damned himself.
The Lord sat slowly, eyes severe. There was a pause before Garth rose shakily, voice uncertain.
"Edward, you said a woman poisoned the food. Did anyone else see her, that you are aware?"
"No...No... She pulled me away. She lead me down another way. I didn' want to go. But she made me."
Garth looked down and exhaled quickly for a moment, before looking back: "How did she curse you?"
The boy shook his head. "Her eyes, her eyes were black. And she smiled at me. And then... I was screamin'. Only no one could hear. Then she left. She left and I screamed for proper. But their Majesties were dead."
"Why did you stay with her Majesty and the Lord Protector? Why did you watch?"
The boy shook his head and cried out: "She said... she said I had to. She said she liked to watch. She said she wanted to watch them scream."
The Court gasped and the boy fell backwards into the chair, shaking almost audibly, with trembles to his lips that seemed to reverberate throughout the room.
"Did you... did you love the Empress and the Lord Protector, Edward?"
The boy paused in his shaking, and raised his head slowly, meeting Garth in the eyes and whispering: "I love her like my Mama. The Empress, she was so beautiful. The woman... the woman said it had to be me. She said my heart... it was pure. And she liked diseasing it the best."
Lilith stiffened at her throne and the slight movement caught the eye of the Court. The boy froze in response and cried out: "I loved 'em! I promise. I would never have killed 'em!"
They pulled him away screaming and took him from the room until he quieted.
They cycled through other witnesses, but none told any more. Other runners had no idea if Edward had been detoured. And other kitchen staff disagreed on how the meal was prepared, who had touched it, and when it was sent. All seemed reluctant to pronounce one way or the other, although they quailed under the gaze of the Princess, some to such an extent that their stories twisted in on themselves, until they swore another account entirely.
Garth questioned until his voice was almost hoarse with the effort, and the Court seemed to hold its breath for hours, until Edward was dragged back into the room and the jury was given a few minutes to deliberate. They stayed entirely silent in the box. The Lords breathed in the rattled breaths of the elderly and stared straight ahead. Garth turned, as though he might initiate talk, but none met his eyes, and he looked to Dean, eyes pleading as Azazel stood up and asked the jury to deliver their verdict.
There was no need for full consensus, he said, in the circumstances. A murder charge could be pronounced with a two-thirds majority. Each Lord could deliver their verdict as an individual. The back row started first, the Lord seated to the left standing slowly, leaning forward as he delivered his verdict and mumbling: "Missouri Moseley, not guilty. Pamela Barnes, not guilty. Edward Braithwaite, guilty."
The second Lord pronounced the same, and Missouri let out a cry from the witness box. Pamela fell shakily, and clung to the edges of the accused box, breathing harshly.
When the fifth Lord pronounced their verdict, Missouri screamed, so loud that the sixth Lord ceased, mid-effort to stand and stared at her.
Her eyes were wild, and her mouth almost frothed as she scrabbled forward in the jury box, reaching for the Princess, and then Azazel.
"No. No. Please. It was me, I did it! I poisoned them!"
There was a commotion as a few courtiers screamed and Lilith started forward in her chair, as though she would stand. Pamela, stumbled forward too, clutching Missouri's arm, and choking back a sob. The older woman turned to and held her hand tightly, and with a nod of her head and a choke, Pamela leaned forward too, her words empty and aching: "I smelt the poison, but I let it pass. I told the boy it was safe. I did it. It wasn't him."
Azazel stood quickly, waving his hands to calm the crowd, as a murmur rose high up into the ramparts, and with each passing second became more urgent.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court, you must please be silent!"
"I did it. I killed them. Take me instead!" Pamela's careful words turned feral as she called out across the Court to Lilith, who seized in her chair and crumpled. It was not Garth, but a Lord, that pushed Dean forward again to cross the floor again.
The Court was raucous behind him, and Lilith was limp in his arms when he pulled her up, pushing back her veil and tapping indelicately upon her face until she was roused, eyes widening as she appraised Dean before her.
"I'm alright, I'm alright," she murmured softly, as though he had expressed far more care in awaking her. "Please, help me back to my throne."
Dean took her around the waist as she stood and repositioned her on the seat, and then let her hold his hand as she lowered herself back down, face white and eyes wide. She didn't let go of his hand when she was seated, but instead pulled him closer, clutching around his knuckles so tightly that her own were white with the effort.
The commotion died a little as Lilith repositioned herself and set her expression as she stared across the floor to the accused box, where Missouri and Pamela reached forward still, eyes desperate and pleading with her. "Please, your Highness! Please, take me! I made him do it! I made him!"
"Ge-Gentlemen of the jury. In light of the confession, do you wish to change your verdict?"
The Lords stood silent for a moment, before the leftmost rose once more and ached out: "Missouri Moseley, guilty. Pamela Barnes, guilty... Edward Braithwaite, guilty."
Pamela howled and the verdict ran down the line. Missouri was more subdued, although she murmured out a few no's as she dropped beside her to pull the boy close to her chest and let him twist his face into her shoulder. Beside her, Pamela fell against the barrier of the accused box and then collapsed, where she seemed to pass out of consciousness, judging by the way the guards manhandled her back into a standing position.
When it was Garth's turn to stand he did it with shining eyes, and shaking hands: "Missouri Moseley, guilty. Pamela Barnes, guilty. Edward Braithwaite, not guilty by reason of insanity."
His plea fell on deaf ears, except Lilith's, whose grip tightened around Dean's. When the two-third majority was done, it was unnecessary for the Court t turn to Dean, for the pronouncement was clear and the fate was sealed.
As the volume of the Court began to rise again, with calls of "murder!" and "treason!" Azazel donned his black cap and reached for his mallet, raising it to shoulder level. "Missouri Moseley, Pamela Barnes and Edward Braithwaite. For wilful treason and murder of her Majesty, the Empress Eve, and her husband, the Lord Protector Samuel Campbell, I sentence you to death, by hanging, before the City fourteen days from now. May God have mercy on your heinous souls."
The Court yelled, the mallet fell, and beside him, too quick for Dean to see, but witnessed by the condemned eyes of Missouri, Pamela, and Edward, Lilith smiled.