The Power and the Glory

Book 2 Chapter VIII: All Hell Breaks Loose

Abi facepalmed. Oh, by all the gods. Why does Ilaran have to be so dramatic about it? What does he think he is? A conjurer in a pantomime?

On the other side of the seating areas Irímé watched with eyes nearly as wide as saucers. How did he do that? This thought was followed almost immediately by, How can I work this into a story?

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It took Haliran less than a minute to recover from her shock. Predictably she decided denying everything was the best way to go. She leapt to her feet and shouted, "Your Majesty, I must protest! These are scandalous lies!"

Good grief, Ilaran thought. She couldn't sound any less convincing if she tried.

Even more predictably Haliran's next course of action was to attack him personally. "This is a petty attempt at vengeance. This man is unfortunately related to my husband. He kept sponging money from my husband."

Now that was just stupid. Everyone in Eldrin aristocratic circles knew Siarvin had no money of his own. Haliran had never tried to keep it a secret, proof she wasn't nearly as intelligent as she thought.

"I put a stop to it when I realised what he was doing. He swore he'd get revenge, and this is how he goes about it."

It was all Ilaran could do not to laugh in her face. He struggled to bite back a smile. Does she really think anyone believes her?

"Do at least try to be creative in your lies," he said, adopting the bored drawl he always used when dealing with exceptionally stupid officials wasting his time with pointless questions. "You used to be quite good at them. Your mind must have weakened with age."

Someone in the audience giggled. As usually happened in a room full of many people and a very tense atmosphere, that sent everyone else off into gales of laughter.

"We both know who the liar is here," Haliran said coldly. Well, she was right, even though that was something he hadn't known anyone actually said in real life. She sounded like a character in the first act of a badly-written comedy of misunderstandings. "Or have you forgotten about the first time I ever had the bad luck to meet you, when you came begging for my help?"

Oh no, she was not going to drag up that old story again. Especially not her warped version of it. Ilaran completely forgot about the audience listening to every word in the burst of rage that filled him then.

"I begged for no one's help," he snapped. "I asked my uncle for advice, because thanks to you he had already dealt with the same situation I was in. It would not surprise me to learn my teacher was a relative of yours!"

Raivíth cleared her throat. "I don't mean to seem inquisitive," she couldn't have sounded more sarcastic if she tried, "but what in the name of all the gods are you two babbling about?"

When Ilaran was barely a thousand years old[1] and a student at the University of Haratra, his maths teacher had attempted to seduce him. Repeatedly. When that didn't work he began trying to corner Ilaran alone in empty parts on the university. Ilaran took to never attending any of his classes to avoid the chance of ever meeting that man. Next the teacher started a rumour that Ilaran was the one trying to seduce him. It was amazing how everyone was willing to believe an adult's word over an adolescent's. In desperation Ilaran wrote to Siarvin for advice. His uncle's advice was two words: "Kill him". So he did. Slowly and painfully. That was the first time he killed someone, and the man's screams were a particularly treasured memory.

Ilaran pictured attempting to explain any of that in front of all these people. He shuddered. "It has nothing to do with the case."

Luckily Raivíth accepted that without asking any awkward questions. "You said you had witnesses outside." To one of the guards she said, "Bring them in now."