Page 6 of Rears & Vices

He looked up. Vitaliy still stared at him, but his deep-set, dark-blue eyes had narrowed, and those beautiful heart-shaped lips had lifted: the soft smile of expectation.

In calling him out by name Vitaliy had reciprocated his mercy. Everard could claim conflict of interest, claim simple recusal, and not have to see his once-upon lover hang. Not have to give his voice to convict him on unnatural—passionate, sweat-streaked, earth-shatteringly natural—offences.

Or—or Everard could simply deny it, his captain’s word against a pirate’s, and the trial would go on.

It was an easy choice.

“Yes, sir,” Everard said carefully. “I have in fact had his acquaintance.”

Beside him, D’Arcy let out a small, miserable groan.

Everard listened to the scratch of quill point on parchment, testimonial. Every word, recorded. Every word.

“Then do recuse yourself, sir! As is right!” The admiral, in sharp syllables.

Vitaliy raised his chin. Take it, he said silently. Take what I’ve offered.

But no. Everard’s resolve solidified, lead cooling lumpen at the base of his throat. No decision had ever been easier.

He was about to commit perjury.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “That is to say, no, sir,” he said, more firmly, as Vitaliy’s eyes widened. “I cannot merely recuse myself. You see, this man has served on my ship.”

The admiral’s fan flapped wildly again.

“The Netley? Then it is even more necessary that you recuse⁠—”

“I beg your pardon, sir. On my previous ship.”

“Ev,” D’Arcy whispered urgently in his ear; luckily, the crowd had got loud again in their consternation. “What in hell are you doing?”

Trying to save a man’s life was what. Was it not obvious? Everard glanced right. D’Arcy was the only man there who could refute what he was about to say.

“You mustn’t do this,” D’Arcy hissed. “Not like this. Recuse yourself and we’ll sort it. Later.”

Everard ignored him.

“The Wanderer, sir,” he said loudly.

The admiral was red-faced. “Quiet!” he demanded of the crowd. They hushed, gradually. “The Wanderer? That cannot be. His charges—mutiny, piracy—three years ago is out of jurisdiction!”

“Yes indeed, sir. Respectfully, it doesn’t matter.”

Vitaliy himself was frowning now too, brow furrowed and confused at Everard’s lie—no, this was not what he’d meant at all.

But—Vitya, dead and twitching from the yardarm. No, no, no. What was a little perjury?

Everard took a deep breath. “I do formally recuse myself on conflict of interest.”

Hushed murmurs shuddered throughout the crew audience, the Marines. The secretary’s quill scratched furiously. Scritch-scritch-scritch.

“However…”

The admiralty might hang all the rapists they pleased, and with Everard’s blessing. They might try to make all sodomy out to be criminal and reprehensible and wrong, regardless of circumstance or consent. But they would not get this man.

“… I feel obliged to make it known that this man should not be on trial at all. And that if he is to be tried de novo, I shall have no recourse but to serve as witness to his defence.”

Gasps and disbelieving laughter from the crowd, quickly silenced by elbows. Beside him, D’Arcy had his brow in hand.