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“I’m betting they are,” Ashworth said. “Monty will no doubt have made several very loud comments along the lines of, ‘Well, you wanted her gone, and this is the result’ by now.”
“Oh, he definitely has.” Amusement danced through Belle’s expression. “We all know he’s never backward when it comes to protecting those he loves.”
It was one of the many things she loved about him. She didn’t come out and say that, of course, but it hovered in her thoughts nonetheless.
I broke open the chocolate, snapped off two rows, and slid the rest across to her. “I take it he’ll keep us updated via one of his many calls?”
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, and he only rings twice a day. That’s hardly many.”
I grinned, and the conversation moved on to other nonsense stuff. I enjoyed the banter and drew in the richness and comradery of it while I could. I had no doubt it would all wash away once I hit that goddamn courtroom.
The court was smaller than I’d expected and, like this morning’s mediation room, lined with dark wood paneling. It gave the place a somewhat old-fashioned and forbidding air, which was no doubt the whole point. The ceiling was ornately plastered, which leaned into that “older” vibe, and the large windows to my left would have allowed in plenty of much-needed light if not for the heavy damask curtains that covered them.
The council of seven sat at a long wooden bench on the dais that dominated the far end of the room. There were five men and two women, and the woman in the middle wasn’t only the youngest—maybe late thirties compared to the rest who had to be fifty or more—but also the adjudicator.
There was no jury box. In its place was the witness stand, which sat to the right of the dais, while the in-court clerk sat to the left. One table for the plaintiff and one for the accused filled the remaining space. There was no seating for members of the public or other interested parties, but this room had been designed as a closed court and probably never had them.
The entire room had a string of magical and psychic protections around it, but if anyone hoped that would stop Belle, they were sorely mistaken.
And I’ll be more than happy to inform them all of that fact should this go ass up.
I somehow managed to hide my smile. You need to hush up because I need to concentrate.
It is my duty to provide snarky comments to ease your tension. Don’t want you snapping at the wrong moment and either revealing too much or attacking your good-for-nothing father.
Which we both knew was totally possible. Just sitting in the same room as him was making my fingers twitch. Physical violence wasn’t normally my thing, but punching my father’s face in the café not so long ago had eased all sorts of anger, even if only briefly, and I had no doubt it would do so again.
My feelings toward my mother were more complicated. There was anger, sure, but it was mostly a deep sense of betrayal and disappointment. She hadn’t supported me when I’d needed it most, and that had hurt.
Still hurt.
At least she wasn’t here in the courtroom, supporting him, nor was she outside with other witnesses waiting to be called for the day’s proceedings. I wasn’t entirely sure how’d I’d react when I finally saw her. She was my mom, and I still loved her, despite the fact she’d never really been there for me.
Though I guess, in her own weird and distant way, she had at least tried. She’d never been outwardly hostile to Belle, after all, and that was something that could never be said about my father.
I dragged my attention back to the room as the recordings taken by the Black Lantern Society’s truth seeker and auditor ended and the adjudicator said, “Please call your first witness to the stand, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
He immediately called in Belle, who basically confirmed everything that had been said in the recordings about the events leading up to my marriage and the wedding night itself. She kept her gaze on my father the whole time, and if looks could have killed, he would have been coffin meat right now.
I rather suspected he found it amusing. That was the vibe I was getting, anyway.
“Mr. Moderno,” the adjudicator said, once Anthony had finished, “do you wish to cross-examine the witness?”
“Yes.” My father’s attorney—a snappily dressed man in his mid-forties with a well-coiffed wave of silver hair and fierce blue eyes—moved around their table and stopped several meters away from the witness stand. “Tell me, Ms. Sarr, what magical rating were you given during your evaluation?”
Annoyance briefly flickered through her expression, and her thoughts said it was more at the use of her birth surname rather than the bored tone of his voice. “Two point nine.”
Which was actually a pretty high result for someone in the Sarr line, who very rarely registered any higher than two. Moderno nodded. “You also underwent a psi evaluation, did you not?”
“Yes.”
“And that result?”
“I’m considered borderline gifted when it comes to spirit talking and telepathy.”
I was betting she’d not only blow that result apart these days, but also her initial magical rating. My father hadn’t insisted on her being retested however, and that was a definite mistake on his part. One that was no doubt due to the fact that he—and everyone else up here—wasn’t used to dealing with a human familiar. The fact was, any power ramp-up in me was always going to be reflected through her, thanks to how closely witches and familiars were linked.
“Then it would be fair to say that while your magical range would be considered only slightly above average for a Sarr witch,” Moderno said, “you are considered an extremely strong telepath.”
