We stepped into the grand hall, which I’d only seen in ink newspaper drawings before. A glass dome let in rays of sun, which streamed color across the white marble floor and walls. Rows of seats edged three sides of the room. In them sat the seventy-two members of the Great Sanhedrin—seventy-one, given my aunt’s place at my side.
Directly across from us, a man sat in a larger box than any of the others. He had a face like a turnip and a great, protruding mustache. The topaz amulet resting on his black robes declared his affiliation with the Tribe of Simeon—the Chief Judge of the Sanhedrin. On either side of his box were two men in black: one who must have been the Speaker of the Sanhedrin, and another who looked to be the scribe.
I scanned the councilors. They were equal parts men andwomen, and everyone wore formal tribal affiliation robes. The Naphtali councilors sat high on the left, their blush-pink robes the color of a perfect summer rose. Their presence felt like a shot of relief.
“The Sanhedrin recognizes Tirtzah bat Tovah, Naomi bat Yardena, and Chava Vilner,” the Speaker intoned. He was a skeletal man with a long face and a displeased expression.
“Hello, Tirtzah,” the Chief Judge of the Sanhedrin said in a tired voice. “Perhaps you can shed some light on this situation. And your absence these last few hours.”
“Apologies.” Aunt Tirtzah sounded unapologetic. Her voice was dry and professional, like reeds rustling in the wind. “Family duties.”
“This would be the niece.” The Chief Judge’s gaze transferred to me. I didn’t want to quail—I wanted to maintain the self-delusion that I was brave—but it turned out I hated being perceived by authority.
“Yes, Naomi bat Yardena of the Naphtali tribe. My brother’s daughter. Naomi, as I wrote, was at the event. I believe you may be interested in her account.”
The Chief Judge waved a hand. “Go on, then, girl.”
I tried hard not to clear my throat before projecting clearly, as my aunt had instructed. “My name is Naomi bat Yardena. I’m betrothed to Daziel bar Cathmeus. I’m here to request his release.”
A murmur sailed around the room, and the attention of those assembled fastened on me.
“He saved more than a dozen Lyceum students from the storm last night. I’m here to vouch for his character and take him home.”
A woman to my left spoke, wearing the white of Zebulun. “Wehave reports he was able to control the river itself. How do we know he—and demonkind—weren’t involved in last night’s flooding? In the strangeness of the winds and waters being wrong?”
I hadn’t even known there’d been flooding and had no idea how to defend against such an off-base accusation. Panic surged through me. How was I supposed to debate people two, three times my age, who’d made a career of arguing? Especially when I was scared to tell them the truth?
“Perhaps we should start from the beginning,” the Chief Judge said. “You say he’s your betrothed. How did you come into this situation?”
Hesitantly, I explained.
The Chief Judge rubbed his forehead, glancing sidelong at a man to his left in the silver-blue robes of Dan. “Is this binding?”
“Due to the exchange of pomegranate and ring…” The Danite made a reluctant face. “Yes.”
“Daziel clearly believes the betrothal is binding,” my aunt added.
“You must admit it is a very strange thing, Tirtzah,” another councilor burst out. “And to have not told any of us!”
A few people made noises of agreement, but my aunt only snorted. “Half this room knew about my niece’s betrothal as soon as the shayd attended my gathering four months ago. Several have met him in person. If anyone didn’t know of him, their head was buried.”
“We didn’t know he was a high shayd,” the Chief Judge said gravely. “We were under the belief she was betrothed to a wild demon.”
“As was I,” Aunt Tirtzah said. “Until the events of last night, I had no idea he was high.”
“You expect us to believe that?” another woman said witheringly, this one in Asher purple.
Aunt Tirtzah’s chin jerked up. “Do you want to administer a truth spell on me, Melanie?”
The woman looked mad enough to spit. “Maybe we should.”
“Enough,” the chief said, and my head stopped pinging between the women and refocused on him. I hadn’t realized this wouldn’t just be about me and Daziel but about my aunt’s personal relations with the Council—because these were her peers, after all, and she would have both allies and enemies. “Whether or not Tirtzah knew is less important than what we do moving forward.”
“Like my niece said, you should release him. According to Law 322-B of the Matine Codex, family members are permitted to lodge foreign nationals on their own properties,” Aunt Tirtzah said. “I am willing to house the shayd Daziel.”
One of the older men leaned forward. “A betrothed is not a family member. And technically, your house is not your own—it’s held in trust by the Judahite tribe for their representatives.”
“Oh, shove it, Harry,” Aunt Tirtzah said irritably, losing her professional tone. “The house is fine. You know in any legal battle, I’ll win—there’s precedent. And what, do you want these children to get married now so we have the legal tie? They’re not yet twenty.”
