24. Tassarion
Tassarion
“I can’t believe Jacques would do such a heinous thing!”
“I can.” A casual flick of the wrist. “He never liked Richard. And you know as well as I do Marcèllian was waiting for Richard to grow up so he could pass the Beauradèl inheritance to him.” The female angel sashayed her hips in the air as she kept floating.
“Marcèllian would leave Yvette and Jacques comfortable, of course, but Richard was expected to take it all.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. There was nothing like island gossip to get you going on a rough twinight. I lifted from my hidden perch, trailing the two angels. Scampering through the trees, I followed them as they floated through the woods along the trail, oblivious to my presence.
“And Yvette! Poor thing. She’s a mess over it all. You know she and Jacques were close.”
“Too close, if you ask me.”
The first Madame turned to her friend, tilting her head while daintily waving her fingers.
“And what in the Elledellien realms is that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t be daft, Minali. She’s too fond of him. I never liked it. Jacques is young, but still old enough to be Yvette’s Papi. He took enjoyment in her presence too much, especially for a brother. I can’t believe Inayah never put her foot down.”
Minali blinked at her friend. Her face wrinkled at the thought.
“You’re looking too deep into their closeness, Esthèl.
Jacques is simply protective.” Another wave of the hand.
“And why would Inayah interfere? Should a Manmi worry about such nefarious activities among her younglings? A Manmi can only wish for her younglings to be so close. To carry that bond of friendship into their maturity.”
“Jacques was always a greedy, pompous fool.” Esthèl kissed her teeth so long the woods hissed back. “He tried to take Yvette as his wingmate, and I bet he wanted everything Marcèllian was going to give to Richard.”
“Esthèl! You don’t know that to be true.”
“I know patterns, and that’s enough.”
I trailed the two gossips until they reached the Beauradèl garden.
On this side of the manor, the garden had an open courtyard with a fountain at the center.
All around the courtyard were cloudchairs.
The billows of single-seater clouds hovered above the stony ground.
Twilight above cascaded below from the three large moons.
Almost every cloudchair had an angel sitting on it.
They were all Mortents. Every one of them once served in Papi and Manmi’s Ministeri.
I pressed my lips into a thin line.
These angels used to frequent Everthorn Manor.
Some visited alone, but the majority would come with their younglings.
Younglings who would become Tovares, Vitani, and I’s friends.
They had been loyal to Manmi and Papi since the Fifth Age.
Would come with gifts. They would bring their younglings, who could play with us.
Some even traveled with us on family vacations.
Until the Beauradèls betrayed us.
When I returned home after escaping Zemshaza, the sight of my disfigurement was all it took for the angels to forsake us. To forsake me. I found the bastardizing culprit and chuckled with glee. I would ruin him for what he had done to us.
Marcèllian Beauradèl floated by the back doors of his manor, his face worn down by grief.
By anxiety. His hazel eyes were wide. Wild.
Stress was eating him alive. I leaned back on the branch I sat on, watching the tribunal proceedings unfold.
It seemed I got here right on time. How Obsidian discovered this was going to take place, I would never know.
But the Gargorètti would forever have my thanks.
“Please,” Marcèllian was begging the present audience. The Madames I had trailed found two empty cloudchairs and joined the proceedings. “Jacques would never do such a thing. I need you all to listen to me. This verdict of death is outrageous!”
“He murdered your last born. Yet here you stand defending the ogre. That’s what I find outrageous!”
I found the source of the outburst. A stout female who flapped her ivory wings and shook her coily mane of matching pearl that tumbled down her spine in glorious vines.
She donned a pretty sky-blue dress that showed just how round she was.
She was so short, her feet hovered above the ground like stubs while she shifted around in her seat, the cloudchair moving with her. I knew who she was immediately.
Madame Karoline.
“Honestly, Marcèllian. It was you who tried convincing us any display of monstrosity should be dealt with severely.” Karoline pointed a stubby, ringed finger at Marcèllian. “We’re supposed to change what we believe now because this brute is your son? You are the dim-witted fool of this Age.”
I smiled. Manmi and Papi would have been proud. One thing about Madame Karoline: she never cared. It didn’t matter who you were, she would tell it like it is. She held everyone accountable and never backed down from her beliefs.
“Karoline is right, Marcèllian.”
A distinguished male spoke out. His finely pressed slacks of dark blue and bright red caught the glimmers of the twinight as he nodded in agreement with Madame Karoline.
“Tassarion Celèstian Everthorn, firstborn of Tazzias and Clarèssa, returned to us from the bowels of the Six Hèls. He was the heir apparent, back to reclaim his throne, yet you had us convinced the monstrosity he’d become was enough to strip him of his crown and his life.
That he was irredeemable and unfit to rule.
” The male elegantly folded his hands, sitting straight.
“If we hadn’t banded together to simply have him exiled to Everthorn Manor beyond the Alabaster Wood, your ruthlessness would have gotten the boy, and only rightful heir to the throne, killed. ”
The voice of the male finally registered.
If I wasn’t mistaken, it belonged to Sir Tyrique.
Tyrique nodded toward where Jacques floated at the front of the crowd, his hands, bare feet, and wings chained.
Tyrique didn’t spare Jacques a pitying glance.
He sat straight, ever the dignified noble, not moving a muscle, keeping his arms and legs crossed.
He spoke evenly, calmly, but the weight in his tone was enough for me to know he still held influence over these angels.
The twitch in Marcèllian’s jaw let me know the swine knew that, too.
So. They hadn’t wanted to get rid of me.
Marcèllian forced their hand.
Hatred for the Beauradèl lord grew.
“We had to rid ourselves of a brilliant jewel, all because of his deformity and disposition. You told us Tassarion was cruel. A traitor. He’d colluded with the Fallen.
Became a heinous monstrosity. You told us to judge without mercy.
” Tyrique paused, letting his words take up space.
The longer he talked, the more I itched to dismember Marcèllian’s head from his shoulders.
“Your son has proven his monstrosity. We weren’t allowed to spare the heir of our Roi, so why must we spare yours? ”
“The greedy hèlsborn must pay for what he did to sweet little Richard,” another female jumped in.
Marcèllian looked helpless. Pathetic.
“Please, I ask you to extend mercy. You all know Jacques and?—”
“We knew Tassarion, too.”
The voice that spoke was female. I couldn’t place it, but there was a hint of rage there. Of vengeance. Who had just spoken?
“And none of us knew him better than you, Marcèllian. He called you Unka, did he not?”
Marcèllian pressed his lips together, falling quiet.
I did call him uncle. The thought was enough to jab me in the chest with fresh pain.
“You’re right, Marcèllian. We know, Jacques,” Esthèl burst out. Minali whipped her head toward her friend, trying to get her to hush. “Greedy. Arrogant. Bourgeois.”
“That’s not true!”
Jacques Beauradèl finally cried out, taking the chance to defend himself against his accusers. There were bags beneath his hazel eyes, and in the light of night I could see his shoulders bent with the weight of judgment. Of despair. I almost cared.
Almost.
“Silence, boy! We do not listen to murderers,” Madame Karoline snapped. “How dare you speak when you haven’t been spoken to?”
“Enough!”
Every head snapped to the side, turning to the female who’d cried out.
The same voice that spoke earlier.
My jaw dropped.
Could it be?
I blinked in shock as I looked at the female from my hidden perch. The Madame was beauty personified, even in her old age. I knew who she was at once, though I’d only seen her twice as a youngling.
Madame Mireline.
She was alive when the Sorellien Islands changed from the Fourth Age to the Fifth Age.
She was alive when the Ouanaviel Empyrean was first established.
Alive and counseled Papi to never bow to the terror that was Empràr Zadkias Claudevin.
To never bow knee or wing to the greed of the Farasee Order.
She was a literal, living legend. And one of Papi’s greatest supporters.
Obsidian was the one who informed me of her steadfast loyalty. She’d been asked numerous times to become Mortevain Island’s Elderèss. But she always refused. She often asked why she should be chief when the island already had a king.
Each time I thought of her, my respect deepened.
I watched her now with reverent awe. Madame Mireline glided forward with authority, power, and grace.
Her brushed-out ivory hair flowed prettily to her ankles, tumbling around her golden sandals.
The pearlescent kaftan she donned swished as she floated through the garden courtyard.
Her wings flapped gently on the breeze, glowing beneath the moonlight.
She floated until she came to a hover before Jacques. She glared at him for a long time.
“Mireline, please see reason and stop this?—”
Madame Mireline turned an icy gaze towards Marcèllian.
He instantly fell silent. Without a word to him, she turned back to Jacques.
Then she lifted her hand, holding something before him.
I laughed darkly in the night. There wasn’t a chance in the Six Hèls Jacques was getting out of this. My grin stretched from ear to ear.
“Is this not your signet?”
“Awoui, Madame Mireline. But?—”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“Madame, please. I would never?—”
“But you already did.”
Madame Mireline turned away from Jacques, ignoring his protests. She disrespectfully flung the signet ring at Marcèllian's feet, glowering at him with such disgust even I shuddered. She looked out at the onlookers who waited for her judgment with bated breath.
“Jacques Beauradèl is guilty of murder!”
Jacques and Marcèllian screamed out at the same time.
“NO.”
“Mireline, please!” Marcèllian cried. “Have mercy! We need to investigate more.”
Madame Mireline ignored him.
Her eyes blazed as she looked at the Mortents of Mortevain Island.
“I declare blood for blood!” Mireline cried.
“Blood for blood!” responded the angels. “Blood for blood!”