Wait… Did Kaelus say, ‘Kingdomof Light?’ In thesingular? I must have misheard.
“What’s the meaning of this?” I ask Master Treacher, but he just shakes his head.
“This heretic has magic.” Frowning and pointing, Master Roule nods toward Saxon. “Accessing Darkness is forbidden in the Light.”
“Blasphemous!” Kaelus adds. “Heresy.”
Now that the situation Saxon’s facing has been confirmed, possible solutions race through my mind. While we were in Lymbo, we never discussed the implications of Saxon revealing his magic. The one time I raised it, Saxon brushed it off, and so I lack guidance on how best to handle these accusations. Accusations I know to be true. In fact, these klericks don’t know the half of what Saxon can do.
Saxon doesn’t know I saw him transform into a stag. I should have pressed him harder to talk about his magic, how it could impact him when we returned, but I was far too consumed with seeking joy and pleasure, too engrossed in the carnal pleasures of Rosomon, and too engulfed with happiness at our growing bond and affection.
“What evidence do you possess?” I ask the Head Klerick. “Without proof, I demand you release him. This man is a Dragon Master.” This group is treating me with some level of reverence, so I’ll take what advantage I have.
“Others witnessed his crimes,” Roule touches the symbol of Othrix hanging around his neck, and I take note that he too is wearing the crest of Khotor, even though I am quite sure he hails from Sidonia. “Others stand ready to testify.”
Kaelus jabs his long, bony finger toward Saxon. “From the day this heretic arrived at camp, although he was just a boy, I felt certain he was harboring Darkness.” Anger and disdain drip from Kaelus’s voice.
“Saxon didn’t know the truth himself,” I tell Kaelus and the others, then clamp my mouth shut, realizing I’ve all but admitted that Saxon has magic. I glance toward him, trying to guess how he wants me to handle this.
Why isn’t Saxon defending himself? His expression remains frustratingly blank—stern, as it is often—but his jaw is tense, and the tendons of his neck are taut. Stoicism is the default state for Saxon, so it’s no help to guide me.
I turn back toward the others. “Until the day that Saxon saved my dragon from a painful hobbling, he had no idea he had access to magic.”
“Oh, heknew,” Kaelus says, then he turns toward Saxon. “Do you deny this charge?”
Saxon doesn’t move a muscle, as if he’s cast in stone. I wouldn’t be shocked if the collective glares of those presenthadturned him to stone.
My confidence that I can easily solve this problem is quickly draining. Wielding magic is the highest crime against Othrix, and if Saxon’s found guilty, he’ll be put to death. I can’t let that happen. I won’t let that happen. Rosomon would never forgive me, and I’d never forgive myself, either.
Plus, what Saxon did should not be a crime. He shouldn’t be put to death for a silly religious law. Magic is amazing and shouldn’t be forbidden.
“Take him to the dungeon,” Kaelus says. “He will remain there until the Prime Klerick declares a time and place for his tribunal.”
The guards tug on Saxon’s chains. He falls to his knees, and they roughly pull him back to his feet before continuing forward, moving far too quickly given how little chain he has between his ankles.
I wish I could help him, but more resistance might implicate me too, and the man’s not even trying to help himself.
Roule turns toward Treacher. “Deal with these dragons,” he says, and Treacher nods tersely.
Roule and the klericks follow behind the guards who are dragging Saxon toward the enclaves.
Once they’re out of hearing distance, I turn toward Treacher. He’s always been stern, sometimes cruel, but he’s typically fair. And since I first bested the gauntlet record, I’ve been the gruff dragon master’s favorite.
“This isn’t right,” I say to him, “and you know it.”
“I know nothing of the kind.” Treacher squares his stance. All his unexpected deference to my royal title has evaporated. Treacher again regards me as simply a rider.
Actually, lower than a simple rider. Treacher looks at me like a new recruit. “Much has happened over the five and half moon cycles you were gone,” he says flatly.
“It’s been that long?”
His eyes narrow. “How could you not know that?”
I draw a breath. If Saxon taught me one thing, it’s to think before speaking. Well, to think before exploding in anger, anyway, but his lessons apply here as well. I won’t reveal the dragons’ big secret, not without their consent, but I can’t answer this question without revealing some part of the truth. Also, didn’t Rosomon already tell him about how time passes in Lymbo?
“Time passes more slowly on the other side of the veil.”
Deep lines form between Treacher’s heavy eyebrows. “How can time move differently?”
