Chapter 25
Morgana
Two hundred people turn toward us, the crowd framing the pair of thrones at the head of the room.
There’s more than I expected—more than the day I was presented at court—and my heart skips a beat at the sight of them.
Oclanna sits in the throne on the left, the oak leaf design curling up either side of her head, while her husband Jocor is in the one beside her.
I haven’t seen her since she became queen. I’m surprised to find she’s wearing the same crown my mother wears in her portrait, the green jewels shining in the light. I wonder if that’s what Queen Elowen looked like holding court. If that’s what I’ll look like, if I survive this.
Then Oclanna sees who has interrupted her audience.
Her eyes widen for just a second, before freezing, her gaze growing cold as ice. Gone is the facade of the sympathetic aunt who promised to guide me through my new life, gone is the pretense of being a grieving sister. I see her for what she is now: a murderer and a traitor to her own family.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” I say to Leon, despite my nerves.
“Your Majesty, I’ve brought—” Captain Drisha tries to get there before me, but Sophos silences him.
In fact, he cuts off all sound from the court for a moment, silencing everyone except myself and the two people seated at the front of the room, so no one can interrupt us.
So they have to listen to the conversation between me and the people who conspired to kill my parents.
“Hello, Aunt,” I say, striding down the central aisle, stopping halfway down the room for maximum visibility.
“What is she doing in here?” Jocor rises from his chair, pointing a finger at me. “Arrest her!”
But Captain Drisha’s eyes are on Oclanna, waiting for her order, and so far, she’s stayed silent.
“For what crime?” I demand, my voice echoing through the room.
Jocor isn’t expecting this. He probably assumed I’d cut straight to trying to attack Oclanna, not ask questions. He looks to his wife for answers.
“To begin with, for the murder of your parents, conspiring with a foreign nation, and for the sin of heresy,” Oclanna says. She’s more collected than her husband. She might not have expected this, but she’s prepared.
I search for any sign of discomfort as she lies through her teeth, but perhaps by now she’s repeated these falsehoods about me so many times she almost believes them.
She at least genuinely thinks I’m a heretic.
Perhaps that’s how she justifies all of this.
Now that I’ve been revealed to be an aberration, there’s no reason for any guilt.
“Wrong on all counts, Aunt,” I say. “Firstly—”
“Silence!” Jocor shouts, looking around at the court. “This is ridiculous. Someone arrest her!”
I catch a flicker of movement to my left.
General Becane, the head of the royal armies, is at the edge of the crowd by the aisle.
His eyes are on Captain Drisha, and he gives the captain a little shake of his head.
He’s telling Drisha not to make any moves yet, to let this play out without interference.
That one, tiny gesture gives me a surge of confidence.
“I’ve come here to prove my innocence,” I almost shout over Jocor’s protests. “If you’re so eager to silence me, it begs the question of what you have to hide.”
“Or it shows that we don’t pander to blasphemers and murderers in this court, Morgana,” Oclanna answers. She shakes her head. “So sad, to think anyone could be drawn in by your deceptions. Even my sister, rest her soul, had no idea the plot you organized against her.”
She’s a good actress, I’ll give her that. I suppose she had to be, to pretend all those years she loved my mother when she wanted her dead.
I feel the eyes of the court on me. There’s fear and anger in too many of those eyes. If we’re going to go any further, I need to buy us some breathing room. The court won’t hear me out unless I play by the rules.
“Claim whatever you want, Aunt, but it won’t change anything. I’m here to challenge you for the throne, as is my right as heir.”
I feel a stab of cruel satisfaction as Oclanna grows a fraction paler.
She felt safe with a court full of nobles between us.
She didn’t think I’d do something as risky as suggesting a challenge, a one-on-one fight where I won’t have any fearsome allies to protect me—but then she’s not seen me for the better part of a year. She doesn’t know how much I’ve changed.
“Get out,” Oclanna hisses, and I fight to hide my smile as she starts to lose her cool.
She looks around at her court, everyone frozen in their place, until her eyes land on a man in red robes in the corner.
I can only guess he’s the palace cleric they’ve got to replace Nunias after Tira killed him during Otscold’s purge.
“Anointer Robik, don’t you have anything to say about this heretic invading our court?” she demands.
“Oh…” Sophos has returned sound to the court, and the anointer tugs at his cap nervously, looking like a rabbit caught in a trap as his eyes flicker from Oclanna to Sophos. “I…um…”
When it’s clear the anointer is too confused by the presence of the bearer by my side to know whether to step in, Oclanna makes an aggravated growl and turns to look at General Becane instead. “If you don’t arrest this girl now, Becane, I’ll see you join her in the dungeons.”
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 is not a 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 seem like 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.
“You serve me,” Oclanna corrects.
But Becane doesn’t seem to hear her. After a long moment, he hands back the knife.