Chapter 27. Now Maris
NOW: MARIS
The Magistrates flooded into the Tribunal Hall, hands fluttering with half-tied robes as we all made our way to the Forum. I searched the faces around me for my uncle, but there was no sign of him.
There weren’t many in Isara who spoke the first language, but Luca had been learning as a novice to Vitrasian.
Just the thought of it made me feel cold.
Getting this message to him might do exactly what he’d said—it could be the only bargaining chip I had with the same people who wanted me dead.
But if we were days away from watching the Citadel District fall, then what was the point? What had all this been for?
The Forum was buzzing when I made it to the entrance, the Magistrates streaming through the doors with an anxious air. A tribunal hadn’t been expected today, and with the New Legion camped across the river, the nerves in the district were high.
I pulled the medallion from beneath my robes and held it up to the man posted at the doors, swallowing hard as the tribunal scribe wrote it down.
“Casperia!”
My name echoed in the great, grand room and I shuffled past a string of white robes.
This time there was no hush in the Forum, and only a few pairs of eyes followed me across the floor.
I took my seat, my gaze immediately finding my uncle’s place down on the marble floor.
But the timber-framed chair he usually sat in was empty.
There hadn’t been enough time for anyone to discover that I’d gone to the Hall of Scribes or that I’d taken the scroll from the library.
So, why did I feel like I was seconds away from being found out?
I scanned the rest of the room, looking for the source of whatever it was hanging in the air. Something just felt … wrong.
I searched the confines of my seat, but everything was just as I’d left it, with a neat stack of parchment, a stylus, and an inkpot.
I straightened them along the edge of the small desk, eyes moving to the doors anxiously.
And I wasn’t the only one. The tension in the Forum was growing by the second.
The bells could be heard throughout the Citadel District, so wherever Nej was, he’d be on his way, along with any late Magistrates.
But with so many empty seats, I couldn’t tell who else was actually missing.
My uncle finally appeared just as the doors were closing, and I let out the breath trapped in my chest. There were a few eerily quiet seconds before the doors at the back of the Forum opened, and Consul Saturian appeared on the other side.
I rose to my feet with the other Magistrates.
He didn’t barrel in like he usually did.
He took slow, patient steps to his chair, an appraising look falling on the tiered rows of seats in the room.
His blue robes rippled like dark water around him, something that resembled a smile on his face.
“On this fourteenth day in the month of Eleni, I call this tribunal to order.” The words were like flat, even beats. Behind him, Nej was already scribbling. “This morning I met with the warlord who calls himself the Commander of the New Legion.”
There was another slight pause before a rumbling sound of disapproval swept through the room.
I stilled. Meeting with the New Legion had been my suggestion.
One the Consul had dismisssed. But more than that, he’d broken a significant protocol.
The Consul, the head of government in Isara, held an unsanctioned meeting with the enemy without bringing it before the Forum for a vote. And not just any enemy—his son.
Beside me, two Magistrates were whispering, but I could pick out only pieces of the conversation.
Going behind the Forum’s back had created mutiny more than once.
All it would take was a majority vote to expel and replace him.
The Consul knew that, but he didn’t look the slightest bit unnerved. If anything, he was enjoying this.
“In two days’ time, the rebels will open the gates to the city.” The words rang out. “And any resident of the Citadel District who wishes to will be permitted to leave unharmed.”
There was a swallowed gasp somewhere behind me. This time, the murmuring quieted.
“The price?” he continued. “Those who choose to leave will surrender their medallion, their citizenship, and any rights they have to property or place within these walls.”
The whispers resurfaced, and now they were growing.
“This, the traitors claim, is a show of mercy from the rebel legion, offered to all.” He paused. “Except for the Magistrates.”
The room erupted in shouts of outrage, several Magistrates shooting to their feet.
The clatter of items falling from desks punctuated the commotion.
My fingers instinctively went to the medallion that hung around my neck.
That was what Luca had been trying to tell me.
If the New Legion was taking medallions at the gates, they would be checking names.
You can’t be a Casperia anymore.
The Consul’s hands lifted into the air patiently, waiting for silence. “This eliminates any sliver of doubt about the intentions of the rebels. They claim to want peace for Isara. But there is no denying that all they really want is to punish those who have dedicated their lives to this city.”
The few who were standing slowly sank back into their seats. We were nothing more than a Forum full of rabbits now, running from a hunter with a bow. And by the look on the Magistrates’ faces, they knew it.
“The rebels have done this distinguished body a service. When their legionnaires are put down, and the Citadel District is bled of its remaining traitors who would give up their sacred citizenship to save their own heads, Isara will be left to you and me.” His voice rose, making me shiver.
“You have yet to see what the strength of this city can do.”
I flinched when a few cheers broke the silence, and the Consul sent a discreet glance in Nej’s direction as his eyes swept over the room. There was a pause there. An exchange of some kind.
“We’ll be holding the heads of the rebels in our hands, ready to begin this city anew.”
More shouts sounded as my gaze trailed out the window to the Sophanes River, where the glint of sunlight on helmets glittered along the water’s edge.
Beyond them stretched a crumbling city. Even now, in the last throes of death, the Consul believed—truly believed—that the Citadel could win. But how?
I looked around me at the faces of the Forum.
The expressions I found there almost looked like hope.
Over the last few minutes, the Consul had managed to do the impossible.
He’d betrayed the Magistrates by admitting to a meeting with the Commander of the New Legion.
Then he’d promised victory to those who chose not to run.
The whole act wasn’t much different from the day I’d seen him turn the city against Vitrasian. But then why had he refused my request?
Below, Nej had now dropped his stylus and joined in on the clapping, and I wished I could see his face.
I wished I could meet his eyes and try to interpret what lay there.
Had he known, when I saw him last night, about the meeting with the Commander?
Is that what he’d meant when he said that in the end, we needed to stand on the same side?
The Consul went on for another few minutes in an inspiring speech that had the Magistrates all but weeping, and when the gavel struck again, it was with the sound of thunder in my ears.
“Which is why I have called this tribunal.” The Consul paused.
Below, Nej was writing, but he looked distracted, one hand clenched on the small desk before him.
The Consul sauntered along the platform, looking out over the Magistrates. “The matter involves the Priestess Ophelius.” His smooth voice rippled through the room, the words devoid of any hint of emotion.
The murmurings began, and again, I looked to Nej, whose fist had tightened.
“I don’t need to remind you all that we have gravely suffered at the whim of these Priestesses.
With the dying magic has come our dying fields.
The weaker it grows, the longer the fighting.
Many of us have lost sons in this war. Homes.
Our very bloodlines are at stake. It is the Priestesses who are responsible for the destruction of this city. ”
The Forum fell into a deeper silence.
“The will of the gods is clear—an abundant future for Isara. And the only thing standing in the way of that future is Ophelius. The Priestess tried and failed to end her own life, and now she refuses to gift her magic. With the approval of this tribunal, we will use any means necessary to convince the Priestess that we share the same goal—to protect the future of Isara.”
I could see what he was doing. The Consul was framing his plan in a way that would get him what he wanted, and what he wanted was enough votes to act. The words were twisting and twirling into something entirely different from what they actually meant.
“As dictated by the gods, the only way to transfer the possession of this magic is to gift it to another. Ophelius has refused to do so, determined to die with it. But there is another way.”
No.
“With your permission, I intend to enact the blood rites, as written in the sacred tomes. Ophelius will be bled, and the recipient of her magic will be chosen by this body.”
A shaking breath escaped my lips and I blinked, unsure if I’d heard him correctly. The blood rites had never been performed within the walls of Isara. The act of bleeding and drinking every drop of godsblood was considered heresy.
“Who will perform these rites?” a voice called out from behind me.
The Consul’s gray eyes landed on me. “Magistrate Casperia.”
I stilled. The echo of my family name hovered in the air, followed by the faces turning toward me. My mouth opened, but no sound came.
The Consul’s gaze burned everywhere it touched. Below, my uncle finally moved, his head swiveling from me to the podium. But he didn’t look surprised.
To be addressed by the Consul directly in the Forum was a rare thing for any Magistrate.
I’d attended many tribunals as a spectator, and I’d seldom seen it done.
The Consul always kept his address to the body as a whole, but he’d met my eyes directly when he spoke my name, and the chill of it was still crawling across my skin.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I choked.
“You served as a novice to the Priestess for several years, did you not?”
My voice cracked.
“Casperia?”
“Yes. Yes, I did,” I answered.
“And are you familiar with the ritual of the blood rites?”
I swallowed. “I am, but I’ve never performed them. I—”
“What better way to express your loyalty to this tribunal in your first days as Magistrate than to shoulder the burden of your city?”
I was breathing too loudly now, my mind racing for something to say.
He wasn’t asking. That was clear. And the buried threat in the words was there like the prick of a needle.
Was I loyal, or wasn’t I? This was why he’d been so curious about my ritual knowledge.
Why he’d been so interested in my noviceship.
The decree he actually sought was folded beneath the words.
Performing the blood rites was essentially an execution, and the laws were clear—a decree like that had to be approved by three-quarters of the Forum majority.
If the Consul stepped outside those laws, he would be subject to the consequences and that wasn’t something he would risk. Not now.
The Consul picked up his judgment stone, holding it in the air, and I watched as the Magistrates around the room reached for their own stones.
It was customary to pick it up, even if you didn’t plan to flip it.
And one by one, they were placed down, white marble gleaming like little stars in the lamplight. There wasn’t a single vote against.
Again, the Consul’s attention drifted to Nej, and this time my uncle’s eyes lifted from the parchment. Was I imagining it, or was there was an almost indiscernible dip of Nej’s chin? As if he were confirming something. As if he were—my mind twisted with the thought—giving the Consul his approval.
It wasn’t until I felt my uncle’s eyes boring into me that I noticed that every face in the room had drifted in my direction.
The Consul’s included. I couldn’t help wondering if they were thinking that I was about to seal my own fate.
Or maybe they were just relieved to have not been given the task themselves.
No one wanted the attention of the Consul.
No one wanted to be relied on by him. We’d all seen with our own eyes what happened when you let him down.
I was the only one who hadn’t picked up my stone, and they waited, silence roaring as my shaking hand reached for it. He had the majority, that was clear. But that wasn’t why they waited for me to cast my vote.
I could see Nej’s silent request in his tight expression, even if I couldn’t hear it.
The gods have turned their faces upon us.
His words echoed. Whatever game he was playing, he wanted me to play it, too. But my mind was still struggling to keep up. I didn’t know what was happening here.
In a matter of seconds, I was stringing together the pieces.
The blank message that glowed with the sheen of godsblood.
The same kind I’d seen in my own mother’s study.
I’d always known that Nej had the ear of the Consul, of everyone in the Citadel, but maybe I’d underestimated just how far his influence reached.
Maybe the Consul wasn’t the author of the messages. Maybe they were penned by my uncle.
The Consul waited, that question still hanging in the air. We both knew I didn’t have a choice. But now I wondered who exactly I was giving an answer to. The Consul or his scribe?
The cold stone stung my hot, sweaty palm as I lifted it from the pedestal it sat on.
I watched the golden light dance on the white surface, thinking of all the times I’d imagined casting my first judgment stone.
All the ideals I’d had about conviction and integrity and changing the destiny of Isara.
But as I stood there in the Forum, my own mother’s shadow looming over me, it all shifted so sharply into focus.
I set the stone down, white side up, a sickness brewing in my gut.
The first time I cast my judgment stone in this tribunal, it was for death.