The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) (21 page)

Kariana’s lay back down
on her desk and stared up at the ceiling again. “I see.”

Kariana had arrived early to
the courtroom, memories of her conversation with Maralena still
painfully fresh in her mind. Her place was at the far end of the
room, behind an enormous, mahogany and marble judge’s desk.

The great courtroom of Nihlos
was regarded a magnificent work, and Kariana supposed it was, in a
cold, impersonal way. It was a huge chamber, easily a hundred feet
across, with soaring arches along the left and right walls.
We
could practically fit the entire population in here. Everyone that
matters, anyway.
Most of the room was given over for a standing
audience, but eleven seats sat on a raised platform facing the
judge’s position, places for the Elder of each House other
than Tasinal.
Why do they sit higher than me?

Beneath the arches were great,
stained glass windows, each depicting various legendary exploits of
the founders. Here, one showed Tasinal at the very desk Kariana now
occupied, smiling down on the rebel Aswan and granting him mercy.
There, Amrath, his right arm raised overhead, hand clenched into a
fist, delivered some rousing speech or another. She should know what
he was saying, she supposed, but really, she was having enough
trouble keeping everything Maralena had crammed into her head. It
was neither the time or the place to try remembering her history.
It’s not as if I ever really even knew much of it.
That
lack was dangerous, now. History was the realm of sorcerers.

Meites!
The very word
was enough to chill her deep in her bones. Try as she might, it was
impossible to separate childhood impressions and likely reality.
What did she actually even know about Meites, other than they were
wicked sorcerers who would certainly slay unruly children? If she
had paid more attention to her history lessons, and less to drink
and dick, she would be in a much better position. She made a
resolution to remember that bit of wisdom for later.
Assuming I
survive.

The founders had all been
Meites. It was their religion. They were, by all accounts, demigods.
Now the name of their god was a vile curse, and practicing their
faith was a crime punishable by death. Her own father had made it
so, but why? Did it even matter? Unless Maralena was lying, there
were dark sorcerers amongst the elders. But who, and how many?

I’m so screwed. I
should make out my will while I wait for them. I’ll name
Sadrik my successor and stab myself. With any luck, they’ll
notice it’s his dagger and blame him, and he can hate the
world just like me.

She turned and looked up at the
larger than life statue of Tasinal that stood behind the desk,
literally watching over the current rulers of Nihlos as they
conducted official business. His aquiline face seemed to glower at
her in disapproval, and she suppressed a shudder of fear. They
called him the Great Tyrant, the Undying King. But he was also the
father of her house, the well from which her blood sprang.

In theory, he was still
wandering about somewhere, doing whatever a wicked, undead sorcerer
might do with his time. It was possible he could show up and make
everything right again. She felt anger rise in her once again as she
stared at the statue.
Help
me, you bastard! Come and fix this mess I’ve made!

She sighed to herself, knowing
it was a lovely but hopeless fantasy. Alive, dead, or undead,
Tasinal had left Nihlos long ago, walked away without explanation,
and for the first time in her life, Kariana understood why. It was a
thankless job only a fool would want, but it was a tar pit. There
was no changing one’s mind. Once you had the power and made
enemies, you needed the power to survive. Unless, of course, you
were a wicked sorcerer who could just blast anyone who troubled you.
Then you could just walk away. Kariana did not have that luxury.

The thought of sorcerers
blasting their enemies brought her quickly back to her unpleasant
reality: who were the Meites?

Twelve houses, twelve elders.
She knew she wasn’t a Meite, and unless Maralena was playing a
very odd game, neither was she. Kariana thought that unlikely.
People with great personal strength rarely resorted to subterfuge.
They would simply hit someone very hard and take what they wanted by
force.
And what a joy that would be!
No, Maralena was no
Meite. So, ten possibilities, then, and all of them would be
arriving in short order. Could she work out which they were, just by
observing? She resolved to give it a try.
Shut
up and observe!

They filtered in over a period
of fifteen minutes. The first to arrive was Ariano of House Talus,
clad in pink flowing silks. She was an aged crone with a sickeningly
sweet disposition. Ariano smiled warmly at Kariana and took a seat
at the front of the courtroom. Kariana returned the smile, though
she had her doubts as to how convincing it was. She was simply glad
the old woman didn’t try to strike up a conversation. Surely
not a Meite.

Next came Davron Noril, and
with him Polus Luvox, Caelwen’s father. Davron was openly
armed with a heavy sword, and both wore that odd, spiky armor they
liked so much.
Really, it just seems bad form. You’re not
going to be fighting anyone in here. I’d rather have something
comfortable.
They were powerfully built men, warriors, still
dangerous and handsome even at their ages. Once, Polus had been
blond, like his son, and Davron black haired, but now they were both
gray. They looked her way briefly, acknowledging her existence and
nothing more, then took seats and waited in silence. Meites? It
seemed unlikely. Why bother with swords if one could blast enemies
to bits with a thought?

Narelki came next, the wretched
whore, dressed in pure white. Prandil Idlic, the equally wretched
gadfly writer, accompanied her, waving his hands dramatically as he
regaled her with some idiot tale. Narelki turned eyes of ice toward
Kariana, her gaze cold as a corpse in a blizzard. Kariana felt a
shiver run up her spine.
She could be one of them.
But Maralena hadn’t seemed to think so.

Prandil, ever the provocateur,
winked at Kariana and grinned like a wolf, his hatchet face lit with
humor and playfulness. Kariana was simultaneously outraged and
titillated. The old man actually thought to flirt with her! He’d
written so many horrid things about her in his editorials, and yet
she had to admit, his barbs were hilarious when thrown at anyone
else but her.
He’s not
so old
, she thought idly. Neither of them were, for that
matter. They were the youngest of the elders, and it was well known
that they were at least on occasion lovers. Kariana smiled back,
thinking that it would be delicious to fuck Narelki’s man and
rub it in her face.
No, he’s
not so old at all.

But was he a Meite? Perhaps,
but it seemed unlikely. She’d never thought of sorcerers as
being inclined to biting wit and sarcasm, and certainly not as dirty
old men flirting with women half their age. A proper sorcerer would
be reading musty books and making pacts with demons or some such.

Maralena was the next to
arrive. Her jewels were gone now, as was her other finery. She had
chosen a simple brown tunic and pants with no adornment at all.
That’s supposed to make you look unassuming, eh? Are they
that stupid?
Maralena was
accompanied by Olemus Freth, who was as rich as an old dragon and
twice as fat.
Mei, is he wearing a tent?
Sadrina Veril, the
socialite, chattered at them from behind, festooned in rubies and
red silks, and sporting a ridiculous hat with pink feathers that
rose a foot above her head. Kariana tittered to herself, remembering
that Prandil had once editorialized about Sadrina: “She might
easily be replaced by a mannequin. It would serve just as well for
displaying clothes and jewelry, and would be better company by far.
At least a mannequin could be trusted to keep its mouth shut.”
They ignored her completely as they took their seats as far away
from the others as possible. Meites? Not a chance.

Lucreta Strall and Maklin Yorn
arrived shortly thereafter. House Strall was chiefly concerned with
education in Nihlos, and Lucreta was the embodiment of the notion,
the archetypical blue-haired, frumpily dressed teacher with a
blue-sequined handbag shaped like a fish. She waved at Kariana, and
Kariana felt compelled to return the ridiculous gesture. Maklin,
dressed in a black tunic and pants, moved slowly, a combination of
his age and his intent focus on his ever-present sketchbook. His
pace was a simple cycle: every few steps, he stopped, looked
confused, then enlightened, and scribbled something, then started
moving again. He didn’t even look in Kariana’s
direction. She might have taken offense to it as a snub, save for
the fact that it would be dishonest to accuse him of ignoring her.
It was more the case that he was not even aware of her existence.
Meites? Impossible.

Last, and five minutes late,
came Maranath Aswan, looking haggard and disheveled. The eldest of
the elders, he moved ever so slowly, his long beard swaying as he
struggled forward, his gnarled hand gripping his cane as a lifeline.
Mei, did he even bother to change clothes for the trial? Or
bathe?
She sighed with relief. Not so many Meites after all!
Perhaps it was all a lie that Maralena had cooked up to frighten
her.

But as Maranath passed and
looked her way, meeting her gaze, she felt her breath catch in her
throat. His eyes bored into her from beneath his gray brows, fire
and ice, brooding, brilliant blue, so full of life that it made her
feel terribly old and weak. They were the eyes of a child!

He’s
faking it
. She didn’t know the source of that
notion, but she knew it was true.
Old and gnarled, yes, but he
doesn’t need that cane. He doesn’t need anything!

Maranath smiled at her a
moment, then turned and took a seat next to Ariano.
Mei!
He knows I know!

In the end, it hardly mattered.
He would be with her or against her, and she would just have to play
the hand she had been dealt. Feeling slightly sick, she rose,
cleared her throat, and called out, “This meeting will come to
order. Caelwen, please seal the room.”

Caelwen entered from outside
and hauled on the heavy doors. He cast a glare of rank disapproval
her way, no doubt in regard to her ‘Plan B’ precautions.
Once the doors were closed, a contingent of a hundred guardsmen
would take up position and await her orders. If things went really
awry, that should be more than enough to handle even a few
sorcerers. She just hoped Caelwen’s overdeveloped sense of
duty would keep him from betraying her secret. There was some slight
risk to his father’s safety if it blew up in her face, but it
might very well be a matter of her saving his life with this scheme.
She was fairly certain Caelwen would keep quiet. It was just a
precaution, after all.

The elders gradually grew
silent, save for Sadrina, who went right on nattering away to
Olemus. Polus turned toward her and fixed her with a withering
glare, and she blanched and fell silent.

“There’s no way to
pretty this up,” Kariana said, repeating the words she had
practiced with Maralena. “You all know the situation by now. I
called this closed session because I intend to execute the foreign
agent as a spy, and Aiul of House Amrath for high treason.”
She looked pointedly at Narelki, hoping to see a reaction, but
Narelki’s face remained a stone mask. The rest of the elders
murmured amongst themselves for several moments, and Kariana stood
by, waiting for the battle to begin in earnest.

Polus Luvox was the first to
speak. He rose and called out, “Insufferable fool! Our ancient
enemies return to Nihlos, and you told us nothing? You told
me
nothing? By rights, we should have
you
on trial here!”

Kariana blinked a few times.
That was unexpected
. “It seemed like a good idea at the
time?” She looked to Maralena to see the Elder palming her
face.
I guess that was the wrong thing to say.

Prandil tittered at this. “Do
you believe in fairies, too, I wonder?”

“It was a mistake, in
retrospect. All leaders make them from time to time.”
There,
better. She’s looking less like she’s having a stroke,
now.

Prandil shook his head in
amusement. “You seem to be going for some sort of record
here.”

Kariana clenched her jaw,
struggling not to respond in anger. “Be that as it may, I am
trying to rectify those mistakes. That is why we are here.”
There. That’s sounds more like father. I can do this.

Prandil folded his arms across
his chest and nodded, grinning like a fool. “Oh, indeed. It
shall be quite interesting seeing what form that takes.”

Narelki took that moment to
rise, and a hush fell over the courtroom. House Amrath was well
respected, and Narelki doubly so. Kariana felt as if her hate for
Narelki would burn a hole through her chest, fall onto the desk, and
set it on fire, but managed to control herself.

Narelki raised an eyebrow in
disdain as she looked pointedly at Kariana and spoke, her voice as
icy as wind blowing over a frozen lake. “This is all
irrelevant. You have no authority to put any Housed citizen to
death.”

“True enough,”
Kariana conceded. “But this is a special case of high treason,
and requires a heavy hand.”

Narelki looked around at the
others, then back at Kariana and shook her head. “There is
clear precedent here,” she called out in a strong, confident
voice “In the case of Aswan’s Rebellion, Tasinal himself
established the proper punishment: imprisonment until the offending
noble bends a knee. Tasinal’s Mercy is well known to any who
have actually made a study of the law.” She looked pointedly
at Kariana.