“Yet you have been enslaved to this creature in some degenerate parody of holy wedlock?”
“I met this gentleman, whom you have treated so despicably, some five years ago,” I said. “After a seemly time, we became engaged. Two years ago last Seille, Pere Dejarier witnessed our marriage before at least fifty people who are in this room. If you remember, sir, that same good priest was a witness to His Majesty’s marriage to our queen. I don’t believe Pere Dejarier, a priest of Annadis since my father was a boy, presides at degenerate rites.”
Vycasso halted a moment longer than usual, but then whirled about and poked a finger at my face. “Tell me, madam, who are this devil’s friends?”
“Until these scurrilous accusations were brought forth, I don’t think you could find anyone who knew my husband who would not claim him as a friend. He has been regarded as a gentleman of wisdom and scholarship by those of the royal household, as well as those in his employ. Several of you gentlemen on the Council have been guests in our home or have consulted with my husband on matters of his specialties, history and archaeology. His Majesty, whose judgment in friends is known to be impeccable, requests his advice on artifacts to display in the palace, and most generously invited us to dine with him at Seille. Several people in this room can attest to it.”
Vycasso cast a sidelong glance at the king, but Evard wore no expression. “Yes, yes, we know the beast was a secret and sly devil,” said the prosecutor, “hiding his vile craft behind a facade of respectability. But it is well known that he has practiced his depravity here in the heart of our beloved realm. Tell us, madam, of the evils he did perpetrate in your home.”
“If you account eating, sleeping, studying, entertaining, and keeping company with one’s wife to be evil, then the same evils as other men.” A few snickers erupted in the crowd, quickly silenced by a glare from Lord Hessia.
The prosecutor forged onward, undeterred. “When did you learn this man was a sorcerer?”
“Tell me, Lord Prosecutor, what is your definition of a sorcerer? Explain it to me, and then I can tell you when I knew of it.”
Smirking, he gestured toward the crowd. “Why, everyone knows that. A sorcerer is one who perverts nature, despicable filth who revels in the blood and death of human men and women and innocent children.”
“Then my husband is not and has never been a sorcerer, my lord. Your own evidence contradicts such an accusation. You have accused him of healing my injuries and rescuing Misara’s family from a dreadful death. Such acts, even if possible, could hardly be considered reveling in blood and death. Perhaps your definition of sorcery is flawed, for I’m sure you’ve no intention of slandering the honorable warriors of Leire who rejoice in the slaughter of our enemies. Do you accuse them of sorcery also?”
“Got you there, Lordship!” shouted someone from the back. Vycasso glared at a guard and jerked his head at the man, but before the soldier could move, those around him took care of the matter. A scuffle broke out amid murmurs of “Devil!” and “Devil’s whore, accusing our own…”
I could not listen to them. I had to stay in control. My words were the only defense we were going to get. “Karon reveres life and cherishes nature, and the only perversion here is what you honorable men have done to him.” Careful, careful, echoed the soft words in my mind. “Sorcerers have these exceptional abilities,” piped up Lord Hessia, an intelligent and reasonable man who had done his best to make the Council a serious body. He was clearly disturbed. “Unlike those of ordinary men.”
I held on to the edge of the witness box and leaned toward the lord, as if one hand’s breadth less distance between us and I might convince him. “Like yourself, sir, who are accounted the finest swordsman ever to carry a blade? Or like my brother, who is said to be the only man in a generation to rival you? Like this young singer from Valleor, who had half the court in tears over a song that is hackneyed drivel? Are you a sorcerer, then, and my brother and Misara also?”
“No, no,” burst out the prosecutor, brought to life once more by an impatient gesture from Evard. “Lord Hessia means abilities that are against nature. They claim for themselves powers reserved for the gods.”
“Then tell me, my lords. What has Karon done that is against nature?”
The prosecutor exhaled his foul breath into my face again, nodding in satisfaction. “Clearly the beast has deafened you, my lady. Your very sovereign king has testified that this devil healed you from a knife wound that punctured your heart. If that is not against nature—”
“But there is Lord Dumont in the Council box, who has seen something quite the same.” I pointed at a graying warrior who sat in serious contemplation, his mouth buried in one hand. “Lord Dumont, did not the respected physician, Ren Wesley, bring back your wife from the brink of death after your fine son was born last autumn? Her very heart had stopped beating, and you had closed her eyes with your own hand. How is it that nature rejoiced at your dear lady’s recovery and is scandalized at my own?”
Dumont, the most respected of all the Counselors, waved his hand as if trying to shoo away such an association. “Such healing is natural. What was done to you is but a mockery.” But his tone was thoughtful, almost a question of itself.
I directed my words as if he were the only judge. “Please explain to me, my lord, why the healing is ignoble, when the act of striking a knife to my heart is left unchallenged? Though His Majesty’s sight was blocked, every other man in that room saw truer crime. The hand that wielded the knife was not the hand of my husband who was bound and restrained by the king’s own guards—no weakling recruits—but rather that of this sheriff, Maceron, who sets himself above other men. Sober consideration will expose the truth of my words, for despite the wags’ tales of spirit slaves and armies of the healed, Karon had nothing to gain by such an act. I had already defended him that night. And think of it—I had lived with him uncoerced for two years. What reason could compel him to strike me down and then heal me in front of the one witness who could be the most devastating? Monumental stupidity is not listed among the crimes of which he is accused.” I turned back to the yellow-faced Vycasso. “No, my Lord Prosecutor, you must explain to all rational observers why Maceron’s deed, the unprovoked act of attempted murder, rather than the undoing of it, was not the true perversion.”
So it continued for an hour or more. I tried to answer every charge and insinuation with reason and logic. I had clearly won several of the Council lords, especially those who were friends with Martin and had frequented his salons; they likely knew why he was not in his place that morning. Yet their grim faces told me that every one of them would vote for condemnation. A verdict of sorcery had to be unanimous, and Evard would permit nothing else. He would appeal to greed, to fear, to patriotism, to blackmail, whatever was necessary to get his way. As this harsh truth sank in, my only defense against despair was the frail satisfaction that Karon would not die undefended.
A few more witnesses were questioned after me. A workman from the Antiquities Commission claimed to have watched from hiding while Karon made boxes and chests fly about the cellars, and to have hidden his eyes when the mummified remains of ancient Isker warriors pushed their way out of their caskets at Karon’s command. A servant girl, whom I had dismissed for terrorizing a young chambermaid and stealing her wages, vowed that Karon had me thoroughly under his control, not allowing me to go out into society and forcing me to spend inordinate amounts of time reading and writing. “No great lady would do such things voluntarily,” she said.