The Demon World, page 19
“The petition is not for me or for the prince, but for Prince Thelonius’s son, Edyon Foss, who is a prisoner of the sheriff in Bollyn.”
“This son of the prince, Edyon Foss, is not a prince himself?”
“No.”
“So he’s the bastard of a prince.”
“He will be a prince when he’s legitimized.” And then I’ll come back and whip your sorry fat arse, March thought and forced a smile.
The man looked like he’d been offered a plate of dog shit. “And why is he a prisoner? Drinking, smoking, or women? It’s usually at least one of the three.”
“He’s been accused of killing a sheriff’s man in Dornan.”
The old man managed to frown and yet look satisfied at the same time. “I’ve heard of this crime. So this is the bastard who did it.”
“No, the point is that Edyon didn’t do it.”
The old man smirked. “The point is that the court in Dornan will deal with it. You shouldn’t bother us with this.”
“If I want a petition, it’s your job to write it, not to judge it. All we need is a delay in proceedings.”
The young scribe sitting next to the old man spoke quietly to him. “You’ve not had a break, sir. Shall I deal with this?”
The old man got up. “Get rid of him and get the next one in. I’m going for a piss.” He walked off and the younger man put down his quill and looked at March. “If you’re serious, we can get your petition written before my master returns. As I see it, you’re right. Edyon’s only hope is to delay his trial and get Prince Thelonius to send a representative. That’s fine, and allowed under law. I’ll write the petition for a delay in the name of Prince Thelonius.”
At last March was making progress.
“The only problem is that getting your petition to Lord Farrow could take weeks or even months.”
“Months?”
The man shrugged. “We’re at war. Many people are petitioning him.”
“I haven’t got months. Edyon could be taken to trial in Dornan any day.”
“Of course we could try to speed things up.”
“How?”
The smile on the man’s face was almost embarrassed as he said, “Discreetly. My law studies aren’t complete . . . but they’re terribly expensive.”
March pulled out a piece of gold that he’d split off the chain and showed it to the man. “Would this speed things up?”
“We’d be down to weeks.”
March took out another gold link.
“Days.”
And another.
The man took the gold and picked up his quill. “This afternoon Lord Farrow is seeing five petitioners. You are number five. Go to his tent and present your petition.” The man scribbled away, poured on a blob of green wax, stamped it, and held it out. March snatched the parchment from him and left.
March waited outside Farrow’s huge tent until late afternoon when “a petition in the name of Prince Thelonius of Calidor” was finally called. He followed a green-haired man dressed in a beautifully embroidered green and gold tunic inside, where the green of Farrow was everywhere. The tent fabric was pale green but the rugs were dark green, as were the velvet, the silk, and even the leather of the seats. Not that March was invited to sit—he was directed to stand before the dais on which a large man with green hair was sitting next to an empty chair.
March said, “I have a petition for Lord Farrow.”
“Obviously,” said the man on the dais, “or you wouldn’t be here.”
Someone to the side leaned to March and muttered, “Lord Farrow will return soon and you can present your case then. Turturo is Farrow’s adviser.”
March was used to waiting for nobles and used to bad manners from their men. If Farrow was indeed a snob, he’d be unlikely to have sympathy for someone who was illegitimate. March would have to be careful how he portrayed Edyon.
At this point the flap at the back of the tent opened and a tall, slender man with graying hair entered. March could tell by the way he was dressed in green finery that this was Lord Farrow. The various courtiers bowed, as did March.
Farrow took his seat and asked Turturo something, and Turturo leaned over to Farrow and muttered a long reply in his ear. Then Turturo turned back to March and said, “Proceed.”
March began in the most official and clear voice he could muster. He’d never spoken publicly but he’d watched Prince Thelonius many times and seen others at court doing it both well and badly. “My name is March. I’m servant to Prince Thelonius of Calidor. I’m presenting this petition on behalf of the prince for his son, Edyon Foss. I was escorting Edyon to Calidor to meet his father when there was an altercation with a sheriff’s man at Dornan. The sheriff’s man was killed. Edyon did not kill the man, though he has been arrested for this crime and is in Bollyn jail awaiting transport to Dornan for trial.”
Turturo looked bored as he said, “Do you have any proof that he’s the son of a foreign king?”
March straightened his back. “I’m the proof. I’m servant to Prince Thelonius. I know Edyon is his son.”
Turturo raised his eyebrows. “You were there at the conception?”
“No, sir. But I have been with the prince for over ten years. I know him well. He plans to legitimize Edyon Foss. Edyon would then be next in line to rule Calidor.”
This seemed to impress Turturo more. “Really? He could rule Calidor in the future?”
March replied, “That is correct, sir. As Prince Thelonius recently lost his wife and young children to a terrible disease, Edyon will be his only heir. The prince will be extremely grateful to all those who help him.”
“The story sounds fanciful to me,” said Farrow.
Turturo volunteered, “I know Calidor a little, through some trade. I’d heard that Thelonius has an Abask servant. This boy is Abask.”
Farrow asked March, “So what’s your petition? Do you expect us to grant this man his freedom because of who his father is, or supposedly is? The crime is an exceptionally serious one.”
“We ask for a delay, sir. I will write to Prince Thelonius to request confirmation of Edyon’s identity.”
Farrow leaned back and had another muttered discussion with Turturo. Eventually Turturo declared, “We need to see this Edyon Foss for ourselves. Bring him here and we’ll discuss a way forward.”
March nodded. He suspected that the way forward would involve more links from the gold chain. It wasn’t a huge victory for justice but it wasn’t failure.
EDYON
BOLLYN, NORTHERN PITORIA
EDYON COULD see boots—black and brown leather, worn, dirty, and scuffed. He was standing at the narrow-barred cellar window that looked on to the prison compound. He could only see boots, but he could also hear the boot-wearers’ conversations—if one could call the way these men bullied and complained conversations. But now he heard the loud voice of Hed, the man who’d arrested him, above a pair of scuffed black boots that was striding across the courtyard. “No, he’s my prisoner. I have to take him to Dornan for trial. You can’t have him.”
A pair of fine, clean, polished brown-leather boots seemed to be disagreeing. “You want to tell Lord Farrow that?”
“I’m telling you.”
“Fine. I’ll relay your message when I deliver the prisoner to Farrow.”
“I know what’ll happen if you take him; Farrow will let him off.”
Edyon liked the sound of Lord Farrow.
The brown boots came almost toe to toe with Hed’s scuffed black ones. “Which bit of this don’t you understand? Lord Farrow wants to see him today and that’s what’s going to happen. I don’t give a shit about what Farrow does with him but you will give me access.”
And then Hed’s boots stumbled back as if brushed out of the way. He’d been pushed aside by Lord Farrow’s man!
Hooray for Lord Farrow! Hooray for justice!
More brown boots appeared and walked quickly past, leaving Hed and his boots behind. The sound of footsteps increased above Edyon and the door to the cellar opened.
“Edyon Foss?”
“Yes?” Edyon replied.
“Come with me. Now.”
“Wonderful. Yes, yes. However, there’s a slight problem—I’m chained to the wall.”
The man appeared, looked at Edyon and the chain, swore, and disappeared. Soon after, Hed arrived and unlocked Edyon’s wrists, doing his best to batter them in the process. “You may be friend to lords and princes but you’re still a murderer. You should still hang.” Hed’s stinking pig breath was in Edyon’s face. He shoved Edyon hard into the wall and stomped off up the steps past the other man, who Edyon now saw in the light had shiny green hair as well as shiny brown boots.
Edyon was taken outside and given a horse to ride. The guards didn’t seem to know anything about what was going on other than he was being taken to Lord Farrow. And soon they were in Farrow’s camp, where Edyon was escorted politely into a large green tent. And who should be inside there but March. Edyon ran to embrace him. “You’ve done an amazing job, getting me out of jail and away from Hed.”
“I’m not sure what I’ve done. I’ve asked for a delay. Farrow said he wanted to see you.”
But Edyon was feeling free already. He’d explain the situation to Lord Farrow, promise to make reparations to the sheriff’s family, to Dornan, et cetera, et cetera. Farrow might not even want a letter from Prince Thelonius before releasing Edyon. And, if he was to wait, Edyon certainly needed to be housed in a proper place, not a cell. A decent tent, with decent food. And water to wash. “I wish I had clean clothes,” he muttered. “I need to look like a prince.”
“Your face is very princely,” March said. “Though I admit there is a strange smell coming from your trousers and jacket, but I’m sure they won’t get so close to you as I am.”
“Well, my dear friend, I hope we get closer and cleaner very soon,” Edyon replied. “We will bathe together when this is over. In deep steaming water, perfumed with oil and rose petals. And be patted dry with soft warm towels.”
At that a guard entered and announced, “You’re to come to Lord Farrow.”
Edyon and March followed the guard, and Edyon was dismayed to see Hed and some other men standing in a group outside. Edyon kept close to the guard and March. Hed’s group followed them across the worn grass of the field between the tents, until they arrived at the biggest of them all, a marquee-sized affair made of beautiful materials.
The guard called, “Make way!” And the flap to the tent was opened.
Edyon followed the guard in, and he was relieved that March’s way wasn’t barred, but then was horrified to realize that Hed’s way wasn’t barred either.
“Why is he allowed in?” Edyon asked the guard, pointing at Hed.
“Petitions can be heard by the public. There should be no secrets. Don’t you know the law?”
“Well, yes. But . . .” Edyon sighed. It was true. The law said that petitions and trials should be public. He had always agreed that this should be so—but a public of nice reasonable people, not angry biased people.
Edyon stood alone in the center of the tent. March was to one side. One of Hed’s group had tried to go near him, but Edyon was pleased to see that March, who could give evil looks better than anyone, had stared at this man until he’d gone no closer.
There were two empty seats on a low carpeted dais. The tent was green and the whole effect was soothing and yet rather strange, as if Edyon was standing in pond water. Edyon swayed a little and realized that he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for a long time. He was feeling very light-headed.
Finally two men entered from a tent flap behind the dais. In the lead was a slim, handsome, graying man dressed in rich, beautiful green velvets and silks, and close behind him was a large man dressed in greens and golds—March had mentioned he was called Turturo.
Some of the group watching from the sides bowed and muttered, “Lord Farrow.” Edyon almost began to bow as well, but then remembered he was the son of a prince, so instead he composed his face into one of formal princeliness, pulled his shoulders back, and stood tall.
Farrow seemed to appraise Edyon with just a look, and he moved to sit on the larger of the seats. Turturo sat next to him. And it was Turturo who spoke first. “Edyon Foss, you have been brought here to present your petition to Lord Farrow. Identify yourself and proceed.”
Edyon stepped a little closer. “Gladly, sir. I am Edyon Foss. I’m the son of Prince Thelonius of Calidor, though I have lived all my life in Pitoria. My father sent his loyal servant, March, to find me and return with me to Calidor.” Edyon held his hand out to indicate March, who bowed his head to Lord Farrow. “March can corroborate my assertion that Prince Thelonius intends to confirm that I am his son and heir.”
“You’ll still be an illegitimate bastard,” someone muttered from behind him.
Edyon wanted to say that actually he’d then be a legitimate bastard, but he ignored the foul-mouthed interruption and proceeded. “I am here before you, Lord Farrow, because I have been arrested for the murder of a man called Ronsard. He was a sheriff’s man in Dornan. I did not commit the murder.”
“My mistake. You’re an illegitimate, murdering, lying bastard.” More shouting and jeering erupted from behind Edyon.
Turturo waved his hand and called out, “Silence! We need to hear the petition clearly.”
Edyon continued. “I did not commit the murder of Ronsard. And Prince Tzsayn signed and sealed a letter giving me immunity from prosecution for this crime so that I could travel swiftly and safely to Calidor to my father. I unfortunately lost this letter while crossing a river to reach Bollyn, but that doesn’t mean that the will of Prince Tzsayn should be ignored. I petition for a delay in my trial until I can get proof that I am the son of Prince Thelonius and can continue on my way to Calidor.”
There was muttering from Hed’s mob at this. They were clearly surprised by it. Edyon felt something prick his neck. He pulled a small rough piece of gravel out of his collar and turned round; a man behind him sneered and held up the straw he’d used to blow the stone through. Edyon wasn’t going to be stopped or put off by an oaf with a straw.
“This letter wasn’t mentioned before,” said Turturo. “You ask for a delay and yet you say Prince Tzsayn wanted you to hurry to Calidor. When did the prince give you such a letter?”
“We met in Rossarb a week ago. He introduced me to my cousin, Princess Catherine. They both treated me with respect and recognized my birthright.”
Farrow leaned forward now. “You met with both Princess Catherine and Tzsayn? And yet you escaped while our prince was captured?”
“There was a battle going on. It was dark; the castle was in flames. It was chaos—desperate chaos as we tried to find a way to safety.”
“You fled the fighting?”
“I’m no soldier. I’m a student of law. We fled from the Brigantines who were there in great numbers and could not be held back or defeated. I wish I could have fought for Pitoria, but even the bravest and most experienced soldiers would have failed when we were so outnumbered. We fled the only way we could—across the Northern Plateau.”
“We?”
“General Davyon was there. Princess Catherine led the way.”
“Princess Catherine led soldiers away from the fighting?”
“No, it wasn’t like that.” Edyon fumbled for the right words. He’d thought that a connection to Catherine, the prince’s fiancée, would raise him in Farrow’s esteem, but the exact opposite seemed to be happening. “The battle was lost. Davyon and the others were there to protect the princess.”
“They protected a Brigantine when they should have been fighting against them?”
Edyon stopped, then added, “I understand that she has given up her country and adopted ours.”
“Mine. I’m not sure what country yours is, Edyon Foss. But I know that Pitoria is mine. It is not Princess Catherine’s. She tried to trick Prince Tzsayn into marriage, while her father planned his invasion of our country. She’s now claiming to have married him, but we have no proof of that. The only thing we know for certain is that she’s the daughter of our enemy and you’re her illegitimate cousin. And it sounds to me like you too have tried to trick Prince Tzsayn into doing your bidding. And are trying to avoid the law for your own selfish needs while a good man—a father, a husband, and a sheriff’s man—has been murdered.”
Edyon swallowed. “Clearly my petition and my position have nothing to do with the Brigantines or Princess Catherine. I am the son of Prince Thelonius and my petition, Lord Farrow, is for a delay to prove the prince genuinely wanted to aid my return to Calidor. And if you send me to Dornan, then you will be signing my death warrant and you will be going against the wishes of Prince Tzsayn.”
“Well, as we don’t have the prince, or his letter, we don’t know what he wishes. So I can only do what is right and uphold the law. A man has been killed. If you are innocent, then you can prove it at trial.”
Edyon felt somehow that he was being punished for being Catherine’s cousin, even though he’d met her only a week ago and hardly knew her.
Farrow continued. “The prince wanted your return not to be delayed so it can be heard in Dornan within the week.”
“What? No! I ask for a delay.”
“Application denied. Even if you are the son of Thelonius, you must still go to trial as a Pitorian. That’s the law.”
“Then I demand a trial by my peers,” Edyon blurted out. “You say you uphold the law, Lord Farrow. Then you know that this is within my rights.”
“And who do you consider your peers?” he sneered in return.
“My father is a prince and a ruler of Calidor, and he intends that I assume my rightful place by his side.”
“I have this awful feeling you’re going to suggest Prince Tzsayn should judge your case. But unfortunately he’s a prisoner of your uncle at the moment.”
“This son of the prince, Edyon Foss, is not a prince himself?”
“No.”
“So he’s the bastard of a prince.”
“He will be a prince when he’s legitimized.” And then I’ll come back and whip your sorry fat arse, March thought and forced a smile.
The man looked like he’d been offered a plate of dog shit. “And why is he a prisoner? Drinking, smoking, or women? It’s usually at least one of the three.”
“He’s been accused of killing a sheriff’s man in Dornan.”
The old man managed to frown and yet look satisfied at the same time. “I’ve heard of this crime. So this is the bastard who did it.”
“No, the point is that Edyon didn’t do it.”
The old man smirked. “The point is that the court in Dornan will deal with it. You shouldn’t bother us with this.”
“If I want a petition, it’s your job to write it, not to judge it. All we need is a delay in proceedings.”
The young scribe sitting next to the old man spoke quietly to him. “You’ve not had a break, sir. Shall I deal with this?”
The old man got up. “Get rid of him and get the next one in. I’m going for a piss.” He walked off and the younger man put down his quill and looked at March. “If you’re serious, we can get your petition written before my master returns. As I see it, you’re right. Edyon’s only hope is to delay his trial and get Prince Thelonius to send a representative. That’s fine, and allowed under law. I’ll write the petition for a delay in the name of Prince Thelonius.”
At last March was making progress.
“The only problem is that getting your petition to Lord Farrow could take weeks or even months.”
“Months?”
The man shrugged. “We’re at war. Many people are petitioning him.”
“I haven’t got months. Edyon could be taken to trial in Dornan any day.”
“Of course we could try to speed things up.”
“How?”
The smile on the man’s face was almost embarrassed as he said, “Discreetly. My law studies aren’t complete . . . but they’re terribly expensive.”
March pulled out a piece of gold that he’d split off the chain and showed it to the man. “Would this speed things up?”
“We’d be down to weeks.”
March took out another gold link.
“Days.”
And another.
The man took the gold and picked up his quill. “This afternoon Lord Farrow is seeing five petitioners. You are number five. Go to his tent and present your petition.” The man scribbled away, poured on a blob of green wax, stamped it, and held it out. March snatched the parchment from him and left.
March waited outside Farrow’s huge tent until late afternoon when “a petition in the name of Prince Thelonius of Calidor” was finally called. He followed a green-haired man dressed in a beautifully embroidered green and gold tunic inside, where the green of Farrow was everywhere. The tent fabric was pale green but the rugs were dark green, as were the velvet, the silk, and even the leather of the seats. Not that March was invited to sit—he was directed to stand before the dais on which a large man with green hair was sitting next to an empty chair.
March said, “I have a petition for Lord Farrow.”
“Obviously,” said the man on the dais, “or you wouldn’t be here.”
Someone to the side leaned to March and muttered, “Lord Farrow will return soon and you can present your case then. Turturo is Farrow’s adviser.”
March was used to waiting for nobles and used to bad manners from their men. If Farrow was indeed a snob, he’d be unlikely to have sympathy for someone who was illegitimate. March would have to be careful how he portrayed Edyon.
At this point the flap at the back of the tent opened and a tall, slender man with graying hair entered. March could tell by the way he was dressed in green finery that this was Lord Farrow. The various courtiers bowed, as did March.
Farrow took his seat and asked Turturo something, and Turturo leaned over to Farrow and muttered a long reply in his ear. Then Turturo turned back to March and said, “Proceed.”
March began in the most official and clear voice he could muster. He’d never spoken publicly but he’d watched Prince Thelonius many times and seen others at court doing it both well and badly. “My name is March. I’m servant to Prince Thelonius of Calidor. I’m presenting this petition on behalf of the prince for his son, Edyon Foss. I was escorting Edyon to Calidor to meet his father when there was an altercation with a sheriff’s man at Dornan. The sheriff’s man was killed. Edyon did not kill the man, though he has been arrested for this crime and is in Bollyn jail awaiting transport to Dornan for trial.”
Turturo looked bored as he said, “Do you have any proof that he’s the son of a foreign king?”
March straightened his back. “I’m the proof. I’m servant to Prince Thelonius. I know Edyon is his son.”
Turturo raised his eyebrows. “You were there at the conception?”
“No, sir. But I have been with the prince for over ten years. I know him well. He plans to legitimize Edyon Foss. Edyon would then be next in line to rule Calidor.”
This seemed to impress Turturo more. “Really? He could rule Calidor in the future?”
March replied, “That is correct, sir. As Prince Thelonius recently lost his wife and young children to a terrible disease, Edyon will be his only heir. The prince will be extremely grateful to all those who help him.”
“The story sounds fanciful to me,” said Farrow.
Turturo volunteered, “I know Calidor a little, through some trade. I’d heard that Thelonius has an Abask servant. This boy is Abask.”
Farrow asked March, “So what’s your petition? Do you expect us to grant this man his freedom because of who his father is, or supposedly is? The crime is an exceptionally serious one.”
“We ask for a delay, sir. I will write to Prince Thelonius to request confirmation of Edyon’s identity.”
Farrow leaned back and had another muttered discussion with Turturo. Eventually Turturo declared, “We need to see this Edyon Foss for ourselves. Bring him here and we’ll discuss a way forward.”
March nodded. He suspected that the way forward would involve more links from the gold chain. It wasn’t a huge victory for justice but it wasn’t failure.
EDYON
BOLLYN, NORTHERN PITORIA
EDYON COULD see boots—black and brown leather, worn, dirty, and scuffed. He was standing at the narrow-barred cellar window that looked on to the prison compound. He could only see boots, but he could also hear the boot-wearers’ conversations—if one could call the way these men bullied and complained conversations. But now he heard the loud voice of Hed, the man who’d arrested him, above a pair of scuffed black boots that was striding across the courtyard. “No, he’s my prisoner. I have to take him to Dornan for trial. You can’t have him.”
A pair of fine, clean, polished brown-leather boots seemed to be disagreeing. “You want to tell Lord Farrow that?”
“I’m telling you.”
“Fine. I’ll relay your message when I deliver the prisoner to Farrow.”
“I know what’ll happen if you take him; Farrow will let him off.”
Edyon liked the sound of Lord Farrow.
The brown boots came almost toe to toe with Hed’s scuffed black ones. “Which bit of this don’t you understand? Lord Farrow wants to see him today and that’s what’s going to happen. I don’t give a shit about what Farrow does with him but you will give me access.”
And then Hed’s boots stumbled back as if brushed out of the way. He’d been pushed aside by Lord Farrow’s man!
Hooray for Lord Farrow! Hooray for justice!
More brown boots appeared and walked quickly past, leaving Hed and his boots behind. The sound of footsteps increased above Edyon and the door to the cellar opened.
“Edyon Foss?”
“Yes?” Edyon replied.
“Come with me. Now.”
“Wonderful. Yes, yes. However, there’s a slight problem—I’m chained to the wall.”
The man appeared, looked at Edyon and the chain, swore, and disappeared. Soon after, Hed arrived and unlocked Edyon’s wrists, doing his best to batter them in the process. “You may be friend to lords and princes but you’re still a murderer. You should still hang.” Hed’s stinking pig breath was in Edyon’s face. He shoved Edyon hard into the wall and stomped off up the steps past the other man, who Edyon now saw in the light had shiny green hair as well as shiny brown boots.
Edyon was taken outside and given a horse to ride. The guards didn’t seem to know anything about what was going on other than he was being taken to Lord Farrow. And soon they were in Farrow’s camp, where Edyon was escorted politely into a large green tent. And who should be inside there but March. Edyon ran to embrace him. “You’ve done an amazing job, getting me out of jail and away from Hed.”
“I’m not sure what I’ve done. I’ve asked for a delay. Farrow said he wanted to see you.”
But Edyon was feeling free already. He’d explain the situation to Lord Farrow, promise to make reparations to the sheriff’s family, to Dornan, et cetera, et cetera. Farrow might not even want a letter from Prince Thelonius before releasing Edyon. And, if he was to wait, Edyon certainly needed to be housed in a proper place, not a cell. A decent tent, with decent food. And water to wash. “I wish I had clean clothes,” he muttered. “I need to look like a prince.”
“Your face is very princely,” March said. “Though I admit there is a strange smell coming from your trousers and jacket, but I’m sure they won’t get so close to you as I am.”
“Well, my dear friend, I hope we get closer and cleaner very soon,” Edyon replied. “We will bathe together when this is over. In deep steaming water, perfumed with oil and rose petals. And be patted dry with soft warm towels.”
At that a guard entered and announced, “You’re to come to Lord Farrow.”
Edyon and March followed the guard, and Edyon was dismayed to see Hed and some other men standing in a group outside. Edyon kept close to the guard and March. Hed’s group followed them across the worn grass of the field between the tents, until they arrived at the biggest of them all, a marquee-sized affair made of beautiful materials.
The guard called, “Make way!” And the flap to the tent was opened.
Edyon followed the guard in, and he was relieved that March’s way wasn’t barred, but then was horrified to realize that Hed’s way wasn’t barred either.
“Why is he allowed in?” Edyon asked the guard, pointing at Hed.
“Petitions can be heard by the public. There should be no secrets. Don’t you know the law?”
“Well, yes. But . . .” Edyon sighed. It was true. The law said that petitions and trials should be public. He had always agreed that this should be so—but a public of nice reasonable people, not angry biased people.
Edyon stood alone in the center of the tent. March was to one side. One of Hed’s group had tried to go near him, but Edyon was pleased to see that March, who could give evil looks better than anyone, had stared at this man until he’d gone no closer.
There were two empty seats on a low carpeted dais. The tent was green and the whole effect was soothing and yet rather strange, as if Edyon was standing in pond water. Edyon swayed a little and realized that he hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for a long time. He was feeling very light-headed.
Finally two men entered from a tent flap behind the dais. In the lead was a slim, handsome, graying man dressed in rich, beautiful green velvets and silks, and close behind him was a large man dressed in greens and golds—March had mentioned he was called Turturo.
Some of the group watching from the sides bowed and muttered, “Lord Farrow.” Edyon almost began to bow as well, but then remembered he was the son of a prince, so instead he composed his face into one of formal princeliness, pulled his shoulders back, and stood tall.
Farrow seemed to appraise Edyon with just a look, and he moved to sit on the larger of the seats. Turturo sat next to him. And it was Turturo who spoke first. “Edyon Foss, you have been brought here to present your petition to Lord Farrow. Identify yourself and proceed.”
Edyon stepped a little closer. “Gladly, sir. I am Edyon Foss. I’m the son of Prince Thelonius of Calidor, though I have lived all my life in Pitoria. My father sent his loyal servant, March, to find me and return with me to Calidor.” Edyon held his hand out to indicate March, who bowed his head to Lord Farrow. “March can corroborate my assertion that Prince Thelonius intends to confirm that I am his son and heir.”
“You’ll still be an illegitimate bastard,” someone muttered from behind him.
Edyon wanted to say that actually he’d then be a legitimate bastard, but he ignored the foul-mouthed interruption and proceeded. “I am here before you, Lord Farrow, because I have been arrested for the murder of a man called Ronsard. He was a sheriff’s man in Dornan. I did not commit the murder.”
“My mistake. You’re an illegitimate, murdering, lying bastard.” More shouting and jeering erupted from behind Edyon.
Turturo waved his hand and called out, “Silence! We need to hear the petition clearly.”
Edyon continued. “I did not commit the murder of Ronsard. And Prince Tzsayn signed and sealed a letter giving me immunity from prosecution for this crime so that I could travel swiftly and safely to Calidor to my father. I unfortunately lost this letter while crossing a river to reach Bollyn, but that doesn’t mean that the will of Prince Tzsayn should be ignored. I petition for a delay in my trial until I can get proof that I am the son of Prince Thelonius and can continue on my way to Calidor.”
There was muttering from Hed’s mob at this. They were clearly surprised by it. Edyon felt something prick his neck. He pulled a small rough piece of gravel out of his collar and turned round; a man behind him sneered and held up the straw he’d used to blow the stone through. Edyon wasn’t going to be stopped or put off by an oaf with a straw.
“This letter wasn’t mentioned before,” said Turturo. “You ask for a delay and yet you say Prince Tzsayn wanted you to hurry to Calidor. When did the prince give you such a letter?”
“We met in Rossarb a week ago. He introduced me to my cousin, Princess Catherine. They both treated me with respect and recognized my birthright.”
Farrow leaned forward now. “You met with both Princess Catherine and Tzsayn? And yet you escaped while our prince was captured?”
“There was a battle going on. It was dark; the castle was in flames. It was chaos—desperate chaos as we tried to find a way to safety.”
“You fled the fighting?”
“I’m no soldier. I’m a student of law. We fled from the Brigantines who were there in great numbers and could not be held back or defeated. I wish I could have fought for Pitoria, but even the bravest and most experienced soldiers would have failed when we were so outnumbered. We fled the only way we could—across the Northern Plateau.”
“We?”
“General Davyon was there. Princess Catherine led the way.”
“Princess Catherine led soldiers away from the fighting?”
“No, it wasn’t like that.” Edyon fumbled for the right words. He’d thought that a connection to Catherine, the prince’s fiancée, would raise him in Farrow’s esteem, but the exact opposite seemed to be happening. “The battle was lost. Davyon and the others were there to protect the princess.”
“They protected a Brigantine when they should have been fighting against them?”
Edyon stopped, then added, “I understand that she has given up her country and adopted ours.”
“Mine. I’m not sure what country yours is, Edyon Foss. But I know that Pitoria is mine. It is not Princess Catherine’s. She tried to trick Prince Tzsayn into marriage, while her father planned his invasion of our country. She’s now claiming to have married him, but we have no proof of that. The only thing we know for certain is that she’s the daughter of our enemy and you’re her illegitimate cousin. And it sounds to me like you too have tried to trick Prince Tzsayn into doing your bidding. And are trying to avoid the law for your own selfish needs while a good man—a father, a husband, and a sheriff’s man—has been murdered.”
Edyon swallowed. “Clearly my petition and my position have nothing to do with the Brigantines or Princess Catherine. I am the son of Prince Thelonius and my petition, Lord Farrow, is for a delay to prove the prince genuinely wanted to aid my return to Calidor. And if you send me to Dornan, then you will be signing my death warrant and you will be going against the wishes of Prince Tzsayn.”
“Well, as we don’t have the prince, or his letter, we don’t know what he wishes. So I can only do what is right and uphold the law. A man has been killed. If you are innocent, then you can prove it at trial.”
Edyon felt somehow that he was being punished for being Catherine’s cousin, even though he’d met her only a week ago and hardly knew her.
Farrow continued. “The prince wanted your return not to be delayed so it can be heard in Dornan within the week.”
“What? No! I ask for a delay.”
“Application denied. Even if you are the son of Thelonius, you must still go to trial as a Pitorian. That’s the law.”
“Then I demand a trial by my peers,” Edyon blurted out. “You say you uphold the law, Lord Farrow. Then you know that this is within my rights.”
“And who do you consider your peers?” he sneered in return.
“My father is a prince and a ruler of Calidor, and he intends that I assume my rightful place by his side.”
“I have this awful feeling you’re going to suggest Prince Tzsayn should judge your case. But unfortunately he’s a prisoner of your uncle at the moment.”
