Becane straightens, offering Oclanna a stiff bow. “I understand your displeasure, Your Majesty, but I’m bound to obey the laws of this land. Once a member of the royal bloodline issues a challenge, they must be heard out.”
“This is true, Your Majesty. Those are the rules,” says a bold voice from the crowd. I search out the source with everyone else, landing on a short woman with graying hair piled on top of her head. I get the feeling she could stand in a gale-force wind and not get knocked over.
“I should’ve known you were behind this, Irisma,” Jocor spits.
The woman shrugs, her hunched shoulders brushing the bottom of her ears. “I have simply lived long enough to know that when we begin ignoring the laws that govern this land, all is lost,” she says mildly. “In fairness, there are some conditions under which a challenge must be made. For example, an heir forfeits any right to challenge if it’s proven they took the life of a monarch,” she continues. “A very sensible rule, in my opinion. Prevents all sorts of nefarious backstabbing just so an ambitious royal can match themselves to a weak opponent. However, I assume Princess Morgana has evidence to show this rule isnota problem for her?”
“It isn’t,” I say, looking behind me. “Lord Gyrion, would you mind?”
Alastor comes forward, and a bead of sweat runs down my spine. This next part is dicey. We have to convince the court of his power knowing they already don’t trust fae.
“General Becane, how did Prince Leonidas and Lord Gyrion know how to escape the palace grounds after my aunt had them arrested?” I ask.
The general answers quickly and concisely, his clipped voice inviting no doubt. “My guards reported that Lord Gyrion used his sensic powers on them, as well as on a few members of staff. He compelled them to give him information. It seems he can force someone to tell him the answer to any question.”
“He has the gift of the truth,” Sophos clarifies. I nod, relieved when I spot the nobles eyeing Alastor curiously.
I deeply wish I could simply ask Oclanna to submit to Alastor’s interrogation, but I know it would be a step too far. Not only would she never agree to it, but it would probably seemlike some kind of trick I was using. Instead, Harman firmly guides forward the man we’ve dragged from the shady alleyways of Elmere to confess today. He’s pale as snow, his brown workman’s clothes out of place in the throne room, but he doesn’t bolt as Harman leads him up the aisle toward me.
Alastor meets them in the aisle, the fizz of his magic radiating through the air.
“Did you make the fake Filusian knife used to murder Queen Elowen and King Alaric?” he asks, looking expectantly at the forger.
“I did,” the forger replies. “A man came and paid me to make a dagger in the Filusian style, and imbue it with fae magic, using artifacts I’d acquired.”
“Did you have any inkling what the knife was for?” Alastor asks.
“I didn’t. A week later, the king and queen were murdered. But I didn’t know my knife was used until I heard the reports. Had I known what use it would be put to, I would’ve never accepted the job,” he says.
Jocor looks livid, but Oclanna waves a hand at him, as if to tell him to stay calm.
“So a man made a knife—what does that prove?” Oclanna says. “All he has is his assumptions. How can he know that was the knife that was used in the murder?”
“That’s an excellent point, Aunt,” I say, looking to Alastor.
“Do you have any proof the knife you forged was the one used?” Alastor asks the man.
“Yes, I have made a replica of the dagger,” he answers.
“General Becane,” I turn to look back at the general. “You examined the room where my parents were murdered, didn’t you?”
He looks carefully between Oclanna and me. “I did,” he says.
“And did you examine the weapon used to kill them?”
“I did.”
“Did many people see the weapon?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. Only me and Captain Drisha, as well as Her Majesty.”
“Then would you please look over this dagger here and tell me if it is indeed the same?” I ask.
He steps forward to take the knife.
“I order you to stop this charade at once, General Becane,” Oclanna says, her voice climbing in pitch.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” the general says. “But I believe it serves justice better for me to examine this knife first.” He takes hold of the dagger, studying it.
