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His silence bothered her.
As Joss rode into Galmoor that morning, following behind Henrik, her mind couldn’t stop looping back to last night and the way Aric had grown quiet. After they had prepared dinner and fed him, he perked up enough to add little witty statements to their general conversation, but she could tell he had put his guard up. Often that would happen after someone had learned about who and what she was, not before. She couldn’t help wondering what had changed him and, more selfishly, how he would react if she did tell him her place in the town. He seemed decent and was still such a mystery that she realized she had been hoping he was different from the others.
And then there were his eyes. She hadn’t met anyone with two different eye colors before, especially in those hues. The sun-lit green was attractive but compared with the light gray it gave his features an exquisite look that had made her lose her breath. She was relieved the thymelock could still work effectively; she just wasn’t prepared for what was underneath the closed eyelid. Deep down, she really hoped Aric didn’t catch her reaction; that his recent mood change wasn’t due to him being put off by her.
With a shake of her head, Joss continued to steer Drakon through the crowds. Henrik, always the chatty one, had dropped back to her side to tell some idle gossip he had overheard, to which Joss listened with half-interest. Unfortunately, her mind kept wandering to Aric, trailing off again as they entered through the gates of the jailhouse. Even when she tied Drakon to the post and walked through the main room with Henrik at her side, her footsteps led her downward while her mind remained back at the cottage.
Meeting with the familiar stench of rot and ruin, the pair stopped at Quinn’s office first, seeing him at his desk.
“Ah, you’re late,” he remarked, shuffling some parchments together to keep them in order.
“Are we?” Joss murmured to Henrik, who shrugged his shoulders, clearly not the one who had kept track of time.
Joss looked back to Quinn quizzically until her eyes caught sight of the clock on the back bookcase, the time glaring back at her. She didn’t remember leaving late, yet she didn’t quite remember much from that morning, aside from Aric taking up most of her thoughts. Her jaw clenched, not liking that she had become so distracted by him.
“I guess we are,” she admitted.
Quinn looked at her, doing a double take when he noticed the scowl on her face. His eyes trailed to Henrik, and finding nothing different, slid back to Joss. “You still beat the magistrate, so you haven’t missed anything yet,” he commented, turning away to put the parchments back in their place with the others.
Joss was about to speak up when a voice broke behind her. “She didn’t beat me by much.”
All three stood straighter as Lord Vaspin passed between Joss and Henrik, who stepped away slightly in order for the man to enter the room fully. “I see everything is prepared?” he questioned Quinn, who spoke up that it was.
Lord Vaspin pivoted around, looking from executioner to assistant. “The two guards who have been monitoring the prisoner will be escorting him today, Master Brevyn. I take it you and your charge will continue to follow formalities,” Lord Vaspin said, a warning about the trial.
Quinn had rounded past his desk, handing a scrolled parchment to Henrik as the magistrate spoke. He exchanged a glance with Joss before going back behind his desk.
“As always,” Joss confirmed to Lord Vaspin, knowing the standard practice. Given the two guards still stationed at the cell, it made her grateful for the small pistol snug in her boot.
“Good. Collect the prisoner, then,” Lord Vaspin ordered, to which Joss and Henrik bowed before backing out of the room. They made their way down the hallway, determined to stay focused on the task at hand since they would soon be in front of the council.
“So I gather this prisoner isn’t from around here,” Henrik whispered in between the jeering and muttering from the prisoners as they passed. He handed the parchment to Joss who unrolled it, reading the contents in between the lamp lights.
“What does it say?” Henrik asked when her gait slowed.
“They brought him here from Helix,” she wondered out loud. “He murdered a knight.”
Maybe that’s why he was being treated so differently, she thought, knowing how respected knights were.
“Helix? But that’s three towns over, near the border wars,” Henrik gawked. “They could have tried and executed him there easily. Why would they bring him all the way here?”
“Because he ran,” Joss replied, her eyes still scanning the contents. “He got caught in between Brimhan and here. I take it he fell more in our jurisdiction than theirs.”
“What’s his name?” Henrik asked, curious to put a name to the face.
Joss looked over the parchment, slowly coming to a stop. “His name isn’t here,” she mumbled, still searching until finally giving up. Looking at Henrik, she saw the question also in his face, but decided they had taken enough time as it was. Quickly rolling up the parchment, they continued on as Joss handed the scroll back over to Henrik for safe keeping.
Entering the condemned cells area, she found the same two guards stationed at the end like before. As she and Henrik approached, one of them called out, “Is it time?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, to which the guard immediately slid open the cell door and both entered. She heard the sounds of rustling and chains, and by the time she reached the cell, the guards already pulled the man out.
Seeing him, Joss stopped short. She remembered those eyes, those two dark orbs gleaming against his umber skin and short curly black hair, realizing he was the prisoner she had seen being booked the day she had interrogated Chadwyn Hillcross. He was a tall man too, built athletically compared to the guards who looked bulky under their armor, barely standing at the same height as him. He wore a loose shirt and fitted pants, so worn that Joss assumed he hadn’t been given a change of clothes since before being caught.
Then she saw the gag in his mouth, a custom that was never practiced, even for the most foul-mouthed offenders.
“Is that necessary?” she asked, wondering how high up the order went for the prisoner to receive such treatment.
“Orders are from Lord Wolburn,” one of the guards commented as they moved the prisoner along, passing Joss, who eyed the guards before her gaze fell to the prisoner and found he had been watching her.
“Lord Wolburn never gives us orders,” Henrik whispered as they fell into step behind them. Although she simply shook her head to show her bafflement, Joss felt something turn in her gut. Everyone knew Lord Wolburn was one of the more arrogant councilmen, but he was never one to extract his own rules to how prisoners were treated. Those types of issues were always left between Lord Vaspin and Quinn, the only two men who had any authority in the workings of Mortem Hall.
“Lay low,” Joss warned quietly to her companion, who nodded in agreement.
Both could hear the rise and fall of the portcullis echoing in the distance, a sign that Lord Vaspin had already passed by, making his way to Judgment Hall in the same route they would be taking.
Uneasiness settled into her nerves as they continued, the guards’ armor clinking in rhythm and ricocheting off the stone walls. Upon reaching the main hall, she and Henrik came to a stop while the guards started journeying in the direction of the main exit.
“Gentlemen,” Joss called out, loud enough for the guards to hear and come to a halt. “This way’s faster.” She nodded, waiting for them to turn around before she led the way with Henrik right behind, remaining as a buffer between her and the strangers.
“Are you sure?” one of the men questioned.
“We’ve had mobs form out front before, so we’ve stopped transporting prisoners through the main gates once their trials are set,” she explained over her shoulder. “The courts are right above us anyway, so it’s more convenient just keeping the prisoners inside these walls. Less problems that way.”
Following the hall, they passed the torture chamber and interrogation rooms, the supply closets and holding cells for when the jailhouse would become overrun with intakes. The hall eventually made a sharp turn, causing the group to stop in front of the lowered portcullis they had heard earlier, which was always guarded by four guards, two on either side.
“State your business,” one of the guards ordered, more out of formality given the new guards standing behind her.
“Transporting a prisoner to trial.” Joss played along, holding the scroll out.
The guard stepped forward, taking and unrolling the parchment to scan the contents briefly for accuracy. “Very well,” he grunted, rolling it back up and handing it to Joss. With a flick of his wrist, his companion signaled to the guards on the other side to raise the gate. There was a moment of silence before the cranking sound started, the scraping of metal against rock filling the air as the portcullis began to rise. Joss watched as it slid up into the ceiling, coming to stop with its spiked teeth just hanging overhead.
With another wave of his hand, the two guards stood on either side as Joss, Henrik, and their guests continued, past the back entranceway and straight to a wide, curved staircase furnished with electrical candelabras. As they made their way upwards, they could hear the portcullis being lowered back down again.
“So where are we?” the other guard asked above the clinking rhythm of the prisoner’s chains.
“We’re on the back end of the courts that make up Judgment Hall,” Joss explained as they followed the curved steps and reached the top of the stairwell. Faced with a long hallway, they made their way to the fourth enclave, finding another set of guards stationed in front of closed double doors. Without being told, the guards pulled the doors open, revealing another world outside of the stone and dank atmosphere.
The courtroom was spacious and well lit. The smell of polished wood filled Joss’s nose as she stepped into the room, directing the guards to the center. A chandelier glowed overhead while standing candelabras were stationed at length against the walls, electrical bulbs replacing the candles that originally adorned them. Rows of chairs lined both sides of the room, cut off by the decorative fence encircling the middle of the room, leaving an area between the prisoner and the audience. Normally the families and curious public would sit in those chairs, but Joss remembered it was a private trial by how all the chairs were empty except for three being occupied by the Captain of the Guard and two of his patrols. Behind the prisoner’s back were the tapestries of past infamous trials, and in front of him laid the risen pulpit that had been stretched out like a long desk, accommodating the seats of the men who held court there, Lord Vaspin being one of them.
Joss nodded to Henrik, who took his leave to the right, standing off to the side of the judges. Stepping forward, Joss looked up into the faces of nobility as the prisoner remained standing far behind, the two guards remaining right next to him. She knew these men by heart, Lord Vaspin always the one to lead the proceedings. Next to him sat the younger of the four, Lord Dameon, who had earned a seat there in hopes to one day take Lord Vaspin’s place, despite the fact the senior man was much healthier than his peers gave him credit for. While biding his time, Lord Dameon was nothing more than an added perspective to help persuade the one man whose ruling would become law in that room.
Lord Hilcox, the third man there, was the leader of the four and the one every prisoner had to convince. Joss couldn’t deny that most of Lord Hilcox’s rulings were fair, though a few hearings had been turned for the right price. While he sat next to Lord Dameon on one side, the other side was taken by Lord Wolburn, the devil’s advocate of the court and the one whose voice was supposed to be for the betterment of the town. Just below him sat a clerk at a smaller desk, ready to transcribe the proceedings. Although it was a private affair, a record still had to be taken, at least for the credibility of the court.
“Now we may begin,” Lord Vaspin announced, rising from his chair. Despite the emptiness of the room, he went straight into formalities, naming those present as he always did. His voice echoed into the vastness of the open space with the tiny scratching of the quill pen chasing after it, finalizing in ink the unfolding events.
After the introduction was in place, Lord Vaspin laid out his hand, the only cue that he wanted the scroll. Joss stepped forward, handing it to him, and then withdrew to stand next to Henrik, off to the side and out of the way.
“It’s been decreed, by the town council of Helix, that the accused before us today has committed a murder in the highest form. Almost six months to the day, a Sir Gullivan Percy, a high-ranking soldier of the king’s army, was struck down by the accused and perished shortly after. The act was witnessed by three men—”
“And where are these men?” Lord Hilcox questioned.
Joss could tell Lord Vaspin didn’t appreciate the interruption but held himself back from any remarks he would have given to a lesser man.
“These men are also a part of the king’s army and were assigned back into battle. However, their signatures appear here,” Lord Vaspin replied, leaning across Lord Dameon for the older man to see. With a gruff acknowledgement from his superior, Lord Vaspin straightened back up.
“The accused was captured and held in their jailhouse before attacking the guards at his cell—”
That’s why, Joss thought, glancing at the two guards who hadn’t left the prisoner’s side, even from behind bars.
“He evaded further capture until he was found in the Murgundy Forest that lay in our jurisdiction. Due to the severity of the event at hand and the probability of the accused evading service in the time it would take the patrol to take him back to the town where the act was committed, the town of Helix humbly asks we take this matter into our own hands and see justice be done.”
“So let’s get this straight,” Lord Hilcox started in, causing even Joss and Henrik to glance at each other. “We have a man with no name who’s accused of murder, along with three witnesses with signatures but no other proof as to who they are?”
“It seems so.” Lord Vaspin rolled up the scroll before taking his seat.
“Signatures can be used in place of verbal confirmation,” Lord Dameon said. “And Helix is three towns away. It would be a risk to send him back, given his previous actions.”
Lord Hilcox began to chuckle. “Forgive me, gentlemen, but this whole ordeal is ridiculous. No wonder you suggested keeping this private.” He turned to Lord Wolburn.
Joss eyed the man who had remained sitting back, a much more passive stance than normal, before turning to the prisoner. Despite the gag and the guards, he was unnaturally calm. He stood perfectly erect, like a soldier waiting for orders, and there was a stubborn resilience about him as he kept his gaze on the floor.
“There’s a better reason for it, sir,” the Captain of the Guard spoke up, his armor clinking as he stood, everything about him causing the rest of the members to pause.
“Do tell,” Lord Hilcox pressed.
The Captain looked to Lord Wolburn, and Joss followed his gaze, watching as he sat forward, folding his hands on the desk before him. He surveyed the prisoner, staring him down as he thought. Finally, Lord Wolburn nodded to the Captain in agreement. “Untie the gag from his mouth and let him speak,” he ordered.
The room grew silent as one of the guards untied the rope, releasing the prisoner from his binding. While there was apprehension in the air, the prisoner remained placid, his eyes continuing to remain downward.
“Do you not speak anymore?” Lord Wolburn asked, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “I heard there was much you said when you were caught—”
“I know your game,” the prisoner growled, his glare rolling upwards. “You want me to speak my truth so you can spin it into lies.”
“Careful,” Lord Hilcox warned, taking control back. “Your head is about to be on the block.”
The prisoner eyed each person in the room, not trusting any of them. But when his eyes fell on Joss, they lingered on hers, as if trying to figure her out. Before she knew it, he had moved on, leaving her standing there, blinking in his absence.
With a nod from Lord Hilcox, it was Lord Vaspin who stood up. “State your name before the court,” he instructed.
There was a hesitation before the prisoner spoke out. “Callan Ronen.”
Silence followed, but this time it was a cautious one, as if everyone was both surprised and unimpressed at the same time.
“Callan Ronen,” Lord Hilcox repeated. “The prince—”
“The Prince Royal, first-born to His Majesty, King Lyson Ronen of Aselian.” The prisoner smirked a little, though it remained unkind. “Believe me, sir; I know my own title.”
“Then you should also be aware there have been many Callan Ronens who have come forward since he’s been missing,” Lord Wolburn intervened.
“I was not missing; I was in battle. My reports were being intercepted and destroyed, and the lost communication has caused this mess.”
“You see, gentlemen?” Lord Wolburn rose from his chair, his hand sweeping towards the prisoner. “You see why this has to remain private? Why this man cannot be allowed to address others?”
“You’re trying to hide me, just like the others have,” the prisoner growled, stepping forward before the guards pulled on his chains, keeping him in place. “Who paid you off to be rid of me?”
“Now whether he’s ill or cunning, I’m not sure,” Lord Wolburn continued, ignoring the prisoner’s outburst. “But either way, stirring up the prince’s name and this fictitious story will only bring trouble, specifically if the masses were to know—”
“WHO PAID YOU?”
The room fell quiet upon the prisoner’s scream, his deep voice booming into the room and leaving it almost quaking in the aftermath of his silence.
Lord Hilcox rose from his seat, something he never did during trial. The rest of the men looked at each other in question, the air stiffening in anticipation.
“Your outburst, young man, will not be tolerated here,” the older man said calmly, warning him more with his stance than his tone. “You are literally on trial for murder. Do you understand that?”
The prisoner glared back. “I understand. But what you don’t understand is that Sir Gullivan Percy was a man I trained with; a man I would have called a brother on any other day, except the day he betrayed me. His death was not murder; it was out of self-defense.”
Lord Wolburn balked then, about to reply when Lord Hilcox raised his arm, silencing him.
“Amuse me,” the older man replied. “What happened?”
“This is absurd!” Lord Wolburn protested, rising from his seat.
“I will have you removed if you disrupt me one more time,” Lord Hilcox glared at his companion. A moment passed, and Lord Wolburn slouched back down. Lord Hilcox returned his attention to the prisoner, waiting.
The prisoner breathed out hard, as if releasing the tension that had bubbled up within him. “When I learned that my reports weren’t going back to my father, I went to investigate it myself, leaving my generals in charge. I took a small unit of men with me and traced their disappearance to Helix, finding they were being burned by Sir Percy who had been entrusted to send them back to Aselian. When I confronted him, he attacked me and we had a brawl, which left him dead. When my unit came in to see what the commotion was about, they acted as if they didn’t know who I was, and I was placed under arrest, where I have been for the last five and a half months.”
Lord Hilcox raised an eyebrow. “Your whole unit, who had been battling a war with you for the last four years, all of a sudden turned against you?”
“Schemes can run long and deep sometimes.”
The older man nodded, unable to combat the remark. “So when did you escape the jailhouse?”
“A fortnight ago.”
Lord Hilcox nodded again, seeing the timeline add up. “You have a very constructed story,” he acknowledged. “However, many others have tried to lay claim to him; that he was lost in war, that he’s gone mad, that he’s avoiding becoming king.”
The prisoner glared at him but said nothing. His look, though, made Joss curious, almost feeling his wrath in the way he stared.
“We’ve heard every reason why the Prince Royal’s been missing,” Lord Hilcox continued. “So, given the circumstances, you can see why we’re very cautious to believe you. The law states that upon the fifth year he will be proclaimed dead, and since we’re drawing nearer to the deadline, it’s brought out the most desperate of cons.”
“I understand your concerns,” the prisoner replied flatly. “Which is why I took it upon myself to send a pardon to my father.”
“A pardon?” Lord Hilcox questioned. “When did you send a pardon to the king?”
Lord Wolburn sank back into his chair, an action that caught Joss’s attention as she watched the scene unfold.
“While in jail, a messenger from my regiment came to visit me. He must have learned about what happened and didn’t trust the men who had turned me in, because he snuck into the jailhouse disguised as a guard. I sent him ahead with a written pardon made from the shirt I had and the blood from my fingers, along with a trinket that my wife would recognize. He entrusted me with a key so I could make my escape. He had probably a two-week head start, give or take a few days.”
“And what kind of trinket did you send with him?” Lord Wolburn spoke up, causing his superior to side-eye him.
“It’s none of your concern,” the prisoner growled. “Only she knows of it, proving who I am.”
“And how would he know to find you here?” Lord Hilcox intercepted.
“These towns were founded by way of a supply line when my ancestors settled in these lands. Each town is a mark along a road leading straight to Aselian. So don’t worry; he’ll find me.”
Joss thought about it, realizing he was right. All the other, smaller towns and villages would take too long to venture to. And if the prince were to be reported alive, they’d send the carrier ravens out in masses to every town, spreading the word to secure him and bring him home.
Lord Hilcox eyed the man, and without a word he rounded past his chair and made his way down to the ground floor, causing even his comrades to stare at him in disbelief. Approaching the prisoner, the two guards tightened the chains as a precaution.
Coming to a stop, Lord Hilcox looked the prisoner up and down before raising his hand, signaling to Joss that he wanted her there. Confused but obedient, Joss approached, coming to stand near the elder.
“Master Brevyn,” Lord Hilcox addressed her. “Are you in any hurry to take this man’s head?”
Joss looked at the prisoner who was staring her down, as if realizing his fate was very much in her hands. “No hurry at all, sir,” she replied.
Lord Hilcox nodded and then took one step forward, taking the prisoner’s attention. “A crier would have had plenty of time to get here by now, given the timeframes you’ve stated.”
The prisoner stared at him, not able to counteract his logic.
Lord Hilcox turned away, walking back towards the desk before stopping again. It was when he turned back around that Joss saw he had made up his mind.
“The court will hold off on the proceedings for two days, in case misfortune has befallen the messenger. Captain, make sure the patrols are aware that a pardon may arrive any day now, either by raven or on foot. If one is to come, they are to proceed straight here.”
The Captain bowed, agreeing he would.
“We’ll congregate back here in two days. If no pardon comes to us, then we’ll move forward with the proceedings.” That’s when the elder looked at the prisoner, and in a soft voice told him, “If you haven’t started praying for a miracle yet, young man, I suggest you start now.”
