Chapter Twenty-Nine - The Lion’s Mouth
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The Lion's Mouth
THE DAY OF the trial, she was awoken in her usual fashion.
“Lady up!” Gnash shouted cheerily in her face before dragging the bed sheets off her.
Mrs Hawthorn had brought a tray laden with tea and pastries, but her stomach turned to look at them.
Not long after, Elira and Fabricio came bustling into the room to squeeze her into the dress cut from heavy velvet, Fabricio pulling the laces tighter when he thought Elira had been too gentle.
As with her dress to Aurelian’s ball, she allowed for one small homage to her own family in the lining of the sleeves.
They fitted closely to her shoulder before widening into long bell sleeves that brushed along the floor.
From the outside they were the same sombre emerald velvet as the gown itself, but every movement revealed the colours within.
Rich crimson in one sleeve and deep cerulean in the other.
Embroidered into each cuff in silver thread was a stag stood beneath a crescent moon, its antlers entwined with a rose.
Elira swept her hair into a braided knot at the back of her head, soft curls escaping around her temples to soften the severity of the gown.
“Y-you look like a Queen,” said Elira as she fixed the silver clasp into place.
Rosamund smiled gratefully, feeling a surge of confidence at the young woman’s words.
She even managed a small bite of one of the pastries, though regretted it later when she was in the swaying carriage with Corvin and Wulf.
She imagined the latter would have made a joke if the bearded knights was not so nervous himself.
They were all risking a lot. Once again, she felt the guilt of her decision to involve them.
Whenever she had attempted to broach the subject with Wulf, Corvin or any of them they had shut her down.
“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for that man,” Wulf had bristled at her when she had told him for the hundredth time that he did not need to do this, “or you. I failed to act before, I won’t again. So stop asking. We’re doing this.”
Now that the day was here, she had wondered if he would feel the same way.
Despite his obvious nerves, he had been her rock.
His hand was firm and steady as he helped her down from the carriage and escorted her towards the Celestine Palace.
Most mundane trials, even of the nobility, would be held in the Moonquarter, Luceran’s district.
Crimes of Heresy would be tried in the Temples of Gawain’s district of Sunspire.
However all trials of treason, or those involving the Royal Family, were held at the Halls of Judgement within the Celestine Palace.
The carriage stopped sooner than excepted as it wound up the mountain towards the palace.
Whilst others looking to attend traipsed on, they were brought through a separate entrance to the Halls.
She had hoped that they may have been allowed to travel with Dorian from the Ironkeep, to giver her time to explain her plan to him.
She had heard nothing since sending her letter with Gnash, and Corvin had been refused all access to him.
Corvin had regretfully informed her that Dorian would be brought along the canals, through The Lion’s Mouth; the golden gate that all traitor’s passed through.
After which he would be forced to ascend the Penitent Staircase into the Halls of Judgement.
Many a prisoner had died on those stairs before ever reaching their trial.
Her brother had climbed them.
Her father.
Wulf held her hand tightly as they made their way towards the doors of the Hall of Judgement.
They were guarded on either side by the golden armoured Templars of Liathern.
Assurance should Dorian, or any of the Prince’s, attempt to use his power.
The blessings of Liathern were not permitted in the Halls of Judgement, not since one of the prince’s ancestor had abused their blessing to cheat his brother of the throne.
She had expected the Templars to be there, dampening the blessings, the power.
Should it come to the worst, she would not even be able to call upon her own magic with the Templars present. They would recognise it immediately.
Wulf squeezed her arm, pulling her back from her spiral. He nodded reassuringly and they stepped through the doors.
The Halls were austere, devoid of the flourish and extravagance of the rest of Aurelmere.
Even Dorian, whose home favoured monochrome had an elegance to it that was lacking in this stark, cold hall.
The white stone was plain, the windows tall and lacking in the usual stained glass that was found in the many palaces and official buildings of Aurelmere.
The high ceiling had no engravings, no sculptures, balustrades or paintings.
White granite stepped galleries rose up around the central circular floor.
These were already packed with the chattering nobles, craning their necks and bickering over the best view.
Vultures.
The only part of the room that had any colour was the mosaic floor in the centre. A golden sun with a bolt of lightning striking through the centre, the symbol of the Royal Family of Valdyr. More of the Templars surrounded the centre, as well as the exits and entrances to the room.
Around the central floor were benches for the clerks of the court, the High Luminary of the Temple of Liathern and the Grand Seer of the House of the Silver Eye.
Her eyes had been about to pass over them when the Grand Seer caught her attention.
She had seen the Sisters of the Eye before in their grey robes, white veils held in place with a silver circlet that held a moonstone eye.
However, she had never seen anything like this.
The woman was dressed entirely in white, her long veil covering her entirely.
Moonstones were delicately sewn throughout the veil giving the appearance that she was covered in many eyes.
The woman’s head turned to them as Wulf led Rosamund to the Royal Box.
A creeping sensation washed over her. Rosamund wanted to run, wanted to hide behind the knight, be anywhere except where those eyes could see her.
“The conscience of the court,” Corvin whispered to her when he saw where she was looking, “the High Luminary has leave to speak should he wish too. The Grand Seer is an observer for the King and the Goddess. She is only here to witness.”
Rosamund gave him a nod but did not believe him.
Even as she stepped into the box, she could feel the woman’s eyes on her.
She tried to block her out and focus her attention on the other women in the royal box.
With a sinking sensation in her chest she noticed that Elswyth had not come.
The others barely glanced round at her, Celeste and Seraphine deep in conversation whilst Lavinia hung out of the box to chatter with the nobles below her.
Only Isolde and Marianne smiled at her, the latter reaching out to take her hands in her own.
“No Elswyth?” asked Rosamund, gesturing to the empty stone bench next to Seraphine.
Marianne bit her lip and shook her head, “nothing.”
Deep down Rosamund understood. It was too much to ask.
“I will take my leave now lady,” said Wulf before she moved to take her seat.
He looked reluctant to go, to leave her alone, but Rosamund smiled at him and said, “Thank you Sir Wulf, I will let you know as soon as we hear anything.”
The sandy haired knight grinned at her, one hand clutching his chest where one of Dorian’s gemstones was secretly hidden behind his armour.
The other had been sewn into her sleeve.
He would hear everything. He would need too to know how much time he and Anders had.
Part of her did not want him to go, without his arm to hold her up she had been certain she would have collapsed on the way in.
But somehow, they had both managed to keep it together.
Corvin gave her one last bow and in his rasping voice said, “I must join the other clerks. All will be well Lady Rosamund.”
She wanted to thank him, wanted to beg him to do everything he could, but she did not trust herself to speak. The Templars, the Grand Seer, there was so much that she had not properly considered.
What if it doesn’t work? What if they get caught? What it’s not enough?
Why will she not stop looking at me…
Before she could ask Marianne what she knew of the Grand Seer the doors on either side opened and a hush filled the room.
The Prince’s entered from either side and took their place on six of the eight thrones that surrounded the central floor.
They were raised on stone podiums, each seat bearing the crest of the Prince that sat there.
Dorian’s remained empty. As did the Royal throne.
Osric looked nervous, constantly shifting in his chair and biting his nails.
Aurelian kept glancing at both Isolde and where Emrys sat beside Corvin, a small frown on his face.
Gawain and Luceran looked intimidating and unreadable as they sat comfortably in their thrones.
Cedric looked irritated that he had been pulled away from his forge, as if this was just a common trial and not one for his brother.
As her eyes found Bastian he looked directly at her, a wide grin on his face.
He looked to Dorian’s empty throne and then back to her.
The madness she had seen in those eyes at Tidehall had not receded, but it was clear he was willing to ride that storm to its conclusion.
Whatever happened, he would not stop. He would never stop.
There was a clicking sound, and the small stones of the mosaic began to peel back of their own accord. A pit appeared in the centre of the room. Slowly, Dorian rose up from it, and Rosamund took in sharp hiss of breath as those around her began to shout and scream.
“TRAITOR!”
“LIAR!”
“HERETIC!”