‘He’s not here. I sent him back to Merl to fetch something.’
My cousin seems amused. ‘Lucien the errand boy. I’m sure he was thrilled.’
I can’t resist asking. ‘What happened between you two? What did Lucien do to make you hate him?’
‘What did Lucien do …?’ He sighs. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. It’s a sad tale of young love, misdirected. Some of us, as you’ll know, love only the opposite sex. Some love only the same sex. And some, myself included, are more generous with our affection. You understand, I think.’
I nod.
‘All honourable forms of love, all sanctioned by Litany and Decree. But, unfortunately for me, the first person I fell in love with was Lucien Rookwood.’
‘You were in love with Lucien?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why was it unfortunate?’
‘Because, my dear cousin, when I confessed my love, he rejected me. Oh, he was kind enough. Told me that he was flattered, that if it was at all possible for him to return my affection, he would. That he hoped we could still be friends. But it was still a rejection. And, as perhaps is the way when it comes to first loves, I took it very personally. Perhaps, in retrospect, too personally.’
‘I’m sorry, Aron.’
He shrugs. ‘It wasn’t exactly his fault. And I find now that Lucien’s company is … perfectly tolerable. I hadn’t seen him for a couple of years before he returned to court with you.’
We both fall silent. I think about Aron and Lucien, and Odette and Siegfried, and the happiness that my parents knew with each other. The breeze catches my skirts, scattering gold leaves across the grass; summer is fading. Next to me, Aron is studying his knife, twisting the pattern-welded blade back and forth so it catches the light.
‘What are you thinking about?’
He glances up at me. ‘You really want to know?’ I nod, and he continues. ‘I’m thinking about whether I should stick this knife into Siegfried’s back at the next banquet.’
I wait for a moment, thinking that he’ll laugh, somehow turn the statement into a joke. But he doesn’t. ‘You’d be executed.’
‘So? I don’t trust him. I don’t want him marrying my sister. Odette is the only person who loves me for who I am. She’s the only person at court who hasn’t treated me like an outcast since I lost the power of flight, and I’d do anything to protect her. Including dying for her.’ He shrugs. ‘I’d kill him as he sits down to his meat, because I doubt I can get close enough to him at any other time.’
I put my hand over his, stilling the movement of the knife. ‘Have you talked to Odette? Have you tried to explain why you don’t trust him? Given your father’s illness, perhaps together we can persuade her to at least delay the wedding …’
His eyes widen slightly. ‘We persuade?’
‘Yes; you’re the only family I have left. And I’ve grown fond of you over the past few weeks. Of both of you. Have you spoken to her?’
‘I have. But as she pointed out, she has to marry someone. Besides, she’s convinced herself that she loves Siegfried. And she still holds our father in enough affection to talk of duty, of retaining the crown in our direct line. Ridiculous, since she has no interest in ruling.’ He thrusts the knife back into its scabbard. ‘But do you, cousin?’
‘No. Of course not.’ I glance around to make sure we are still alone and lean closer to him. ‘I think things need to change though. I’ve seen little enough of the kingdom, but what I witnessed in Brithys, and Olorys … it’s not right, Aron. People’s lives shouldn’t depend on laws they can’t change and the whim of whoever owns the bit of land they happen to live in. My parents made a difference in Atratys, but that’s just one dominion. You and Odette could change everything across the whole of Solanum.’
‘Me?’ He raises an eyebrow and gestures to his missing arm.
‘Odette then. But with your guidance, if she’s unsure how to begin.’
‘Easy enough to tell people to change things …’
‘Odette is going to be the next queen. I’m not.’ My cousin doesn’t reply. ‘Honestly, Aron, I only want to protect Atratys. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’ I hesitate, debating telling him everything. But I have finally – too late, perhaps – learned to be cautious. ‘Try talking to Odette again. But don’t risk yourself yet.’
Aron narrows his eyes. ‘Why exactly are you giving me this advice, cousin?’
‘Because, cousin, I do not trust Lord Siegfried either.’
The trial is held in the throne room. When I arrive, the queen is already perched on the edge of the carved and gilded throne, shoulders hunched, hands clutched in the lap of her slate-grey gown. Six seats are set out for the judges. Two are reserved for Arden of Dacia and me. We are the only two Protectors currently at court; like Nyssa Swifting and Grayling Wren, Siegfried is still only an heir, at least in name. The four other judges are members of Convocation, chosen by lot. The queen will have the casting vote. I sit next to Arden; he is watching the queen, tapping the fingers of one hand against his thigh over and over. Tall candles on even taller silver candlesticks – taller than a man – have been set around the throne and the judges’ chairs – three on either side of the throne – encircling us in light. According to Aron, the candles are supposed to represent a ring of truth and justice. The rest of the room is in darkness. But I can just make out the courtiers, crowded into the gallery that runs around the top of the room. The candlelight glints on jewels and sword hilts, and on the armour of the Dark Guards stationed around the outer perimeter of our circle of light. Siegfried and my cousins may be in the gallery, but it is impossible for me to tell.
More guards accompany the three accused nobles – two men and a woman – into the throne room. Their hands are bound in front of them. They look dishevelled and bewildered, and one of them stumbles as if exhausted, but I can’t see any obvious signs of mistreatment. They are brought to stand before the judges, facing the throne.
The queen clears her throat. ‘Let the prosecutor approach.’
The master secretary enters the candlelit ring, accompanied by a flightless assistant carrying a folder of papers. ‘Your Majesty, honourable judges, I have here evidence collected of the treasonable intentions of the accused. Letters between the accused in which the approaching marriage of the Princess Odette is debated and questioned. Letters in which the enduring nature of the Decrees is debated and questioned. Letters in which the very fitness of His Majesty to rule –’ the secretary pauses, and looks up at the gallery as the courtiers murmur and exclaim – ‘is debated and questioned. In all of these letters there are hints of an even deeper treason. Suggestions of a plot, as yet uncovered, to remove Your Majesties from the throne.’ More horrified exclamations from the onlookers. ‘Furthermore, the accused have confessed to having written the letters. Guilt is admitted. Punishment must follow.’
Aron was right. This trial is a sham. The six of us are not judges: we are mute witness, gathered merely so that people can point to us and say that justice was done. I risk a glance at Arden; his face is sallow in the candlelight, and he is gripping the arms of his chair tightly.