Chương 163: 77. Somebody Has to Try

Oh no! Are we too late? It shouldn't even be possible for them to have incontrovertible evidence! He's innocent! Tamara strides past me, seemingly unhindered by whatever force is pushing everyone else back, and raises her chin imperiously.

"I should like to see this evidence for myself," she demands. Her appearance draws the attention of Lady Faarah, on her podium, as well as the arbiter and—wait, who is that?

"High Inquisitor, Lady Sabaah Shaa Baanu," Lord Erik whispers, nodding to the podium opposite Faarah.

"They've escalated beyond the tribunal—this is all theater." That's the least comforting thing I've heard all morning. The reactions to Tamara's interruption are mixed. Faarah seems relieved, while the arbiter, Lady Ima, openly grimaces. Lady Shaa barely spares her a glance, her gaze impassive.

"I see no reason to relitigate things for your benefit, Lady Goa," she argues coldly. Lady Sabaah Shaa Baanu isn't quite what I expected from the title of "High Inquisitor." She doesn't look much different from any other noblewoman, apart from the longsword at her side. Her fur is white, her long hair is drawn back in a low ponytail, and her horns curl back like a ram's. She has the lean, athletic build typical of most Fa'aun, without either fat or muscle in excess. If anything would stand out, it's her clothing.

It's mostly white, aside from a few ocean blue highlights—which I suspect are the Shaa family colors—but unlike most older women, her clothes are light and practical. Closer to what Talla wears than her mother.

"I'm afraid I must insist," Tamara counters, boldly stepping up next to Lady Faarah on the podium.

"By the authority of House Goa." The arbiter pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs.

"On what standing, my lady?"

"Sir Draga is my daughter's teammate, my second daughter's savior, and my house is a sponsor of Lady Faarah's order," she replies.

"What of you, High Inquisitor? I thought my niece was advocating for Matriarch Gaa as the claimant." Erik nudges me, and nods up towards the stands on Lady Shaa's side. I follow his gaze to see Lady Lori Gaa Baanu, looking surprisingly unhappy about this turn of events, next to Mari Shaa Baanu observing the event with a sneer of smug satisfaction.

"Goddess, what a fucking bitch," Maggie hisses.

"Would really love to get her alone in a dark alley somewhere."

"[Hush]," I chide her quietly.

"[We don't know who can hear you.]" Meanwhile, the High Inquisitor offers Tamara her retort.

"It is the duty of the inquisitors to find and tear out the roots of rebellion and heresy," she says.

"This is no longer a matter of dispute between House Gaa and the Order of Rangers, nor this tribunal. I only bring my case here out of respect for Matriarch Gaa and Lady Faarah." Tamara smiles across the floor, a saccharine expression that hides razor sharp blades dripping with venom.

"Then surely you can respect me enough to present me with your supposedly incontrovertible evidence," she says.

"For my peace of mind." If Lady Shaa is bothered by this turn of events, she doesn't show it. Instead, she calmly turns back to address the arbiter.

"Then, for the record, I shall repeat myself," she says.

"My second daughter, Lady Maari Shaa Baanu, was attacked in her estate by an unknown group of rebels. The timing of the attack coincided with Sir Draga gaining unauthorized access to the armory of the Sagaasi garrison, abusing the implied threat of Lady Talla's authority against the acting commander of the garrison—one Sheriff Rania Foren." What?! Maari? Wasn't that when he was investigating the guy going around giving smuggled guns to random kids? I actually sort of forgot about that. The inquisitor continues.

"I have written testimony from Sheriff Rania confirming that she feared reprisal, allowing Sir Draga to blackmail her into an audit of their inventory. No weapons were missing from the armory—until after the attack. During the confusion, several crates went missing, a theft which was not discovered until after the rangers left." This is ridiculous. What sort of evidence is that? He was there before the theft, so it's his fault? But she's still not done.

"Furthermore, during the attack, I have eyewitness accounts of Sir Draga assaulting and killing inquisitors who were assigned to investigate dissidents in the region. This is confirmed by several survivors of the attack, including Lady Maari herself." My blood runs cold and for a second it feels like my heart stops beating. Maari?! No, she wouldn't—but she was so nice! Without thinking, I step forward to protest, but Erik puts a hand out in front of me and shakes his head slightly.

I turn to argue, but then I see his face. He's always had an amicable smile, but now he's frowning—brows furrowed in concentration as he watches... the crowd?

"Something isn't right," he mutters.

"They're too tense." Huh? Who? I sweep my gaze across the crowd, trying to see what he sees, but it just looks like a bunch of snobby rich folk enjoying the drama to me. If anything, I wish they were more tense—an innocent man's life is on the line!

"This evidence paints his other behaviors in a new light," Lady Shaa presses on, still maintaining a clipped, professional tone.

"Allowing a church expedition to enter a convergence break unescorted, neglecting to report an armed rebellion on the ringward fringes, and even his 'heroic' protection of Lady Tara—to reinforce the asset behind which he has hidden his crimes." She turns her glare on Tamara, who meets her with a sour expression of her own.

"The tacit authority of House Goa, through his subordinate —Lady Talla."

"Rather prescient of her to send Talla away," Violet remarks icily.

"They aren't pulling any punches." No they are not. Now I'm worried about everybody's safety. If this is all part of the High Inquisitor's plan, how far is she willing to go to seize power? Because none of the historical examples coming to mind paint a pretty picture. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. I swallow nervously. Was this ever really about Draga, or have we stumbled into the middle of a bloody coup?

"The Ranger Order has operated successfully for hundreds of years, and their internal hierarchies have not changed under Lady Faarah's leadership," Tamara argues.

"One might suspect you of trying to impugn upon her leadership on the basis of her birth, which would be an insult to the authority by which she was granted nobility." In other words, the empress. Actually, I'm growing increasingly curious about how much power the crown has, and how it's wielded. For all they talk about her, the ruling monarch feels like a distant force with a light hand. This isn't really the time to be thinking about that, though. Lady Shaa shrugs carelessly.

"It matters little. My judgment of Sir Draga is not subject to this tribunal. I only bring it forward because it may be pertinent—and to allow one last chance for the forum to question him before I carry out his sentence." My skin prickles at how coldly she says it, and cold sweat starts to run down the back of my neck. He's already dead in her eyes. This entire thing—this "theater" as Erik put it—is all in service to what she thinks really matters. I didn't properly understand until I saw it for myself.

I thought I did—thought I understood how cruel and heartless societies can be, and how the privileged few tread upon those beneath them for their own gain. I didn't. Maybe I still don't, but this? The High Inquisitor has brought her case, fabricated a lie that's close enough to the truth to make it difficult to detangle, and condemned an innocent man to death. As an afterthought. A prelude to her true goal of undermining the power of her enemies.

She doesn't care whether Draga is guilty or innocent—whether he lives or dies. His only value to her is how she can use him to empower herself. Worse? Neither does Tamara, or Erik. Talla is not here, already sent away because her mother knows that things may go wrong—and that her daughter genuinely cares. She's also fighting for her own power, and if she's on Draga's side now it's only because her enemies have tried to turn him into a weapon against her. I have no allies here.

None save for Draga himself—and maybe Lady Faarah. And I am in danger. So much danger. How did I not see it? Violet has known all along—tried to warn me. But I didn't want to see it. I wanted to be safe, even if that safety was a lie. Tamara's offer of sponsorship, Matriarch Gaa's token, even Rara's friendship and the distant possibility of joining the rangers—none of them were ever going to earn me my safety. I, like Draga, am nothing more than another piece on the board.

A pawn to be used, promoted maybe, but ultimately sacrificed if necessary, as fuel to empower whoever's side I take. Blood and acid, I'm such a fricking idiot. Fine then. If I'm going to be a piece on the board, then I'll be one who moves of her own accord. Nobody sacrifices this pawn but me. I push forward, against the invisible barrier. Nobody notices me at first, still busy making their own arguments. It's not a true barrier, just a pressure. I've felt it before—Faarah's skill, I think.

If I focus hard enough, I can sort of see the magic radiating out from her. It's probably possible to tear an opening in it—certainly Lady Shaa isn't bothered by it, but Tamara and Draga are in their own bubbles, excluding them. The arbiter is also excluded, but only partially. Enough to keep a steady pressure on her without sending her flying off of her podium.

I can't imagine how difficult it must be to maintain such fine control over such a huge aura, but then Faarah is one of the highest level people we've ever met. As if to confirm my thoughts, Faarah notices me approaching and lets me through, easing off on her aura gently enough that I don't stumble. Dang, she's good. By the time I reach the floor, my approach has been noticed, but I don't pay any attention to the voices calling for my attention or telling me to stop, and I don't bother with the podiums.

The only one I'm looking at is Draga, and the only voices I listen to are my own.

"Allie, what are you doing?" Violet asks.

"Leave this to our allies."

"[We don't have any, Vi]," I sigh miserably.

"[I really screwed up on that. My one fricking job.]""I don't think—" she cuts herself off, hesitating.

"But what are you doing?"

"The only thing we can," Evie replies.

"What we should have done from the beginning. Can you not feel her resolve?"

"Aw, fuck, this is gonna get messy isn't it?" Maggie groans.

"We shouldn't be acting rashly," Violet insists.

"Let's talk about this."

"[We really should have]," I sigh.

"[But it's too late, now. Sorry for not taking you seriously, Evie.]" And then we really are out of time, because we're right in front of him. The one that nobody has been paying attention to, for all that he's the center of it all. Even we've been neglectful. All of us except for Evelyn. Dang, we really did mess this one up, didn't we?

"Hey Draga," I whisper.

"You okay?" He looks up at me and straightens his back until he's almost eye-level, even kneeling and in chains. The proud soldier, the noble ranger, the good friend. He's been a lot better to us than we've been to him.

"As well as can be expected," he sighs.

"You shouldn't be here."

"I know, but I am. For you. Sorry we didn't come sooner." Draga chuckles ruefully and shakes his head.

"You can't save me, Maev. Nobody can. You're only putting yourself in danger doing this."

"Maybe not, but I have to try, I think." I purse my lips.

"Somebody has to try."

"Allie, this is a mistake," Violet warns me.

"I know it's a mistake," I reply, speaking in Fa'aun, because I want Draga to hear me too.

"But it's not my first and it won't be my last—I hope."

"It actually very well might be the last one we make," Maggie cheerfully adds.

"But this, at least, is a mistake I can be proud of." I stand and turn to face the crowd—ironically turning my back to the person who's ostensibly the decision-maker here—and really regret not taking that [Orator] class. Really batting a thousand on this whole ordeal. Most of the onlookers are just confused or curious—probably only vaguely aware of who or what I am—but it's the ones who matter that I watch out for.

Lord Erik looks down from where I left him with a wide-eyed stare, trying to shake his head even though he knows I'm already in way too deep to stop now. Tamara watches with pursed lips, eyes swimming as she tries to predict what I'm going to say or do, and how to make it work in her favor. The High Inquisitor's glare looks deadly enough, but I have a feeling that if she wanted me dead I'd have never even made it to the city. That might change after this. On the periphery, there are a few that I notice as well.

Mira, of course, sneering down at me with naked contempt, and Lady Lori, her brows drawn together in concern. I don't know what it means, but I can see elements of what they're feeling. Once you get used to it, Fa'aun body language is pretty expressive. I still don't see what Erik was trying to point out in the crowd, so I guess I have a long way to go, but he's got levels and skills of his own, I'm sure.

"Resident Maev, stand down," Lady Shaa demands, taking the initiative before I can address the crowd.

"You have neither the authority nor standing to speak at this forum unless called to do so." I glance at Lady Faarah, but she just meets me with a stern glare, though I don't miss the tiny quirk of her lips. Hiding a smile. To me, it's a look that says "Sorry kid, you're on your own, but good luck." Or maybe I'm just really nervous and making up support to make myself feel better. Taking a deep breath, I reach into a pocket and start burning bridges.

"As a matter of fact, I do have the authority," I claim, pulling out a palm-sized trinket that glints brightly in the sweltering desert sun—the token of recognition given to me by Lady Gaa.

"On behalf of Matriarch Arelii Gaa Baanu, I intend to reveal the exact cause of Priestess Kiera's death."