Authors: Joanne Bertin
“Dear gods!” Lord Lenslee blurted out. He turned to gape at Leet. “So that’s why you were so upset when that boy Arnath died—he was your grandson! I couldn’t understand it at the time. Why should you care so much about a bastard? When you refused to visit your old home while your stepmother lived, that seemed to confirm that her children were sired not by your father, but rather by some other man. I remember my parents wagging their heads over it. Your
grandson
!…”
“And that was the reason Summer Lightning was poisoned. It was also why your son had to die, my lord and lady Portis. For it was Tirael who set Arnath on Summer Lightning’s back, was it not, when the boy and his father broke the journey they were on so that they might see that fair? Well, my lord?” Linden asked harshly.
Portis would not meet his eyes. Linden went on relentlessly, “You know full well it was, my lord. Just as Tirael knew that Summer Lightning was vicious, had even killed a groom. He tossed Arnath onto Summer Lightning’s bare back. But Tirael was often cruel to those he thought beneath him—such as a boy who had only one noble parent—if that parent was even truly noble at all.
“Of course Arnath fell off at the first buck—and Summer Lightning crushed his skull with a single blow.”
Poor child—victim of two vicious creatures,
Linden thought in disgust.
The horse should have been put down long before. And as for Tirael …
He thought over the stories he’d heard of the cruel young lordling.
His parents have much to answer for, turning a blind eye to their son’s true nature all those years.
Once more Linden caught Leet’s gaze with his own. “But you didn’t dare take your own revenge, did you, Leet? First, it would mean you’d have to give up being a bard. Besides, your son, Agon, had accepted wergild for his nephew’s life. So you ensorcelled an innocent boy to poison Summer Lightning, and Raven to kill Tirael.”
Leet stood up, hands clenched at his sides, shaking. His face was white and pinched. “I never thought I’d hear such a pack of foul, disgusting lies from a Dragonlord!”
A buzz of agreement greeted the bard’s accusation. Linden flinched from the righteous fury in the bard’s voice. By the gods—had he guessed wrong? For one long, horrible moment he feared he had. Then he remembered the power in a bard’s voice, what he’d found in the hut—and what waited in a room nearby, guarded by magic and swords.
“I stand by my words, Leet,” he said, his voice edged in steel.
“Then you are a fool, Dragonlord,” Leet replied venomously. “And I will make you pay for those lies.”
Sixty-six
Maurynna peered through the screen
shrouding the witness balcony as her soultwin and Leet glared at each other like two wolves over a kill. But then, to her surprise, Leet smiled. It was a cold smile that chilled one’s soul like a howling northern gale; a smile that mocked. She wanted to slap it off his face.
“And how did I supposedly accomplish these fell deeds, Dragonlord? Can you tell me—nay, tell these good lords and ladies—how?”
“Your harp’s sound—”
“My
harp
?” Leet interrupted in astonishment. “My harp is—what? Haunted? Like the music the prisoner
claims
he heard?” Leet pressed the back of one hand to his forehead with an exaggerated flourish. “Oh, oh!”
The hand dropped and Leet grew serious once more. “While a fine notion for a journeyman bard scaring apprentices, Your Grace, it is nothing but a fantasy.”
Once more his face changed; now he looked grave, even sad. If she didn’t know better, Maurynna thought sourly, she would have thought that there stood a man, who, though unjustly accused, felt only sorrow at a Dragonlord’s folly. She didn’t know exactly what proof Linden had found, but if her soultwin said Leet was guilty, he must know what he was doing … she hoped.
Leet went on, “And fantasies, I am sorry to say, Your Grace, have no place in a court of law.” Now the bard turned in place, surveying the room, gathering all eyes to him before turning back to face the front of the room again. His voice rang out. “My lord Justice—while I am not the one on trial here, I find myself accused of a heinous crime. I beg an indulgence of you to prove my innocence. Will you grant it?”
Maurynna saw Linden tense.
Leet’s up to something and it has Linden worried.
She held her breath in an agony of anticipation.
Lord Asiah said, “And what might that be, bard?”
“I ask you to send someone to my room to fetch my poor, maligned harp. It is sitting on a table by my bed, covered in a silk cloth to keep the dust off.”
Small fingers dug into Maurynna’s leg. “All will be well, sweetling,” she whispered, slipping her arm around her cousin’s shoulders and pulling her close. “All will be well.”
A tiny, tiny whisper. “I can feel it again, Rynna. I’ve been feeling it ever since we got here. It’s … it’s calling me. So far away, but it’s calling me. I don’t want it any closer.”
“Be strong, love, I won’t let it hurt you again. I promise.”
It seemed an eternity before the servant Lord Asiah had called for returned with the harp. Maurynna pulled the shaking child closer.
Leet took the harp and settled into the witness’s chair. “Shall I play for you, Dragonlord?” he asked with overblown courtesy as he ran a finger mockingly down the strings.
Maurynna tensed as the rippling notes belled through the room.
* * *
Nothing. Nothing at all. Linden wasn’t certain what he’d expected, but this was what he’d feared. Leet played on, a merry tune dancing under his fingers, smiling and nodding to this or that lord or lady in the audience. His color was back to normal; he might have been playing at a gathering. The harp was no more “haunted” than the chair Leet sat upon.
It was the one thing Linden had not been able to fit into his theory of what had happened. He’d seen this harp, heard Leet play it the night before the Queen’s Chase. There was no magic in it. Had he been wrong? Terribly, terribly wrong in his desperation to find a way out for Raven?
At last the cheerful tune ended. Leet sat back, rubbing the indentation under his lip with a forefinger. “And now, Dragonlord? Do you still claim that my harp is—”
A child’s voice cut across Leet’s words. “It’s not the same harp!”
Sixty-seven
Linden looked around, astonished. That
was Kella! But where was she? And what in the name of Gifnu’s nine hells was Kella doing
here,
anyway? The last he knew she was home in Casna.
Racing footsteps clattered down the curving stairs. It was Kella, closely followed by Maurynna.
Oh—the witnesses’ balcony. Of course.
Kella came around to face Leet. Though she trembled, she stood defiant.
“You!” Leet roared. “You’re the one who tried to touch my harp that day in the garden, aren’t you, you little guttersnipe? What the hell are you talking about, anyway? You saw my harp for only a few mo—”
“This isn’t the same harp and you know it!” Kella yelled back. “There’s nothing in this one. It’s not the one I played in your room.
That
one was evil!”
The change her words wrought in Leet was shocking. In an instant, he looked decades older and shook like a man with the ague. He whispered, “Oh dear gods, you pla—” Panic crossed his face and he bit his lip. He tried to speak again but nothing came out.
Maurynna stood watching from the side, arms folded.
Leet finally found his voice. He took a deep breath and drew himself up. “You lying little—” Then, to Lord Asiah, “My lord, what place does this gutter trash have—”
“My cousin is not ‘gutter trash,’ Leet,” Maurynna said coldly. “I have heard her story and it is one that this court needs to hear, my lord Justice.”
Linden stood as if turned to stone as Kella’s words sank in. So that was the answer! He took a quick look at the “shoulder” of Leet’s harp. Yes, it was the one he’d seen before. And he would wager good money that his guess was right.
But what had she been doing in Leet’s room? asked a confused voice in the back of his mind. He’d find out soon enough, he suspected.
“My lord Justice,” he said, “with your permission, I would like to ask my kinswoman Kella a question.”
Asiah frowned at him but nodded. “Very well, Dragonlord,” he said reluctantly.
Linden knelt so that he looked Kella in the eye. “I need you to be certain, Kitten, whether or not this is the same harp. Did you notice a design wood-burned into the one you played? You did? Good. I don’t think you can see it from here, but the one on the harp Bard Leet is holding is a seagull in a circle of bluebells.”
Kella shook her head. “There was a seagull, and a circle of flowers, but they weren’t bluebells, Linden. I know what bluebells look like because they grow under the apple tree in the yard. The flowers on the harp I played were something like the morning glories on the wattle fence around the yard but they had deep ruffles on the edges.”
Just like flowers he had so recently seen scattered in a haunted glade.…
Leet made a small, strangled sound.
Linden, still kneeling by Kella, spoke so that his words carried through the room. “And while there is no color in a woodburning, I would ask you, my lords and ladies, to imagine this ruffled ‘morning glory–like’ flower in a deep, deep red. Can anyone identify this plant for me?”
A puzzled silence filled the room; then Conor said tightly, “King’s Blood. That can only be King’s Blood.”
Lord Asiah turned to Leet. “Bard, I now ask you to step down from the witness’s chair.” He paused, then added, “But you are not to leave this room.”
Once again the Justice called for servants to go to Bard Leet’s room. But this time they had orders to search it down to the walls and floorboards.
Lord Asiah looked long and hard at Kella. Then he said, “Kella Vanadin, I call you to the witness’s chair.”
* * *
Kella was long done with her story when the servants, headed this time by Steward Lewell, came back to the room.
“And?” Lord Asiah asked.
“Nothing, my lord Justice,” Steward Lewell said. “There was no other harp.”
Leet stood up. “So much for your wild tale, Your Grace. Now—I would have all here witness that I claim wergild from Dragonlord Linden Rathan for his lies against me.”
Linden gritted his teeth. “I’m not done yet, Leet. There is one more thing this court needs to see.” In mindspeech, he said,
Now
.
Leet rolled his eyes. “More disappearing evidence, Your Grace?” he asked as the door opened and shut again. With an exaggerated sigh, he turned to look along with everyone else.
Two of the castle guards came in, carrying a box by handles formed from the ropes binding it.
“No!” Leet screamed. “No! How did you—” He clutched his chest and collapsed.
“Guards—set that thing down and take this man to Healer Tasha immediately!” Lord Asiah ordered. “Remain there to keep watch. No one but Healer Tasha or her assistants are allowed to enter—or leave.”
When the ashen-faced Leet was borne away, Linden carried the box the rest of the way to the front of the room. He set it on the table and called Lord Asiah and Otter to him. “I don’t know where the harp Kella played is, my lord Justice,” he said grimly as he untied the knots and opened the lid, “but in this box—”
Kella screamed. “Rynna, Rynna—it’s there! I don’t want to see it! Please!”
Linden slammed the lid shut again. Damn it all—what had he been thinking? He’d heard Kella’s story. “There’s no harp there, Kella. Truly. My word as a Dragonlord on it. Is it better now? Can you still feel it?”
“Just a tiny bit now,” Kella quavered bravely. Then in a tearful rush, “But I still want to get away from it!”
“Lord Asiah,” Maurynna said, “do you still need Kella here to testify? I will see that she remains on the castle grounds. If you need her again, Linden, Shima, or Lleld can reach me.”
Lord Asiah nodded; Maurynna scooped up Kella and hurried from the room. After the door shut behind them, Lord Asiah wiped his forehead. “By all the gods, never have I seen such commotion in my courtroom. And if the gods are good, I never will again! Now what in the name of those same gods do you have here, Linden Rathan?”
“Otter, suppose you tell Lord Asiah?” Linden said.
The bard leaned over to look. “Hunh—looks like soundboards for a harp. But why in Auvrian’s name are they in a lined box like this? It’s not as if they were powerful amulets or a mage’s tools to need rowan and silk.”
Before Linden could stop him, Otter picked up a piece and turned it this way and that. “No, no amulet here. It’s just a piece of spruce for—” The color drained from his face. He flung the wood down with an oath and fell back, cradling his hand against his chest. “That’s from Gull’s witch spruce, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice shaking. “Dear gods, how could Leet have had a harp made with such as this? You can feel the darkness in them!”
Lord Portis rose. “Have I your leave to speak, Lord Justice? Thank you. I don’t believe these pieces of wood are haunted. As you yourself said, Bard Otter, ‘It’s just a piece of spruce.’ Nor do I believe there’s a haunted harp. All here know that this murderer is kin to you. Of course you’ll say anything to save his neck from the rope.”
Otter stood tall, though he still clutched his hand to his chest as if it hurt him. “My word as a bard on it, my lord. This wood is tainted with great evil.”
“Prove it, then. You’re a bard like Leet. Use them to make me do something,” Portis demanded. Then, when Otter didn’t speak, he taunted softly, “You can’t, can you?”
“No,” Otter said. “Because like this they can’t sing.”
“‘Sing’? Oh, please, bard. This is nothing but moonshine.”
“Was Leet’s reaction when he saw the box ‘moonshine’?” Linden countered.
Portis shrugged. “Perhaps the man is as mad as you seem to hope the rest of us are. Once more I say: prove it. And once more I say: you can’t.”
* * *
Maurynna walked down the hall, Kella by her side. She wasn’t certain where to go, but anywhere away from the courtroom was fine with her. She turned at the sound of hurried footsteps.