Chapter Eighteen #2
Directly across from us, a man sat in a larger box than any of the others.
He had a face like a turnip and a great, protruding mustache.
The topaz amulet resting on his black robes declared his affiliation with the Tribe of Simeon—the Chief Judge of the Sanhedrin.
On either side of his box were two men in black: one who must have been the Speaker of the Sanhedrin, and another who looked to be the scribe.
I scanned the councilors. They were equal parts men and women, and everyone wore formal tribal affiliation robes. The Naphtali councilors sat high on the left, their blush-pink robes the color of a perfect summer rose. Their presence felt like a shot of relief.
“The Sanhedrin recognizes Tirtzah bat Tovah, Naomi bat Yardena, and Chava Vilner,” the Speaker intoned. He was a skeletal man with a long face and a displeased expression.
“Hello, Tirtzah,” the Chief Judge of the Sanhedrin said in a tired voice. “Perhaps you can shed some light on this situation. And your absence these last few hours.”
“Apologies.” Aunt Tirtzah sounded unapologetic. Her voice was dry and professional, like reeds rustling in the wind. “Family duties.”
“This would be the niece.” The Chief Judge’s gaze transferred to me. I didn’t want to quail—I wanted to maintain the self-delusion that I was brave—but it turned out I hated being perceived by authority.
“Yes, Naomi bat Yardena of the Naphtali tribe. My brother’s daughter. Naomi, as I wrote, was at the event. I believe you may be interested in her account.”
The Chief Judge waved a hand. “Go on, then, girl.”
I tried hard not to clear my throat before projecting clearly, as my aunt had instructed. “My name is Naomi bat Yardena. I’m betrothed to Daziel bar Cathmeus. I’m here to request his release.”
A murmur sailed around the room, and the attention of those assembled fastened on me.
“He saved more than a dozen Lyceum students from the storm last night. I’m here to vouch for his character and take him home.”
A woman to my left spoke, wearing the white of Zebulun. “We have reports he was able to control the river itself. How do we know he—and demonkind—weren’t involved in last night’s flooding? In the strangeness of the winds and waters being wrong?”
I hadn’t even known there’d been flooding and had no idea how to defend against such an off-base accusation. Panic surged through me. How was I supposed to debate people two, three times my age, who’d made a career of arguing? Especially when I was scared to tell them the truth?
“Perhaps we should start from the beginning,” the Chief Judge said. “You say he’s your betrothed. How did you come into this situation?”
Hesitantly, I explained.
The Chief Judge rubbed his forehead, glancing sidelong at a man to his left in the silver-blue robes of Dan. “Is this binding?”
“Due to the exchange of pomegranate and ring…” The Danite made a reluctant face. “Yes.”
“Daziel clearly believes the betrothal is binding,” my aunt added.
“You must admit it is a very strange thing, Tirtzah,” another councilor burst out. “And to have not told any of us!”
A few people made noises of agreement, but my aunt only snorted. “Half this room knew about my niece’s betrothal as soon as the shayd attended my gathering four months ago. Several have met him in person. If anyone didn’t know of him, their head was buried.”
“We didn’t know he was a high shayd,” the Chief Judge said gravely. “We were under the belief she was betrothed to a wild demon.”
“As was I,” Aunt Tirtzah said. “Until the events of last night, I had no idea he was high.”
“You expect us to believe that?” another woman said witheringly, this one in Asher purple.
Aunt Tirtzah’s chin jerked up. “Do you want to administer a truth spell on me, Melanie?”
The woman looked mad enough to spit. “Maybe we should.”
“Enough,” the chief said, and my head stopped pinging between the women and refocused on him.
I hadn’t realized this wouldn’t just be about me and Daziel but about my aunt’s personal relations with the Council—because these were her peers, after all, and she would have both allies and enemies.
“Whether or not Tirtzah knew is less important than what we do moving forward.”
“Like my niece said, you should release him. According to Law 322-B of the Matine Codex, family members are permitted to lodge foreign nationals on their own properties,” Aunt Tirtzah said. “I am willing to house the shayd Daziel.”
One of the older men leaned forward. “A betrothed is not a family member. And technically, your house is not your own—it’s held in trust by the Judahite tribe for their representatives.”
“Oh, shove it, Harry,” Aunt Tirtzah said irritably, losing her professional tone. “The house is fine. You know in any legal battle, I’ll win—there’s precedent. And what, do you want these children to get married now so we have the legal tie? They’re not yet twenty.”
“She could be lying,” the Asher woman who didn’t seem to like my aunt said.
“I’m not lying!” I said hotly.
“She could be bespelled,” the woman—Melanie—said. “Demons can do that.”
“Enchanting humans is against the treaty,” another woman said.
“So is a high demon staying in Talum without giving us notice,” Melanie snapped back.
“And so is detaining a shayd who has broken no laws,” Aunt Tirtzah said coldly. “Which Daziel has not.”
“Tirtzah’s right. We can’t keep him locked up,” the Chief Judge said. “We might as well release him into your custody. You can keep an eye on him, and we won’t be accused of breaking the treaty.”
“They’re already going to accuse us of it, given how we treated him,” a man who hadn’t spoken before said.
“Reasonable need,” said another. I couldn’t keep track of everyone; my head was whirling trying to remember who said what, who was on our side and who against. “They’ll agree.”
“Since when have shedim been reasonable?” a councilor in mustard-colored robes said.
Melanie scowled. “You’re not seriously considering letting out a powerful high demon?”
“We can’t aggravate our own allies,” another man said. “I say we release him to Tirtzah.”
“Tirtzah has served for merely three years,” someone in teal said. “She’s hardly the best equipped to house a shayd.”
“And precisely where do you think the shayd should be housed to prevent his people from descending in fury?” a woman asked caustically.
“I say we banish him!” someone yelled.
The room descended into outright chaos, Sanhedrin members shouting back and forth, some standing to make their point, others thumping fists against their stands. I watched with wide eyes. These were the people running our country. Weren’t they supposed to have it together?
“Enough,” the Chief Judge finally said. When no one listened, he banged his gavel against his desk. “Enough!”
Reluctant silence fell.
“Let us not alienate our allies. Keep eyes on them, yes. Keep them locked up? No. We’ll let him go. Tirtzah—I hope you understand your responsibilities here.”
“Yes, Judge.”
“Good.” He rubbed his head and looked at me. “You trust him, girl?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
He sighed wearily. “It is what it is. Shall we bring him in?”
The Danite beside the chief shook his head. “Better to bring Tirtzah’s niece to him. It should agitate him less.”
“Very well.” The Chief Judge waved a hand, and we were shown out.
I thought we’d be brought to dungeons or someplace grim, but it turned out to be the opposite.
The Speaker of the Sanhedrin and two attendants led us up a grand staircase and down the most elegant hall I’d ever seen, with long blue carpets and gilt-framed landscapes on the walls.
Our guides stopped at a tall door guarded by six soldiers.
My brows shot up. “Seriously?” I muttered to my aunt.
She nudged me, a warning to stay silent.
An elaborate locking spell had been carved into the door and the walls surrounding it. This room was a prison, despite its gorgeous surroundings.
In the middle of the door, a clay tablet had been set.
The Speaker accepted a small box from one of the attendants and removed a plate with raised charaktêres.
He pressed the plate into the clay, leaving behind the charaktêres’ impressions.
A spell to unlock the door, complicated enough he didn’t wish to write it by hand.
After spreading a gleaming thimble of pure neshem oil across the charaktêres, he read the spell.
The door glided open, revealing a chamber half the size of a floor at Testylier House.
Daziel looked up from where he sprawled on a four-poster bed draped in green silks. At first glance he looked so like himself I let out a huge breath, almost dizzy with relief.
But then I clocked the tension in his body. I heard it when he spoke, his voice coiled tight. “Took you long enough.”
“Lord Daziel,” the Speaker said, but Daziel ignored him. Instead, he was in front of me so confusingly fast the Speaker squeaked and Aunt Tirtzah inhaled sharply. The soldiers stiffened.
Daziel didn’t look at any of them. He focused on me, his black eyes searching. His hands found mine, and he squeezed, as though I was reassuring to him, as though he was drawing strength from my presence. “You came.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “Of course I did.”
“It has been decided,” the Speaker said. “You are to stay with your betrothed’s family. There are conditions—”
“I’m shocked,” Daziel drawled.
The Speaker flushed.
“Goodbye,” Daziel said, interweaving our fingers and tugging me toward the door. He nodded to Aunt Tirtzah, who stiffly returned the greeting.
“Are you okay?” I asked. “Did they hurt you?”
He sniffed. “They locked me up. An assault to my pride and my dignity.”
Serious words delivered lightly, but I could tell he meant them. I squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry.”
Aunt Tirtzah spoke. “Chava’s having Samuel meet us by the north entrance. Less prying eyes.”
A few minutes later, Aunt Tirtzah, Daziel, and I were settled inside the carriage, Chava seated with Samuel on the outside.