Chapter Six
Fortunately, Ellie’s stomach settled and she regained at least the outward appearance of composure by the time another liveried servant came to fetch them.
Circled by the Fey, she followed her parents out of the antechamber and down a series of halls until they came to a set of massive, opulent doors manned by two bewigged footmen and a third pinch-nosed man.
Four royal guards flanked the doors, spears in hand, swords shining at their hips.
They eyed the bristling display of Fey weapons suspiciously, but made no attempt to disarm the warriors.
The massive doors swung inward, and the pinch-nosed man called out in a carrying voice: “Master and Madam Sol Baristani. Mistress Ellysetta Baristani.”
Before them, the Celierian throne room loomed large.
A wide blue carpet stretched for a very long way down the center of the room, leading to two enormous thrones that ruled over the vaulted space from a raised dais.
Hundreds of people stood in crowded masses on either side of the carpet, and balconies up above held another hundred.
At least two dozen royal guardsmen stood at attention along the walls of the room.
The Baristanis and their Fey escort walked down the long and daunting aisle.
The king and queen were seated on their respective thrones, flanked on the king’s right by Dax v’En Solande and his red-shrouded truemate Marissya, the shei’dalin.
Two rows of benches, presently empty, sat before the dais.
Another small platform surrounded by a semicircular wooden railing stood off to the right between the thrones and the benches, angled so the occupants of the thrones, the benches, and the room at large would be able to see whoever stood behind that railing.
Ellie’s mouth went dry and her stomach took another unpleasant lurch as sudden realization struck.
This was the annual gathering of the Celierian Supreme Court of Justice, presided over by the king and queen, who served as judge and jurors, and facilitated by Marissya v’En Solande, whose touch could force the truth from even the most hardened criminal.
This was the court that rendered final judgment on disputed or undecided cases from all over Celieria.
The verdicts of this court were final and irreversible.
And Ellie had just mouthed off to the queen.
Oh, gods. If there’s any mercy in you, don’t let the queen hold a grudge!
A man in calf-length blue robes met them at the end of the carpet and gestured for them to take seats in the second row of benches to the right. After making their bows and curtseys, Ellie and her parents sat, but the Fey went to stand at the far edge of the benches.
The pinch-nosed man’s voice boomed out again: “Master and Madam Gothar Brodson. Goodman Den Brodson.” Ellie felt her heart sink into her stomach.
Sure enough, there they were. Den was once again stuffed into his too-tight suit, pomaded and curled, and wearing his smug klat’s smile, as if he knew something no one else did.
The Steward of the Court, wearing blue robes with gold stripes on the lower half of the sleeves, walked to the king and handed him a parchment.
King Dorian scanned the parchment, then handed it back and nodded.
The steward turned to the benches. “Goodman Brodson,” he said, “yesterday you petitioned the court to validate the betrothal contract between yourself and Mistress Ellysetta Baristani. You were granted the validation and have petitioned the courts for a special license to wed her immediately. Is this correct?”
Den stood, his chest swelling, his strong chin jutting forward. “It is, ser.”
“You have a contract signed by the girl’s father?”
“I do.”
The steward referred to the parchment. “The girl bears your mark?”
“She does.”
“Is she in this courtroom?”
“She is.” Den pointed towards Ellie. “That is my betrothed, Ellie Baristani.”
“Thank you, Goodman Brodson. You may sit.”
Den shot a gloating look at Ellie and sat.
The steward came to stand before Ellie’s father. “Master Baristani, did you sign a betrothal contract promising your daughter in marriage to Den Brodson?”
Sol stood. “I did, ser.” He glanced back at Ellie. “But—”
“Thank you, Master Baristani,” the steward interrupted. “That will be all.” He turned his cold, dispassionate gaze on Ellysetta and called her name. “Ellysetta Baristani.”
With a gasp, she jumped to her feet. “Y-yes, ser?” Her heart was racing, her stomach roiling, giving her cause to regret the pastry and keflee she had consumed.
“Do you bear Den Brodson’s mark on your person?”
“I had no idea what he was doing!” she blurted. “I tried to stop him!” Guffaws and raucous jeers sounded in the gallery, and her face flamed with embarrassment. The bailiff banged his gavel and called for silence.
“Answer the question, Mistress Baristani. Do you bear Den Brodson’s mark on your person?”
Her head drooped. “Yes.”
“You may sit.”
She sank down on the bench, her shoulders slumped.
She and her father had just confirmed before the king and queen that Den had a valid and binding claim to her.
That was the same as clapping a collar round her neck and giving Den the leash.
She glanced at Bel, but his face was inscrutable. Not even Kieran was smiling.
“Goodman Brodson.” This time it was the king who spoke.
Den leapt to his feet again as the king leaned forward.
“Celierian laws and customs regarding betrothals and betrothal contracts are clear and immutable, as we are certain you are well aware. So clear and immutable, in fact, that you should not have found it necessary to file your petition. But your case has extenuating circumstances, does it not? Circumstances that we see you excluded from your petition.” A little of the smugness faded from Den’s face.
“It has been brought to our attention that these circumstances alter the very nature of your case from a simple civil dispute to a potentially explosive situation that could adversely affect Celieria’s foreign policy, our diplomatic relations, and even our national security.
Did you not think those considerations were important enough to include in the statement you filed? ”
“I—” Den went pale around the mouth. “But . . . Your Majesty, I—”
“Take your seat, Goodman. There is another who would address this court.” The king gestured and the massive doors at the back of the room swung open again.
In deep, ringing tones, the tempo slowed so that each word sounded clear as a bell, the king’s man called out, “His Esteemed Majesty, Rainier vel’En Daris Feyreisen, the Tairen Soul, King of the Fading Lands, Defender of the Fey.”
Ellie’s heart, which had been in her stomach, leapt up into her throat. She jumped to her feet and turned, like every other person in the room, to watch the Fey king make his entrance.
“Dear gods,” she heard one woman whisper. “He is magnificent.”
Tall, lean, and searingly handsome, Rainier vel’En Daris exuded the dark, dangerous beauty and mystery of the Fey race as he strode down the blue carpet.
His black leather tunic and snug leggings seemed to absorb light, while his bristling collection of Fey blades were so highly polished that they reflected light back with almost blinding intensity.
Black boots, tooled with scarlet and purple tairen, crossed the length of the throne room in smooth, ground-eating strides.
A scarlet sash embroidered with tairen worked in gold thread draped from his left shoulder to his right hip, just below one of the two crossed bands of Fey’cha daggers, while a chain made of fist-sized squares of gold, each set with large Tairen’s Eye crystals, hung from one shoulder to the other.
A golden crown circled his head, each of its six points topped with a small globe of priceless Tairen’s Eye crystal.
Even without the crown, no one who saw him could fail to recognize he was a king.
He carried power as effortlessly as his broad shoulders carried the purple-lined black cape that billowed out behind him.
He reached the end of the carpet and condescended to bend his spine in the almost bow made by one king to another.
He didn’t look at Ellie, but his emotions reached out to her and his voice whispered in her mind, ?Shei’tani.
? She shivered at the liquid caress of the Fey word that meant truemate, wife, and beloved all wrapped up in one.
Every nerve in her body was aware of him as he stood only feet away, and when a warm breeze of Air brushed across the back of her neck and swirled around her ear, she almost cried out at the pleasure of it.
The crack of the bailiff’s gavel brought silence to the court.
“The King of the Fading Lands has approached us with a petition of his own,” King Dorian announced.
“One that has made us reconsider the validation and license granted to Goodman Brodson yesterday. We have invited the Feyreisen to give testimony.” King Dorian gestured to the platform beside him.
“If you would step into the testimony box, My Lord Feyreisen.”
The Fey king strode to the platform on the right and stepped behind the railing, facing the court. Marissya came to stand close, but she did not touch him.
The steward stepped forward. “Rainier vel’En Daris, you have stated that you have a claim to Ellysetta Baristani that supersedes our laws and you have petitioned this court to dissolve the betrothal contract between Den Brodson and Ellysetta Baristani. Is this correct?”
“It is.” His voice was deep and sure, his face proud and uncompromising.
“What is the nature of this claim that supersedes our laws?”
“Ellysetta Baristani is my shei’tani.” His eyes found hers. “My truemate.” A murmur of voices rippled through the crowd.
“Please tell the court what a truemate is.”