Liam’s two usual guards appeared at his cell door. “Morning, traitor,” one said.
Liam sighed. “What do you want?”
“Two thousand dead this month,” the other said.
“I have been in this cell for six months—if I were the one causing us to lose the war, don’t you think the numbers would go down?”
“You probably inspired other traitors, scum,” the first said.
When the door to his cell opened, Liam looked at the guards, confused. “What’s happening?”
“You’re going for a walk,” the second guard told him.
Liam apprehensively rose from his cot. “A walk to where?”
The first guard slapped manacles on Liam and took him into the garden. He squinted as the sun painfully stabbed his eyes. It was the first time he had been out of the dungeon since he had arrived six months prior. That last time had been cold and cloudy, and the sun’s warmth was almost too much for him.
“You have twenty minutes,” they instructed, giving Liam some distance.
He looked around in wonder, deeply breathing in the fresh air. Liam almost couldn’t remember what fresh air smelled like. He looked around at the garden in full bloom, unsure of what to do with all the space. Liam closed his eyes as the wind blew, caressing his skin with a gentle touch.
He looked back at his guards, trying to discern whether he was being tested or not. He would not run; he would be killed immediately if he did. Maybe that’s why they were doing it—the guards had never been kind to him. Liam stayed in their line of sight, delighting in being in the open. He put each flower and leaf to memory. Liam was unsure when or if he would ever see such things again. Once his trial happened—whenever the war finally came to an end—it would be the end of him. Maybe Liam would get lucky and the flowers would still be in bloom when he was executed.
“Time is up,” the guard told Liam, grabbing him by the arm and leading him back toward the dungeon.
Liam looked longingly back at the lush garden, sucking in his last gulp of fresh air before he was led back into the dungeons. The dank air suffocatingly coated his senses once more. Liam reluctantly returned to his tiny quarters.
An older man, hunched with a bundle of papers under his arm, approached Liam’s cell. His hands shook with age as he waited for the guard to arrive with his stool. This was the first new person Liam had seen since Healer Woolsey and his assistants had stopped coming to treat him a year ago.
“My name is Cedric Barrows. I am to be your counsel if you so wish it.” The older man gave Liam a once-over.
“Am I even allowed counsel for my alleged crime?” Liam asked tartly. He didn’t think alleged traitors were allowed counsel. And, if they were, why was he just now receiving it when he’d been here a year and a half already?
The older man brushed off his comments as he sat on the stool provided for him. “His Majesty has deemed you will stay in the dungeons until the war is over. At that time, the lord generals will testify either for or against you, and the king will make his decision based on their testimony.”
“I am not the traitor,” Liam seethed, “Lord General Crompton is the one giving away tactical positions to the enemy. He is the one who should be tried for treason!”
“Whether that holds any truth or not,” —Cedric tilted his head down to look at Liam over his spectacles— “it does not bode well for you that it is the king’s cousin accusing you. And that you are accusing him.”
“And you think there is no chance for me,” Liam stated more than asked.
“No.”
Liam unconsciously stepped back. He knew the answer was no, but to have it said so bluntly was shocking. “Surely, His Majesty feels the same way you do,” he protested, “and if he does, then there is no point to having counsel.”
“You may choose to dismiss my service, or I can continue to help you develop your argument.” Cedric gave him a bored look, putting his papers down on his lap. “I am paid either way.”
Liam nodded with a sigh. “I suppose it won’t hurt to have your help.”
“Do you have any evidence in your favor?” Cedric looked at Liam over his glasses again.
“Only my word.”
“I see… Can anyone corroborate your word?”
“No,” Liam sighed. There was no evidence he could give. There hadn’t even been time to gather any if he wanted to—he’d been imprisoned since discovering the treason. He did not have a chance at winning this trial. “Why won’t the king just try me now for treason?”
Cedric took off his glasses, looking at Liam like he would a child. “We cannot afford to pull the Lord General Crompton away from the war effort to testify against you. The king has decided to wait until the fighting has ended.”
“But why wait at all?” Liam grew as frustrated as Cedric looked. “Treason is an executable offense. Why not just execute me on the battlefield instead of bringing me here? Why not just let me die when I arrived? I certainly wanted to.”
“Because no one is above the law, not even the king. After an untried mass execution by King Reuben of House Platiri a little over a hundred years ago, his son King Reuben II enacted a law that required a trial for any crime where the punishment was death,” Cedric told him.
Liam sighed. “I suppose I should be thankful to him, then.”
“Shall we go over the evidence Lord General Crompton and Lieutenant Bryant have against you?”
“How do they even have incriminating evidence against me?” Liam demanded. “I did nothing wrong.”
“They allegedly have an unsent letter written in your hand to Lord General Baur with troop movements, and several of his letters telling you where to meet and the amount of payment owed to you with promises of sanctuary in Salatia once the war has been won.”
“That can’t be real!” he cried. “I’ve never been in contact with Lord General Baur, much less gotten any money from him.”
Cedric dug through his papers, pulling out a folded parchment with a broken seal. He handed it to Liam through the bars. “This is just one of the letters. Is this your writing?”
Liam started when he saw his writing but unfamiliar words. “I didn’t write this!”
“But is it your writing?”
Hesitating, Liam said, “Yes. I don’t know how they could make this. I didn’t write this. I wouldn’t write this!”
“All right.” Cedric held out his hand for the letter.
Liam was tempted to rip it up. He handed it over reluctantly.
“Is there anything they could have found with your writing to make a facsimile?”
“We all sent letters home to family to assure them we weren’t dead yet,” Liam said, “but the last letter I wrote was the week before we hit Chenalieu.”
Cedric nodded, pursing his lips. “It’s possible the letters were not yet sent and they copied your writing.”
“That can be the only explanation—the first time I ever saw Lord General Baur was when he spoke to Lord General Crompton. I don’t know if I’d be able to pick him out of a crowd if I were asked.”
“That will be our defense, then,” Cedric said. “I’ll be back in a few weeks to go over anything you can think of that will help your case.”
“Is there any end in sight to the war?” Liam asked.
“Radovan, Mekhor, and Frasisca have joined the fighting, so it should be over soon.”
Cedric shuffled in front of the bars to Liam’s cell. His breathing was heavy, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He sat wearily on his stool and dug in his satchel. “How are you today, Liam?” He coughed heavily, the sound wet.
Liam came to the bars, gripping one in each hand. “Well, I’m here. Better than you, probably. You don’t sound good.”
“It’s these cells,” Cedric told him. “The damp isn’t good for my old bones.”
“I’m not sure it’s your bones you should be worrying about.”
Cedric waved a dismissive hand. “I thought you could send out a few letters to your family. Your parents have been sending you letters, and you aren’t returning them.”
“I can’t write to them.” Liam went back to his cot and collapsed onto it. “They would be ashamed to hear from me.”
“I doubt it, since they keep sending you letters, Liam.” Cedric slid a stack of ten letters through the bars. “Just read them, and then see how you feel about sending them a letter in return.”
Liam didn’t answer, but he did pick up the letters.
“I’ll leave you some writing supplies.” He pushed blank parchment with a quill and ink through the bars. “I’ll come back in a few hours.”
Sighing, Liam cracked one of the seals from the letters. He set it down when he saw his mother’s writing. Tears welled in his eyes, and he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He didn’t want to look at them. He didn’t want to read them. He didn’t want to read about their worry, their shame, or their adamant refusal that he was guilty.
“Pull yourself together, Liam,” he scolded himself, pulling his hands away from his eyes.
He pulled the letters out, forcing himself to read them. They were everything he expected them to be, full of sorrowful prose and hopes he would be found not guilty because they knew he was innocent. They knew he could never have done what was being said.
Liam wrote them a letter telling them of a hope he didn’t have so their own fears would be assuaged. He told them of his lawyer and how Cedric had high hopes that they had enough evidence to prove he wasn’t guilty. He wanted to make them feel better, even if he had to lie to them to make it happen.
He folded the letter when it was finished and put it at the door to his cell so Cedric could grab it without disturbing him. Liam didn’t feel like talking to anyone after that.