“Since I reject your authority, I do not require your permission. As I said, there is no evidence that can be proven to be authentic.”
“If I may, Your Holiness,” says Maraya to the High Priest, and he nods with relief at seeing she has returned to take over the prosecution. She beckons to a group of men waiting off to one side. “We also bring witnesses. I will start with seventeen servants of Clan Tonor who worked as stevedores and clerks in the Tonor warehouses in the Grain Market.”
“These men are criminals!” cries Gargaron the moment Selukon steps forward, a criminal’s brand cut starkly onto his face. “Their testimony is thereby tainted, as it is recorded in the twelfth Precept of—”
“Silence!” Mother breaks in. Her body is rigid, her jaw clenched. “Let the testimony of these witnesses continue without interruption.”
“According to the law,” Gargaron continues as if she hasn’t spoken, “the testimony of a criminal is worth only half that of an unblemished man.”
Maraya has an answer to everything. “Unless the criminal in question brings to the court a case that he has been unjustly accused of a crime by a person who intends to profit from the accusation. Garon Palace profited from the death and disgrace of Lord Ottonor and Clan Tonor. Please, Domon Selukon, tell us the story of how you and these other men were illegally arrested and forced into slavery in the mines.”
“This is outrageous! For a woman who is also a mule to pretend to conduct herself in the place of an honorable priest—”
“Enough!” Mother braces herself to rise. But I tighten my grip on her and whisper, “Let Maraya handle it.”
No spear can pierce Maraya’s calm. She already knows she has him. If it were me up there, I would flash him the kiss-off gesture, but that’s not Maraya’s style.
“Lord Gargaron’s protests are his last desperate attempts to obstruct justice, Your Holiness. If we may proceed with the testimony—”
“I protest!” cries Gargaron. “As the head of Garon Palace, my voice must be heard—”
“Cut out his tongue, for he is an ill-wisher in truth,” says Mother.
Her words fall like naphtha, seemingly innocent as they first splash over us. Even Gargaron falters and blinks in surprise at the cold ferocity of her tone.
This time when she rises, I sit back. Days ago I chose not to kill him because I knew vengeance was not mine to dole out. I will not get in Mother’s way.
“Since he refuses to respect the sanctity of his own laws, cut out his tongue. Then he cannot interrupt but can still communicate if you have questions for him, Your Holiness, because he can write.”
Inarsis signals, and six Efean soldiers swarm forward and throw Gargaron down. Kal doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak, although many of the Garon Palace women shriek. The Saroese lords in attendance burst out in vociferously indignant cries although they dare not try to scuffle. Their voices die when a knife glints in the hand of Inarsis himself.
“Do you want to do it, Kiya?” he asks in Efean.
“My hand is not steady enough today,” she murmurs. Her fingers open and close convulsively, and I jump up to put an arm around her as Inarsis himself kneels by the lord pinned to the floor.
Gargaron spits. “This is—! You can’t—!”
Soldiers grab his lips and hold his mouth open, and for all he struggles he cannot escape them. Mother’s gaze on him does not waver but I have to look away. The agony of others gives me no satisfaction, not even his. Yet his helpless, gargled cries make me wonder if the women fated to become ill-wishers struggled as their tongues were cut out or if they had already accepted the inevitable. If they knew no one would save them. Does Taberta still live, and can we find her and bring her back to a peaceful home where she is respected? And where has Talon gone, for she does not bide among the nobles of Garon Palace? I pray she has escaped to a better life.
When Inarsis sits back with a bloody mass of flesh in his hand, Mother says, “Burn it.”
She walks over to stand above Gargaron as he whimpers in pain. I have never seen her expression so pitiless as this.
“So will your lies burn, Lord Gargaron. Had you left my family alone, none of this would have happened. I promise you will have the leisure to consider this irony for a long time.”
She steps back to allow the soldiers to haul him up.
“Let the trial proceed.”
The Clan Tonor laborers testify, speaking of how they were kidnapped and abused. Gargaron slumps on his knees against the railing, blood dribbling out of his mouth. The highborn stand in terrified silence, even the slightest fearful sob stifled at once by the whispers and nudges of others. They fear us now, as they never did before.
Finally it is time for the testimony of Lord Ottonor himself, a record of how his prosperous clan was cheated and disgraced so Garon Palace could take their holdings for itself. A few nervous giggles erupt as Polodos carries Wenru forward, but every whisper of puzzled amusement vanishes when the baby starts to talk. As a stream of comprehensive knowledge pours from an infant’s lips, even the disgraced priests and the heads of noble clans look chastened. The dishonest theft of another clan’s wealth is bad enough, but it pales compared to the fact that the former High Priest allowed a pregnant Efean woman to be blasphemously entombed with an oracle. I am not sure whether the Saroese listening are more appalled that Mother was pregnant or that a Commoner was allowed to defile that most holy of Patron sanctuaries, its tombs.
Their consternation makes no difference to me. We have walked Lord Gargaron into the Temple of Justice and implicated him under his own laws. No matter what else happens, he is condemned as a criminal in the court of Seon, the Sun of Justice, and his crimes written into the official record.
When Wenru finishes, the young High Priest rises.
“The punishment for Gargaron’s crimes is death, exile, or the mines. So also must the heads of households be judged and sentenced. According to our agreement and in respect of custom, the choice of penalty will be left to the palace.”
He looks at Inarsis, thinking this is men’s business, but it is Mother who speaks, because that is the Efean way.
“Gargaron will be given the punishment he has earned. As for the others, this is my judgment. For the highborn clans, exile. From each highborn clan the head of household will be given to the Shipwrights. If your clans wish to ransom you, they may apply to the Shipwrights. Additionally from each highborn clan one child of the house will be held as hostage in Efea and raised among our people.”
She surveys the men who stand before her, all too cowed to speak.