A faint smile played across Asherton’s lips. “I discovered I had a brother at school. Older by five years. My brother was a peaceful man, but he was a warrior from his youth, and Julian couldn’t stand up to him and his Ashkendoric cunning. My brother sent Julian Davenport running.”
Huxley chuffed. “Liar.”
“Who provoked these altercations?” the examiner prodded.
“Julian,” Asherton said. “Always Julian. Violence bores me. My brother was the same.”
“And where is your brother?” the examiner asked.
Asherton swallowed. “Dead. Three months ago in battle.”
The room fell silent, and the examiner steered the questions away from Asherton’s past. “And how did you come to be in the room with the deceased?”
The valet leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his heel tapping the floor. His lips were drawn into a tight line,and he appeared ready to pop like a kernel of corn in a frying pan.
The prince shifted in his seat. “My valet went to fetch the coach, and I slipped into a dark room to catch my breath. I was … unsettled by the crowd and the party. Julian followed me.”
Magdala glanced around guiltily, wondering if their meeting had driven him into that room.
The examiner's voice echoed. “Could Miss Magdala Devney please come to the stand?”
Chapter 8
The prince tried to pull down his blindfold, but Lady Justice shouted, “You may not see!”
He dropped his hands and sniffed, then passed his hand over his mouth. It was shaking.
Butterflies in her stomach, Magdala stood on unsteady legs and walked to the front of the room. Her doubts rose with each echoing step. If she accused the prince, he would accuse her in return. He was in the room, bloody, beside the bloodless body of a man she was threatening to kill moments before. It was as though she held a knife to his neck, and he a blade to her femoral artery.
She had hoped snitching on the prince might force him to abdicate, to leave Elegy and go to Ashkendor, but she knew now that had been foolish. She wished she’d kept her mouth shut.
Lady Justice led her to a seat beside Asherton. Magdala had imagined she would sit across the room, a distance away, but she saw the devious wisdom in forcing the accuser to sit so close to the accused that they shared breath. It was much harder to lie like this.
“Tell on me and I’ll tell on you,” Ahserton’s voice hissed.
Magdala’s pulse pounded in her ears. “I’ll only tell the truth.”
“And so will I.”
Lady Justice covered Magdala’s eyes, and she was plunged into hot, scratchy darkness.
The examiner wasted no time. “Miss Devney, on the night of Julian’s murder, did you see the prince in the room with the body?”
She felt a tap on her leg, and Asherton muttered, “Truth for truth.”
“I saw a shadow …” Magdala said loudly.
“And it was the prince?”
“Well …”
Inches away, Asherton cleared his throat. Anxiety radiated from him, an electric current in the dark. It leeched into her, and she wrung her hands.
“Miss Devney?”
“I don’t know for sure,” she lied. “The figure fled out the doors. But it did look like him.”
“But you can’t be sure?”
