A black shape swoops past me—Franco—then disappears high in the rafters overhead. The confused jury and councilmen stare from the raven then back to me.
Mr. Duveau greets me with a cold smile. “Miss Fairfield, how good of you to attend.”
I stride into the courtroom, each step echoing on the marble floor beneath my feet, pounding in a fraction of my heart’s racing tempo. “What is the meaning of this? My mother’s trial was scheduled for noon.”
Mr. Duveau seems unaffected by my rage. “We have every right to change times of trials.”
“And when were you going to inform me?”
“You were given the proper notice as required by law. We sent a message to the hotel the Autumn ambassador said you’d be staying at when he came to inquire earlier on your behalf. If you weren’t there to get the message, then perhaps you should have stayed put.” His last words are punctuated with venom.
I grit my teeth. It’s impossible not to suspect this was part of the ultimate plan all along. No wonder the guards came when they did. They weren’t alerted of our infiltration; they were coming to take Mother to her trial. All to make it difficult for me to meet the terms of the bargain and serve King Ustrin’s whims.
“It comes down to the fact that you’re late,” Mr. Duveau says. “You were supposed to attend Maven Fairfield’s trial, otherwise her sentence—and yours, mind you—would be execution.”
I lift my chin. “The bargain never stated I had to attend from the start of the trial. I’m here now. Her trial is still in session, is it not?”
The councilman narrows his eyes, a tick at the corner of his jaw. “Very well. We will allow you to be present for the remainder of her trial. Have a seat.” He extends his arm to an empty chair next to my mother. One with iron cuffs on the arms and legs.
With trembling steps, I make my way to the chair, bristling as I sense Mr. Duveau following in my wake. Once seated, the councilman closes the cuffs around my wrists and ankles, then returns to the middle of the floor. I try not to recall the last time I was locked up this way, ending in fire and smoke and blood. My eyes find Mother’s, and I force a smile. She forces one in turn, but it’s nothing more than a flick of her lips as she continues to convulse from the chilled water.
“To catch you up to speed, Miss Fairfield,” Mr. Duveau says, “the council has presented their evidence of your mother’s treason and the jury has determined her guilt.”
I toss him a glare, although the ruling doesn’t come as a surprise.
“I’m going to tear out his throat.” A gravelly voice comes from beside me, and I turn my head to find Aspen has materialized, violet aura shimmering as his eyes burn into Mr. Duveau. I say nothing, not wanting to look like I’m talking to an invisible specter before the council and jury.
Mr. Duveau’s attention turns to the men. “Let us continue, shall we?”
A round of “Aye,” is uttered from the jurors and councilmen.
“The punishment for Maven Fairfield’s crime is exile,” Mr. Duveau says. “However, that merciful punishment was only to be extended if Amelie and Evelyn Fairfield attended this trial and accepted their exile with her. Considering only one daughter is present today,” he waves a hand toward me, “that mercy has been made void. Agreed?”
Another round of ayes.
“Then it can only be surmised that Maven Fairfield and her two daughters are sentenced to death. The two present will be executed immediately following the conclusion of this trial, and a bounty will be placed on Amelie Fairfield for her life to be claimed as soon as possible.”
Mother and I exchange a glance, while Aspen lets out a roar only I can hear. A furious caw echoes from the rafters, eliciting gasps and mutters from the jury.
“All in favor—”
“Wait!” I shout. “You haven’t given me permission to defend myself.”
Mr. Duveau turns slowly on his heel, expression both haughty and amused. It’s as if he’d been waiting for me to speak up. “I don’t believe allowing you the chance to speak on this trial was part of our bargain.”
“But it is my right,” I say. “As a citizen, I have a right to defend myself.”
He turns toward the jurors. They hesitate, exchanging whispers before the majority utters their agreement that I may speak.
“Very well,” Mr. Duveau says, taking a few steps toward me. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I came here as requested. I did everything that was asked of me.”
“I daresay you did that and more.” The councilman narrows his eyes, expressing what he’s left unspoken. He knows that I’m responsible for the fates of Mr. Meeks and Mr. Osterman. He knows I broke into the Spire and visited my mother.
I refuse to falter, forcing my posture straighter despite my bindings. “I did what I had control over, and even went so far as to try and ensure my sister’s compliance. Her refusal to be present today should bear no weight on either my or my mother’s fates.”
I’m relieved to see a few nods coming from the jurors.
