Magdala’s body revolted against the lie. She wanted to vomit, she wanted to weep. Her eyes darted back and forth behind the blindfold. If the prince spun the tale to her disadvantage, and she was convicted of the murder instead, they would execute her before the week’s end. She would hang in the city square in this silly skirt and blouse. Madly, she wondered if she should have worn something with a higher collar so the rope wouldn’t chafe her neck.
“Miss Devney, can you be sure?”
Was she willing to die for Julian? The man who threw her down the stairs? Who endangered her and threatened her? Her father’s favorite?
And even if she did want to sacrifice herself in the pursuit of truth for that spineless little weasel, what of her mother and father? The grief and disgrace would kill them.
Magdala didn’t know what she was going to say until the answer spilled out of her. “No,” she croaked.
Beside her, Asherton exhaled. Someone yelped; Angelonia, she suspected.
“But you said that you were certain. You said you saw his face.”
“I’m not sure now,” she said. “He’s not a remarkable-looking man.”
She’d already told two lies, so why not another?
Asherton chuckled, which niggled her.
“So you saw someone in the room, but you don’t know for sure it was the prince?”
“Yes.”
“And why were you in the room?”
“I was looking for Julian. Huxley Davenport told me to.”
This was her greatest shield and she knew it. If she went on Huxley’s orders, then it was perfectly natural for her to be in a dark room with Julian, and no one would question it.
“Very good, you may go.”
A rush of relief washed over Magdala, and the air returned to her lungs as Justice untied her blindfold. She hurried to her seat, shaky and a dragon’s weightlighter.
She glanced guiltily around at Huxley and Angelonia, but they were watching the prince with rapt attention.
“I think it is important to note at this moment,” the examiner said, “that Julian Davenport's death was not caused by the knife in his chest.”
The prince straightened. Huxley’s jaw fell open, and Angelonia gasped so dramatically she inhaled a rogue strand of Magdala’s hair.
Lady Justice held up both her hands and boomed, “SILENCE!”
The room hushed and the examiner continued. “The death doctor reported that a great quantity of water flowed out of the deceased’s lungs upon examination. Somehow, Julian Davenport died by drowning.”
Angelonia swooned and Huxley caught her, letting her head loll onto his shoulder. He fanned her with his hand. Magdala resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“It is my belief,” the examiner continued, “that you, Your Highness, fought with Julian, as you have a history of doing since your years together at school. You forced his head into a basin until he drowned, and then you stabbed him to be sure he was dead.”
Asherton only hung his head.
“So,” the examiner said. “I ask again, were you not in that room?”
The prince hesitated. Magdala couldn’t understand why. She’d just covered for him, lied for him. If he said no, he could walk away.
He licked his lips, exhaled, and tried to pass his hand over his eyes, drawing it back when he remembered he was blindfolded.
“Please,” someone murmured. Magdala looked over her shoulder.
Behind her, alone in a long wooden pew, the valet sat as pale as a ghost, slowly shaking his head. Silently, his lips formed the words, “Please, please, please.”
