Michael Stackpole - When Dragons Rage

While early testimony by two court mages—one Vilwan-trained—had strongly linked Crow with Hawkins and suggested they were one and the same, beyond that the prosecution faltered. It seemed unlikely that the primary witness against Hawkins would testify. To take the stand would have left Scrainwood open to the sort of close questioning Queen Carus had given Marsham. And since Augustus had been present during the siege of Fortress Draconis where the treason had occurred, he could correct or counter exaggerations. Without that testimony, and since no one save Crow could testify to what had happened in the warrens of Boragul, the Oriosan case against him began to crumble.

Alexia watched Crow as the queen tore into Marsham and felt a bit surprised. Marsham clearly loathed Crow. The venom in his voice, the anger in his eyes, made his hatred of Crow readily apparent. Alexia had not liked the little man from the first time she’d met him, and was taking great delight in his squirming. Likewise, deeper amid the spectators, Will seemed to be enjoying Marsham’s discomfort.

Crow was not. He kept his face impassive and listened. She couldn’t tell if he felt sorry for the man, or hated him. Alexia found her gaze again and again drawn to his strong profile and the sense of peace Crow possessed. In some ways it calmed her and, yet, in others, it excited her.

Crow’s face remained still, save the couple of times when he turned slightly to glance at her. His head would incline forward, tucking his chin down until his beard touched his chest, then he would give her just the hint of a smile. That left eye would close just a whisker shy of a wink, then he would look back up and pay attention again to the court proceedings.

Every time he smiled at her Alexia had to fight to hide her own smile. It was not that she was unused to smiling at Crow. In the time leading up to the trial, she had smiled much at the mention of his name, and had even taken to toying with the gold band around her ring finger. She visited him as often as she could, and hours talking with him flew past. There were even times when she completely forgot where they were, and the reality of his captivity surprised her. At all times she pushed to portray the image of a woman deeply in love with her husband, and did not admit to anyone that all was a pretense, though many suspected and even more were certain.

She had played the role to the hilt and despite the desperation that had prompted her to fashion that solution, there had been many a pleasant moment. Alexia sorely missed the nights on the road, when she and Crow had shared a tent. The two of them had whispered together, at first telling simple things, relating stories and remembrances. They were all of the nature of campfire stories, and quite harmless. Indeed, at first their interaction was nothing more than what the two of them had shared while on the Okrannel campaign together, or on the flight from Fortress Draconis.

Things slowly had begun to shift. She recalled the question she’d asked, one she had immediately withdrawn, but Crow had answered it nonetheless. “No, Princess, this is not how I had anticipated my life running.” He went on to share what his dreams had been, his hopes, and revealed to her some of the pain he’d felt when his mask had been torn from him. His voice had tightened as it had when his broken leg had pained him, though the agony must have been much greater.

His willingness to open himself to her had surprised her. She and Perrine had shared much, but they were sisters. They had been raised together, and amid the Gyrkyme confidences were treated as sacred trusts. The Gyrkyme would prefer death to violating such a trust. Betrayal of secrets was considered a very human thing to do, so she had grown up very wary of trusting any human.

Her great-grandaunt Tatyana’s scheming nature had reinforced her unwillingness to trust men, though her uncle and cousin, Misha, had begun to erode those walls. Still, Alexia’s aloofness inspired few people to confide in her, and she felt little impetus to share with them.

Crow’s sharing fed straight back into her sense of kinship with the Gyrkyme. He trusted her implicitly. While he had protested what she had done to save him from a summary execution, his gratitude had shone forth in the confidences he shared with her.

They had been friends before the marriage charade, each having saved the other’s life several times during their brief adventures. Traveling together had deepened that friendship. Spending night after night with him, availing herself of his warmth, or just listening to him breathe, she began to find the ordinary in a man who was extraordinary. More than once she’d awakened to find herself pressed tight against his back. She’d pulled away immediately, but more slowly each time it happened, and always with growing reluctance. Visiting him in the Meredo gaol, she regretted the lack of that intimacy and more than once had awakened clutching a pillow to herself.

Crow looked in her direction and smiled again as the tribunal dismissed Marsham. Her heart leaped in her breast, and the corners of her mouth curled up into a smile. There was something in his look, something about his pleasure, that seemed contagious. It wasn’t a sensation totally foreign to her, for she knew it with Peri; that pride and happiness at the well-being of a friend. And, as with Peri, she wanted to reach a hand out to touch him.

And she wanted more, to have that smile broadened, to have that pleasure increase on his face…

Before she could think further on those lines, Wroxter Dainn, the Oriosan Justice Advocate Supreme, rose and looked to call another witness. Past him, however, against the far wall, a time-faded tapestry began to smoke. A scorch mark darkened it in the center, near the base, and extended up to the height of a man. The smoke thickened, then popped into a flame that exploded upward to engulf the entire tapestry and sent licking tongues up into the cavernous ceiling vaults.

Sparks and glowing embers fell softly as snow amid the throng. There, in the wall, a previously hidden panel opened and a figure stepped forward to be greeted with gasps. He wore a hooded cloak fashioned after the skin of a Grand Temeryx, save that the varicolored plumage consisted not of feathers but a rainbow of flames.

His eyes seemed alive. Mostly blue, they had wisps of white drift through them like thin clouds in a windy sky. In his left hand he raised a white kerchief, at the same time moving his cloak back enough to show the empty scabbard at his left hip. Within the shadow of his mask his mouth opened, revealing white teeth that contrasted sharply with the ebon of his flesh.

“I am Nefrai-kesh. I come beneath a flag of truce. I demand the Oriosan right to speak at the trial of a vassal of mine.”

Augustus had risen from his seat. Linchmere cowered in his, as did most of the spectators. Dainn had recoiled and the queen covered her mouth with her left hand. Crow remained seated, but had outstretched his left hand in Alexia’s direction, to keep her back and safe. She’d also gained her feet, and her hand had fallen to where the hilt of her sword should have been.

The first to act, however, was Will Norrington. He shot to his feet and pointed a wavering finger at the sullanciri . “H-he’s not your vassal, he’s mine.”

Nefrai-kesh’s head came around quickly. The Aurolani general smiled, then he nodded once, solemnly. “Now you are the son I wish I’d had.”

“Maybe if you’d been a better father, he would have been.” Will’s grey eyes tightened beneath the mask and he drew the dagger he’d been allowed to carry. “Where he failed, I won’t.”

The sullanciri opened his arms. “You will come to my embrace. Now, later. The timing does not matter. You are my true heir, and there is much I will give you.”