Tristan’s hand brushed the small of Austin’s back. Eli recoiled with a flinch, hands shooting behind his back.
“We’ll watch from the spectator box. He won’t be long. Trials convene once the sun sets,” Tristan said.
Betrayal.
Eli stood tense, seemingly awaiting another judgement to be passed.
Austin looked at Eli. “You don’t need to come in.”
His attempt at mercy failed. Eli’s expression fell.
“See if you can find me some better clothes. You know what I actually like. Bring Reba along. He can carry things.”
Eli hesitantly raised his head, eyes meeting Austin’s. His skin was still grey and his body a tense line, but the fear in his eyes thawed. “Yes, sir—Austin,” he corrected himself quickly. He flashed a smile and darted out of the hall.
Tristan’s hand at Austin’s back spread out, fingertips gliding across smooth silk. “You don’t like the clothes I got for you?”
“Not half as much as the attendant that snuck in with them,” Austin replied.
???
Tristan led Austin up a well-guarded stairway and into a raised spectator room.
Austin stepped up to the banister, casting a quick glance across the brightly lit room. Courtrooms apparently looked similar across worlds. There were spectator seats on either side of a wide walkway, leading first to a podium, then to a raised platform with an imposing desk. Everything seemed to be made of polished marble, and the wood here was stained dark and gleamed, catching every glimmer of reflected jewels, of which there were many.
The market had been filled with those dressed in linen and leather, plain cottons, patched-together garments, wholly utilitarian. The spectators here were polished and pretty, the men no less decorated than the women. Their clothes draped off them in excess. Sleeves and folds shimmered whenever theymoved, gems inlaid in plaited hair caught the light, and the amount of sheer clothes hinting at jewelled bodies was racy even for Austin.
The most splendid—and the most at ease, Austin thought—was the man standing at the lower podium. He was in his twenties, or a young-looking thirty, and had a toned body draped in sheer, golden fabric with gems of emerald green decorating everything beneath. Healthy dark-chestnut hair curled to his shoulders, plaits similar to Austin’s pinned in place with golden clasps. He was good-looking and, from his expression, knew it.
His dark doe eyes were fixed on the man behind the upper stand in a look of beautiful innocence that Austin had never been able to master. Austin was at once certain that the beauty was both the accused, and guilty.
The door shut quietly, and Tristan joined him at the rail.
Austin focused his attention on the high podium. The man there was long and lean, stretched sideways in a wooden chair, elbow propped up to rest his chin against his knuckles. A garland of tiny white blossoms rested upon his dark hair, a flash of golden band peeking out from the flowers.
Austin stared at the dainty flower crown in surprise, unsure what to make of it.
Tristan must have read his uncertainty because he leaned in, speaking softly against his ear. “It was a gift from the gardener’s daughter. A very pretty girl.”
The rest of the man’s attire was stately. Tristan’s clothes were excellent quality but casual, but Hal looked every part the prince. Gold cuffs peeked out from beneath a jacket so embroidered it had lost the ability to bend.
Hal’s face was that of a man in love. His features were similar to Tristan’s, though less broad and more hawkish, andeyes as blue as Tristan’s gazed upon the accused with naked admiration. He didn’t seem to be listening to a single word.
“You see,” the beautiful accused said, “I wasn’tawarethat one hundred and twenty silvers were to be given to the bookkeeper. My mother didn’t keep great records, and the only evidence was a note thebookkeeperhad written. I thought she was trying to defraud me.”
Tristan pulled up a seat for Austin, and Austin sank into it, accepting the glass Tristan offered without thinking. He took one sip, then went still.
“Sparkling juice,” Tristan murmured. “There’s no alcohol in it. Would you prefer wine?”
Austin relaxed, shook his head, and set the glass on the small round table between their seats.
“I see,” Hal said, a dreamy quality to his voice. “Do you have anything else to add?”
“Only that I am more than happy to reimburse the bookkeeper, and I’m sorry for all this bother, Prince Hal.” The beautiful accused offered another beseeching look that had Hal watching him as he stepped down from the podium and a middle-aged woman took his place. She was dressed in plain linen, her hair plaited but unadorned. Austin would have guessed her to be in her forties, but stress might have deepened the signs of age in her face.
“I’m Caeda, Prince Hal.” Her voice trembled as she bowed her head. Fortunately or unfortunately, Hal didn’t see it, his attention fixed on the beauty where he now sat to the side, listening. “I worked for Mrs Seare for twenty years. Two weeks ago, when she was certain she was to pass, she summoned me to her bedside. Her son”—Caeda glanced briefly at the beauty—“Kas, was also there. She informed me that I would receive a severance of one hundred and twenty silvers—six months pay—when she passed. I noted this down.” Caeda began to wring her hands. “I only wish to have what was promised.”
Without looking away from the beauty, Hal said, “In your complaint, you mentioned that the silvers were in factgiven,and then immediately seized?”
