Jasak was being court-martialed.
She snarled a curse under her breath, snatched up her crystal case, and strode out of her beautifully appointed suite. The actual court-martial-the trial, itself-would run concurrently with a hellish schedule of Parliamentary hearings, both set to begin today.
Every single one of the “witnesses” who’d returned from the frontier had already given their preliminary testimony to the Board of Inquiry, which had been used as the basis for the decision to proceed with a formal court-martial. Now all the witnesses, including that snake of a Mythlan, Bok vos Hoven, would be questioned again-and again-minutely, as the officers of the court attempted to determine Jasak’s guilt or innocence on a number of charges.
That nightmare was scheduled to begin this morning, at North Hathak Army Base. This afternoon, it would be Parliament’s turn to poke and prod and drain them dry. They would undergo interrogation on that schedule for as long as it took to find Jasak guilty or innocent of the military charges and for the members of the War Operations and Intelligence Committee to obtain what they termed “sufficient information to pursue national defense,” keeping their personal lives on hold while they wobbled back and forth like marionettes on strings.
Rahil’s mercy, but she dreaded the next several days. Or weeks. Surely it wouldn’t last for months?
She drew another breath and focused on what was on her plate for today. She’d never testified at a court-martial. She’d never been called before a parliamentary committee for official hearings, before, either. Halathyn had, in his capacity as a theoretical magister, several times, and she was trying to recall everything he’d said about the process, but her nerves were so jangled, it was difficult.
Her role today would be similar to his, with the emphasis being on what she’d seen and heard from the moment that first rifle shot had split the air on the morning Yurak Osmuna and Falsan chan Salgmun had shot one another. She had her notes, in the slim case she used to carry her PC, and held more of her research data on additional data crystals. She wasn’t sure she’d need it, but she wanted to be prepared if Parliament’s newest standing committee asked for particulars on what she and Halathyn had been working on.
What maddened her more than anything was that neither Jasak nor his father would comment on anything that was happening. They were perfectly prepared to discuss the general news, to share her fury at the obvious distortions in the journals and public crystals. And they made no bones about their wrath at the way Jasak’s shardonai were caricatured and demonized in those accounts. But she couldn’t get a word-no one single, solitary word-out of either of them where the implications for Jasak were concerned!
She’d thought she’d come to some acceptance of the way she felt about Jasak Olderhan. The way she felt about living in his world. But during the past five days, the Jasak she’d known during their long journey had utterly vanished. She didn’t even know the cool, remote stranger who pretended to be the same man she’d ended up kissing so passionately during their final run into Portalis. The tears prickled again, and she swore savagely under her breath and told them to go right back where they’d come from.
It didn’t work.
She was busily engaged in the mortifying business of scrubbing her cheeks fiercely dry with the backs of both hands as she stepped into the magical drop-field that wafted her from the fourth-floor bedroom suites to the ground-floor area where meals were taken, visitors were met, and life was generally lived. Even with a direction finding spell, she could barely find her way around beyond the immediate environs between her assigned suite and the dining room.
They’d been gathered in that dining room for a late supper when word had arrived. Jasak’s only comment had been that the court’s investigators had promised to be impartial, thorough, and scrupulously honest. He’d actually told her to trust the court’s officers! Oh, yes, certainly, she’d fumed through a haze of anger and horror. Trust them. They’re impartial. Honest. They’ll reach the right verdict. Right. And if Jasak or his father or those officers expect me to believe that, they’re either arrogant or fools! Or both.…
She didn’t trust any of them. Not as far as she could throw them, which was about as far as she could pick up and throw this sprawling townhouse. Trust them? Hah! She didn’t even understand them. They were Andaran. She’d spent the entire night alternating between sobbing into her pillow and throwing the pillow-and everything else within reach-at the walls.
Court-martial!
He hadn’t done anything wrong!
Didn’t anyone besides her see that?
It had taken Gadrial a shame-faced hour, this morning, to repair the damage she’d wrought with spells that put the broken pieces of the Duchess’ lovely knick-knacks back together.
Now the drop-field set her gently on the ground floor and she set her teeth and stepped out into the corridor, heading grimly toward the dining room for yet another meal she didn’t feel like eating. When she’d tried to talk to Jasak after dinner last night, he’d taken both her hands in his, said, “I really can’t talk to you right now, Gadrial. Not until the court’s finished questioning you as a witness.” And then he’d kissed her-on the cheek! — and vanished through a side door.
She’d wanted to scream at him.
She still did.
When she reached the dining room, a waiting maid redirected her to “the breakfast room.” Gadrial hadn’t even heard of that room, since breakfast had invariably been served in the same chamber in which they’d eaten dinner and luncheon, but she followed the maid through a maze of corridors, expecting to find the entire family, comprising the duke and duchess, Jasak, his youngest sister, and Jathmar and Shaylar. Instead, she found the duchess, by herself.
Jasak’s mother glanced up when she halted in the doorway.
“Come in, Gadrial, dear,” she murmured, beckoning her over.
Uncertain what to expect, Gadrial crossed the sunny, cheerful little room-little by the townhouse’s standards, anyway-and set her PC case down on an upholstered chair no one would be using.
“Sit down, Gadrial,” the duchess said, patting the chair beside her own.
She took her seat with great hesitation and the duchess gazed at her, then nodded.
“Mmm-hmm, as I suspected. You’ve spent a night as miserable as mine. More miserable, I should expect, since you’re so unused to Andaran ways.”
“How could you tell?” Gadrial asked in a hoarse voice. “I was so careful, this morning, to erase the signs.”
“Yes, my dear. I know.” The duchess’ smile was surprisingly sweet. “But you’ve been a leading light at the Institute for years. All those breakthroughs in magic theory have had you in the crystals countless times. And this is the first time I’ve ever seen you-in person or in the news-when your makeup and coiffure have been perfect.”
“Oh.” Gadrial bit her spell-tinted lip. “In my defense, things in the lab can be messy, and I never quite knew when reporters might be stopping by.”
“But we know there are plenty of reporters watching now.” The duchess nodded again, gently. “And you care a great deal about what happens to my son.”
She nodded. And then, to her horror, the faucet started running again. She waved her hands in helpless apology, then gave up and simply accepted the linen napkin the duchess had rescued from the table’s place setting and handed to her. A moment later, Gadrial found herself in Sathmin’s arms, sobbing miserably. The Duchess of Garth Showma didn’t complain about the tears soaking her five-figure silk suit. Instead, she kissed Gadrial’s hair, rocked her, even crooned a soft little tune that reminded Gadrial-achingly-of home.