The Prince of Exiles (The Exile Series) (31 page)

“What are you two doing here?” Spader asked in his dry, unaffected tone.

“We’re here to vouch for him,” Leah said, speaking respectfully from just outside the door. “As he is a ward of the state, he has no family to speak on his behalf. Tomaz wishes to provide character testament, and I can provide a relevant eye-witness account of the episode.”

There was a pause as Spader seemed to consider this, and then a small smile creased the corner of his mouth and he nodded. The Aides moved aside immediately, now ignoring Leah and Tomaz as if their presence had already been forgotten. The room itself was small, with only one chair and a large, carved wooden desk. All of the walls were covered with books, just like the rest of the house, the only exception being a large window just behind the desk that looked out on the courtyard.

Elder Goldwyn was seated in the chair, his face blank even when his gaze passed over his daughter; Elder Ekman, tall and gangly in long sky-blue robes, was standing at the back of the room, perfectly situated in the corner, where he could see and observe everything that was going on; and Elder Spader, in his deep amber robes, was leaning casually against the desk, holding his customary glass.

Spader is the Lawful Elder,
Raven thought, putting it together.
This is a criminal proceeding. Elder Goldwyn is Elder of State, and Ekman is Elder of Truth, he can tell when someone is lying. I’m on trial.

All of the Elders had grim looks on their faces as they examined him, and Raven felt his shoulders tense. His eyes flickered to the window, and he mentally took note of where the door was. If he had to, he would fight his way out of here. He wouldn’t be put into another cell. He would die first.

It won’t come to that. Will it?

“I see you’ve healed well,” said Spader, apparently the one who’d been elected to steer the conversation. “Were there any adverse side-effects to the dopalin?”

“That’s the second time I’ve been asked that,” he said, “though I still feel losing all sense of judgment is a pretty serious effect on its own.”

None of them cracked a smile, not even Spader.

“Have you experienced any side effects?”

“No,” Raven said, pausing only a moment before adding, “Elder.”

There was the scratching sound of a quill on paper, and Raven looked over to see one of the Aides scribbling notes at a writing desk set up in the corner.

“Very good,” Spader said. “All of this will be recorded by my Aide, Alver, as it is an official matter.”

“I understand, Elder,” Raven said immediately. He may not be accustomed to Kindred laws and customs, but he knew a serious situation when he saw one. The only thing he could do here was be respectful and firmly insist he had done nothing wrong. Anything else would only get in the way.

“You understand too that ingesting dopalin, either whole or in liquid form, is against the laws of Vale and the other four Cities of the Kindred?”

“I was not made aware until recently,” Raven said, “but I am now.”

“Good,” the Elder continued, watching him closely. Raven shot a quick glance at Goldwyn, but saw that the man was quietly studying his folded hands. He felt a flash of fear – it wasn’t that he’d expected help from the man, but the fact he hadn’t even chosen to recognize Raven did not bode well.

“So did you ingest dopalin?”

“Yes, but not on purpose. I was in Vale on an errand for Tomaz,” Raven began, “when I was stopped by Henri Perci, who offered me something to drink, something that tasted –“

“Hold!” Spader called out, slashing a hand through the air. His eyes were wide and they were staring at him so hard he felt as though the man were trying to pin him to the wall. He looked nervous, even frantic.

Raven, completely thrown off-balance by this abrupt departure from formality, could only stare at the man.

“We’re in a state of war,” Spader said slowly, making every word land. “Henri Perci is a lieutenant General, and he has the respect and good opinion of most, if not all, of our citizens. If you accuse him of any wrongdoing, I will be obliged to call a trial, a court martial, which will require a good deal of hard evidence. Were I to do this, I would be trying a highly popular general, a hero among the Kindred, with whom you have a well-known antagonistic relationship.”

He paused and watched Raven carefully, his eyes full of intense emotion, so different from his usual heavy-lidded irony. Raven looked around the room again … and wondered suddenly why this hearing, if it was one, was being held in Goldwyn’s manor, and not in a formal courtroom.

There was something going on here that he didn’t understand, a trap of some kind, and Spader was trying to show him a way out.

“I am of course,” the Elder said carefully, “not advocating a course of action. But, as the Lawful Elder, I feel it is my duty to inform you that should you attempt to shift the blame of your actions to any particular party, that party will then become the subject of this investigation.”

Henri Perci would be investigated? But then wouldn’t he be caught … ?

He’s too smart for that,
Raven realized.
Leah said there was no way we’d trace the dopalin back to him, so if we open a case it’s my word against his, and there’s no evidence on my side. The drug affects cognitive functions, which means even if Ekman confirms I think I’m telling the truth, I’m willing to bet there’s legal grounds for throwing that testimony out.

“Do you wish to continue with your statement?” Spader asked. “If not, then I would have some questions for you.”

Was it a trap to tell the truth here? Raven’s head was spinning. He was out of his element – he didn’t know enough of Kindred law to see the entirety of what was happening.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leah shake her head. It was barely a hint of movement, and very easy to miss, but he knew it was meant for him, and that she had seen the answer when he couldn’t.

“I do not wish to continue my statement,” Raven said.

Spader visibly relaxed, taking a fortifying sip from his glass.

“Elder Ekman, please step forward.”

Ekman was a tall, thin man, almost gaunt, with short gray hair and eyes that never seemed to blink. He had a kindly expression on his face, though it looked strangely out of place, giving the impression that someone had painted it on him when he wasn’t looking. When Spader said his name he gave a little jump, and then came forward quickly.

“Will you please attest to the truth of what you see?”

Ekman nodded, and turned his unblinking gaze on Raven.

“Did you ingest dopalin?” Spader asked.

“Yes.”

“Truth,” Ekman said immediately, startling Raven, who began to wonder how deeply Ekman’s abilities ran. He didn’t posses the Snake Talisman Symanta did, but if his dagger contained hundreds of years worth of study on lying….

Your only hope is to tell the truth. It’s the only safe bet.

“Did you do so unknowingly?”

“Yes.

“Truth.”

“Do you intend to do so again in the future at any time?”

“No,” Raven replied immediately, quite earnest.

“Truth.”

“Good,” Spader said, “thank you Elder Ekman.”

Spader turned to Elder Goldwyn, who looked up stoically from his clasped hands. And yet … maybe not so stoically. Raven thought he caught a hint of a smile about Goldwyn’s eyes.

“It is my opinion that this case should be closed without further investigation,” Spader said, once again back to his dry, smooth delivery. “There is no reason to continue this line of inquiry; both myself and Elder Ekman feel that the man in question, Raven son of Relkin, should be pardoned.”

“Elder,” said one of the Aides, a small ferrety man, as he stepped forward, looking very confused. “Don’t you wish to hear the testimony of the witnesses?”

“No need,” Spader said quickly, not even turning to look at the man, who looked stunned, even scandalized, by what was no doubt a breach of protocol.

“On the recommendation of the Lawful and Honest Elders,” Goldwyn said in his mellifluous baritone, “I dismiss the case. Thank you for your time.”

Everyone just stood there for a moment, clearly taken aback by the abrupt end to the proceedings, and then Spader turned and left, waving goodbye to Goldwyn, and motioning for Ekman to follow. Ekman, the most surprised-looking of them all, followed quickly, awkwardly glancing around the room as he did as if unsure what had just happened. Raven felt himself breath easier when he was gone –
 
the Elder made him nervous the same way his sister Symanta did. Forcing truth at all times was unnatural, as though one’s privacy was somehow being invaded.

Their Aides followed after them in a flurry of gray robes as the scribe packed up his equipment. Goldwyn motioned to the two Aides that remained, one man and one woman, and they left with the others.

Goldwyn stood and came around the side of the desk. Leah went to him and gave him a hug, and he smiled at her. It was still strange to see the Exile girl be affectionate toward anyone – it was like watching a river flow uphill.

“I had hoped we’d have time to speak,” Goldwyn said to them, “but unfortunately I have some business to which I must attend. Tomaz, it is an honor, as always, to see you.”

He turned his gaze on Raven, and suddenly the gray eyes went cold.

“I offered to make you a student of mine, and you never came to me,” he said, quietly. Both Leah and Tomaz tensed, and Raven found himself rooted to the spot, unable to look away. “I do not take on students lightly, and your lack of courtesy in ignoring my offer was both insulting and disgraceful. You will be here tomorrow morning, and we will begin. If you are not, the next time you are caught breaking a law, I will not make it go away quietly at the urging of my son.”

Raven swallowed hard as he felt a wave of shame crash over him.

“Davydd told you about what happened?” Leah asked.

“He did,” Goldwyn confirmed, “and if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to arrange this informal hearing. I have to go, Crane and Dawn need me.”

He turned back to Raven, speaking with a calm certainty that lent incredible weight to his words.

“You will be here tomorrow morning at dawn,” he said, “or you will not come to this house again. I don’t wish to hear excuses – I know this wasn’t your fault. But if you had come to me, if you had taken the time to learn about the Kindred and our laws, this would not have happened. I will see you tomorrow, or I will not see you again.”

He strode past them and left.

The next morning did indeed find Raven outside Goldwyn’s manor at dawn, mostly at the behest of Tomaz and Leah, both of whom had refused to talk to him until he’d promised to be there. He’d resented it at first, but knew they both had his best interests in mind. Still, he had insisted he didn’t need to be taught anything more – he wasn’t anyone’s student, he’d learned all he wanted to know.

But they were adamant. And so here he was, shivering in the cold despite his heavy cloak and drawn hood. The air was misty and the sky clouded – it had rained again during the night and everything had a hazy glow to it now, as if it had been washed cleaned.

When Goldwyn came to the door to greet him, the carefully controlled anger present the day before was gone, melted away. The man smiled, and invited him inside. They made their way to the courtyard, not speaking, and Raven found himself dreading what was to come. Lessons with the Children and the Imperial Scholars had been highly unpleasant events, and he saw no reason why this should be any different.

“Please,” Goldwyn said, indicating a seat across from him. It looked as if the firepit been cleaned the night before – the iron grating was spotless, and the pit itself was free of ash. Raven wished it had been lit – he was freezing.

There was the sound of a cup rattling against something from behind him, and he turned to look back toward the door. A short, bald man was coming to them out of the mist that clung to the walls of the courtyard, bearing a tray with two black porcelain mugs and a matching pot. The man was dressed in heavy gray robes – it was one of Goldwyn’s Aides.

“Ah,” Goldwyn said, “thank you Lemvinch.”

“You’re welcome Elder,” the man replied in a quiet voice before leaving. Goldwyn poured the contents of the pot – the same dark black liquid as before – into the two cups. He stood and rounded the pit, and handed one of the mugs to Raven.

“Be careful,” he said, “it’s very hot. Don’t wait too long though, it’s not very good when it’s cold.”

Raven took the cup and held it between his hands. The mug was thick, and the heat radiated through it. Steam came off the black liquid –
kaf?
– and he found that the smell was oddly seductive, strong and full.

Goldwyn sipped his, and so Raven did the same. It was indeed very hot – but it did warm him, and also seemed to wake him somewhat. Interesting. He took another sip, and though it was bitter, he could see how one could come to like it.

“Why is it, do you think,” Goldwyn said “that Henri Perci drugged you?”

Raven looked up sharply.

“You begin conversations rather abruptly,” he said.

This elicited a smile from Goldwyn, but he remained silent, waiting for an answer.

“I think he did it because he wanted me to look like a fool in front of the other Kindred,” Raven said, speaking easily. After having a night to think it through, it wasn’t something truly worrying – the forces of the entire Empire were still hunting him. A jealous, spoiled general, spiking his water didn’t even get measured on the same scale.

“I think so too,” Goldwyn said. “But I didn’t ask what he wanted the outcome to be. I asked why you think he did it. What was his motivation?”

“He doesn’t like a former Prince of the Realm living among the Kindred,” Raven said with a shrug. It seemed pretty self-evident to him.

“I think there may be something more,” Goldwyn said, looking off into the mists that masked the courtyard walls, making the space look much bigger than it was. “He is a good man, at heart, but there is something in him that has been growing lately, something that has turned deadly. I do not understand it.”

They lapsed into a silence that stretched for an uncomfortable length of time.

“I don’t understand the purpose of me being here,” Raven said abruptly, trying to speak candidly. He knew the man enjoyed honesty, and there was no harm in giving it to him now. “What is the purpose of these … conversations?”

Goldwyn smiled at him before sipping more of his
kaf
.

“What do you think the purpose might be?” Goldwyn asked him.

“If I knew I wouldn’t have asked,” Raven said dryly before he could stop himself. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he wished he could have them back – he shouldn’t be mocking the man, he was only trying to help.

But strangely, Goldwyn didn’t seem the least bit bothered.

“I’ll let that go, the question was a little unfair of me,” the Elder said with a grin. “My purpose is two-fold. The first part is that both my daughter and my son have now spoken on your behalf; that’s of interest to me. I wish to see what there is in you that has so convinced them of your worth.”

“And the second part?”

“The second is to keep an eye on you,” Goldwyn said, “and to keep you out of trouble; both trouble involving other Kindred and trouble you may cause yourself.”

“I do not need help staying out of trouble,” Raven said, watching the Elder carefully. He was not a child, and he would not be treated as such.

“As soon as you can prove it to me, I will believe you. So far you’ve managed to get into a shouting match with an Elder, offend half the population by refusing Autmaran’s nomination, and end up drugged by the most popular general in the officer corps on the off chance you might go crazy and kill everyone.”

Goldwyn arched an eyebrow.

“Have I missed anything?”

Raven glowered at him in silence. He was not enjoying this lesson.

“Good,” Goldwyn said. “Now, you pick the next topic of conversation.”

“Why do the Kindred insist on fighting a hopeless war against the Empire?”

The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it, but once the words were spoken, he was glad they’d slipped out. Goldwyn’s eyes widened in surprise, and then quickly seemed to re-evaluate him.

“What other choice do we have?” Goldwyn asked.

“That’s not an answer,” Raven insisted. He felt quite energized now, and his mind was working quickly. He realized he’d finished half the mug of the hot
kaf
and now understood why Goldwyn liked to serve it – it promoted good conversation.

“It isn’t an answer per se,” Goldwyn said, “but it is the reason. We fight because we must – we fight because it is who we are, we have no other choice. We are a rejection of what the Empire stands for. It is why we were Exiled, and why we have created a land of our own.”

“But you cannot hope to win,” Raven said, baffled.

“What is winning?” Goldwyn asked. “You fought Ramael without expecting to defeat him, correct?”

“Yes,” Raven conceded. “I didn’t think I’d win. All the pieces came together at just the right time in just the right place. It was luck – that’s all. But Ramael is the least of the Children, he always has been. He was the club Mother held over the heads of the rebels, the kind of instrument meant to look big and scary but not to be very functional. He was disposable, to say the least.”

Raven thought back to the memories he’d gained from his brother’s mind.

“And he knew it,” he finished sadly. He didn’t love his brother, he never had. But having been inside the man’s head, having truly come to know him, all his faults, all his hopes and dreams, made it impossible not to pity him.

“Why do people do what they do?” Goldwyn asked, seeming to change the subject. However, Raven was beginning to suspect the Elder never truly changed the subject, he simply attacked it from a different angle.

“People do what they do because they have a reason to,” Raven said.

“Interesting,” said Goldwyn. “So you eat an apple because you are hungry?”

“Yes,” Raven said warily.

“And you sleep because you’re tired?” Goldwyn continued.

“Yes.”

“So then you can stay awake because you want to? Or eat an apple later if you have other, more important things to do?”

“Yes.”

“So then you can put off sleep and food for a week?”

“Possibly.”

“A month then?”

“Well, no.”

“But maybe, as you said, you have a reason to, so you consciously choose to stay awake. Wouldn’t that mean you could forgo sleep forever?”

“You’re twisting my words,” said Raven. “You can’t do the impossible. I can’t
fly
, but that doesn’t mean I can’t jump.”

“True,” said Goldwyn, though the look on his face very clearly said that he was being generous.

“Just say what you mean,” Raven said, exasperated.

Goldwyn’s gray eyes were growing large and excited.

“What I mean is that there is a part of us that we cannot control. It is the part of us that reminds us to breathe, the part of us that blinks, that laughs, that twitches a finger, that pulls back an instant before an arrow flies through where our heart should have been. There is a part underneath your mind that no one controls, not consciously. It is a part that
believes
.”

“You’re not going to give me religious doggerel now are you?” Raven asked. As one of the Children he’d been both worshiped and feared as the son of a god, and he of all people knew how false such dogma could be when it pertained to anyone but the Empress Herself.

“No, no,” Goldwyn said dismissively. “Let us take this from another angle … there are three components to any person. For example, take a man – a blacksmith let’s say. There is a
what
– he works as a blacksmith. He beats and shapes metal, forges swords, what have you. There is also a
how
– he does this by heating the metal, by using his mind to envision what a sword should look like and molding the metal to that shape. He purchases a shop and tools; he marries a woman who will help bring up the sons he doesn’t have time to raise completely on his own. Do these levels, the what and the how, make sense to you?”

Raven nodded, following this example easily enough. Goldwyn nodded in return, and quickly continued, growing more and more excited, his deep voice ringing from his whole body now.

“The third level, the deepest circle and the center of it all, is the
why.
The least successful blacksmith does what he does because he wants to make money. Not a bad thing – certainly useful in society, and useful to his family who need to eat. He lives mostly in the first two circles – he does the job of a blacksmith, and he performs the actions of a blacksmith, but he does it for the money. But his neighbor, also a blacksmith, is different, more successful. People come from far and wide to buy from him, and commission swords that last for a hundred years. This is not because he forges the metal in a fundamentally different way, nor because he is stronger or more intelligent. The neighbor is more successful because he derives
joy
from being a blacksmith, because his hopes and his dreams revolve around making the perfect sword. He elevates his work to an art, not for the money, for the
what
, not for the skill of it or the
how
, but for the
love
of it, the
why
. He does it for the joy of the self, and the echo of his soul’s voice in every perfect hammer stroke, in every
hiss
of cooling metal.”

Goldwyn smiled, his eyes like light shining through breaking clouds.

“It is
belief
that moves this man. It is a
why,
a state of being that he must move toward. It is not a reason, it is not rational
thought
. Such things are important, but they are of the outer circles, the
what
and the
how
.”