The courtroom doors whined open. M'yu marched through, trying not to see the throngs in the stands, trying to keep his head straight on the destination—the Ring of the Accused, its marks embedded deep into the floor. The crowd murmured, bits of gossip floating over the court and into M'yu's ears.
"...so young—"
"...be expected from guttersnipes—"
"...scrawny little thing, isn't—"
"...glad to see it dead."
M'yu's foot stuttered, and the guard prodded his back. Electric candles ringed the court, lighting the stands from beneath, turning spectators into specters. They leered at him, shied away, leaned in hungrily. High in the stands, a girl stood and waved wildly before an older man gently tugged her down. M'yu's throat tightened. Ashya and Evriss. They'd come.
The guard shoved him forward again, and M'yu stumbled.
Rows ahead, the Magnate sunk into the width of two seats, smiling as if he'd finished a particularly satisfying meal. M'yu wasn't sure what he was so happy about; did he not know the Tsaright had betrayed him, or did he not care? Sviya sat next to him, her hands primly folded in the lap of a black satin dress. M'yu locked eyes with her pleadingly. Her gaze dropped.
The guard shoved him again, and this time, he ended inside the Accused's ring. When he looked up, Karsya stood across the room from him.
The train of her deep purple dress gathered at the edge of the Ring of Witness. At her neck, where their simple, polished rocks should have been, glittered a blood-red gem inset to a golden chain. M'yu's face contorted, lips pressed together, head shaking. Karsya kept her gaze trained on some point above his head, as still and ravishing and expensive as anything else that belonged to the Caps.
From his throne to the right, Tsaright Xten sat draped in black and royal purple. He banged a scepter on the metal balcony, and the crowds hushed. "We meet today in extraordinary circumstances. The man you see before you, Mykta z'Daras, has been accused by the Prav'sudja of habitual theft, of conspiracy, of treason..." Xten's eyes panned the crowd. "And of the murder of a Capital man."
M'yu's hand clenched as the Vulture's dark eyes shimmered in his mind. Whispers ran through the crowd.
The Tsaright held up a hand. "His charges, unfortunately, are not the most extraordinary thing about this case. Two nights ago, the night Mykta z'Daras was apprehended, an attack was made against the Prav'sudja, rendering many of its necessary systems inoperationable. Our finest Capital Knight engineers are working on the problem as we speak, and have managed to restore some auxiliary functionality. The artificial intelligence system, however, has not managed yet to be restored."
The crowd's murmurs rose again, and Xten raised his hand. "Peace, brothers and sisters! The law has a provision for such a case: his status, guilty or innocent, is to be determined by majority vote of any Knight in attendance. The burden of conducting the trial, though, and declaring his punishment, falls on me."
"No!" A high voice broke through the crowd, and M'yu spun. "The Prav'sudja cannot be prosecutor and judge." Sviya stood in the stands, a step away from her uncle's reaching paw. "Section 117a, the procedural law you're referencing"—she deftly stepped past a row of women's skirts, evading another reach from her uncle—"only includes citizen disputes, not crimes against the state!"
The Tsaright sighed. "Can a Knight apprehend this child, please? She has not earned the Right to Speak."
Sviya dodged another man's reaching hand, jumping down a step. "You're preluding—the trial hasn't officially begun. I don't need the Right."
"Knights!" the Tsaright appealed again.
M'yu's cheeks warmed as Sviya skipped down steps, dodging hands. "You must drop the treason and conspiracy charges!" she shouted, stumbling over her heels. "It's not lawful!"
Men and women in Capital Knight regalia slipped through the stands toward her as she reached the bottom stair. She stood tall and straight, chin tipped up. The crowd was murmuring, the Tsaright calling over-loudly for everyone to quiet, and Sviya rose her voice. "If you go through with the state charges, you dishonor the law and your duty to uphold it!" Her voice rang over the court, its strength belying the subtle tremor of her shoulders. "And if you arrest me, you do the same!"
The Tsaright banged his scepter against the floor. "Are you ready to testify, Karsya R'vel?" he called, beginning the opening lines to the trial.
"Yes, Tsaright!" she called over the uproar.
"Are you ready to be tried, Mykta z'Daras?"
Sviya locked eyes with him and shook her head. Representation, she mouthed, just as two Knights clamped hands on her arms.
Head spinning, he looked up at the Tsaright. "I will not be ready without representation," he said, only stumbling over the line a little. When he had studied it, he hadn't imagined needing to say it himself.
"Then call your representation, and the trial has officially commenced!" He banged the scepter again, and the room fell silent.
Sviya nodded at him, and M'yu pressed his lips together. He wished she could represent him, but she hadn't passed the Right to Speak yet. It was supposed to be Aevryn here with him. It'll be fine, his teacher had said, as long as you let me do the talking. M'yu's eyes swept the rows, stomach clenching as they landed again on Ashya and Evriss, sitting alone. Aevryn hadn't even bothered to show.
Evriss caught his eye and pointed. M'yu's brows drew, his gaze drifting down. He froze. There, on the bottom row closest to the Ring of the Accused, sat Aevryn, his sharp eyes boring into M'yu expectantly. M'yu's throat tightened.
"The court will not be held hostage," Xten said. "Call your representation or forfeit it."
M'yu stood straighter, heart hammering. "Prince Aevryn z'Daras, will you represent me?"
The corner of Aevryn's mouth ticked up as he stood. He crossed the room to join M'yu in the ring. "Took you long enough," he muttered. M'yu's skin warmed, and he stood straighter, staring Xten in the eye.
"Then we are ready!" the Tsaright announced. "Knights, please escort the child back to her seat. The words of a Speakerless girl can hold no sway on the court. Still, so that all can be assured of the fairness of the Prav'sudja and your leaders..." Xten sniffed. "We shall proceed only with the most equitable of charges, given the situation." He stood, voice echoing over the whole chamber. "The Prav'sudja charges Mykta z'Daras only with grand theft and highborn murder. How does he plead?"
Aevryn clamped a hand on M'yu's shoulder, and M'yu shut his mouth. "The defense was called here today, moving up the trial by more than two weeks, because of the added charges of treason. Should the Prav'sudja move forward in dropping the claim now, it must be dropped in its entirety."
M'yu looked up at Aevryn aghast; was he trying to get M'yu prosecuted for more crimes?
"Unless," Aevryn continued, "the Prav'sudja wishes to adjourn until after the Tsar's AI is returned to full operation?"
The Tsaright nodded as though graciously considering, but there were too many teeth in his smile for it to be little more than a snarl. "The court hears and understands." The crowds waited with bated breath. "The treason charges shall be dropped now and henceforth."
M'yu's muscles unwound, and he looked up at Aevryn again. Why was the Tsaright in such a hurry to prosecute him? And how did Aevryn know? M'yu searched the room again, desperately wishing it had windows. He wondered if the heat was running on auxiliary systems too, or if the techs had gotten it to kick back on. The air did have a bit of a bite to it.
But not nearly as much of a bite as winter should have promised.
"How does the accused plead?" Xten asked again.
M'yu opened his mouth; Aevryn's fingers dug into M'yu's skin. "Not guilty," Aevryn said.
"Aevryn," M'yu whispered.
"Is there contention in the ring?" Xten called.
"No, your honor," Aevryn said.
"Mykta?"
Aevryn's good hand clung to his shoulder. M'yu thought of his dream, of Svi accusing him, of the blood on his hands. Aevryn doesn't lie—unless it's to protect someone else. But he couldn't let him lie to protect him. M'yu was guilty. He knew he was.
In his ear, Aevryn hissed, "Today is not the day. Their claims are baseless; they can't call the world to court and ask them if they've ever done anything wrong. Do you understand?"
Xten banged his scepter. "The representation will cease swaying the defendant. Mykta z'Daras, how do you plead?"
M'yu's hands trembled at his side, and he pressed them against his pant leg. "I stand with my representation." And he did. This might be M'yu's battle, but it was Aevryn's war; M'yu had sabotaged it enough. If Aevryn wanted to fight for him—
M'yu stared down at the floor as the testimonies began, his stomach swirling. The whole thing seemed surreal. It was too warm to be winter. There were too many people for it to be this quiet. A Cap stood firm at his side while a Gloamer who couldn't even meet his eye condemned him. She talked about how M'yu used to swipe cards from the ritzy folk in the Gloam, how he burned money in big purchases before ditching the card somewhere it couldn't get him caught. She made it sound like he was buying shiny shoes and jewelry, not bread and threadbare gloves for their gang of children, for their families. He fought the rising nausea, staring at the patterns of circles on the floor. Every secret he had ever trusted her with, every plan they'd made together, every hungry night and risky smile, all it was to her here was a knife.
And then she put the knife in his hand and sent him back to his darkest nightmare.
"Three years ago, Vestir M'raci courted Ele Dess, the woman Mykta and I were both living with at the time."
M'yu stiffened.
"Ele had raised Mykta, been a mother to him even, until that night."
M'yu's eyes welled, head shaking.
"Vestir had come to see Ele. All of the minors in the house were asleep—all of us except M'yu."
The dark flashed in M'yu's eyes, and a tingle ran down his spine. He'd lain in his bed, listening, worrying, knowing something was wrong without knowing what it was. The breathing of the other children had filled his ears, but something else—a rattle, a squeak—was there too. Just the wind, he'd told himself, pulling his blankets up to his chin. But he was the man of the house now; his uncle was dead in a landfill, sprouting witchcandy spores, and all that was left was M'yu. He didn't want to be awake. He didn't want to get up.
He didn't want any of this.
"...been suspicious of him from the start," Karsya was saying. "Mykta would run him off of Ele's stall in the market, turning away money Ele sorely needed."
M'yu hissed out a breath, fingers digging into his palm. That man never meant to pay for anything. And no court in the world would have made him.
"He owned a pocket knife that used to belong to Ele's brother."
Take it, the dying man had said, pulling the blade out with gloved hands. He never touched anything with his skin anymore because everything he touched was another place for the Rot to sprout. You stand up for the innocent, he'd rasped. You hear me, boy? You stand up.
M'yu didn't want the knife, but his fingers had clasped around the hilt.
"And when Vestir came to see Ele..."
It had seemed like one moment he was in his bed and the next he was staring at that Vulture, his smile like a jagged beak. A soft sob burst from the bedroom behind the Vulture, and the animal didn't look back, didn't even flinch. He winked at M'yu. See you around, boy.
"...Mykta used the knife to kill him."
M'yu swayed, the scent of blood in his nose, Aevryn's steadying hand the only thing holding him to his feet.
"Ele begged Mykta to stop." Her cries rang in M'yu's ears, somewhere between a howl and a sob, but all he heard was desperation and fear and his uncle's command: You stand up. "The commotion rose the whole house." The eyes bore down on M'yu, peeking out from their shared room. Toddlers whined and children screamed and the world raged in M'yu's ears. "Mykta continued to stab Vestir long after he had fallen still." The man writhed under M'yu, bucking him off, banging M'yu's head against the ground again and again. Blood ran across M'yu's temple. The Vulture's hands wrapped around M'yu's neck, bursting stars in M'yu's eyes—
M'yu struck blindly and struck and struck again until Vestir collapsed on top of him and M'yu wriggled out from underneath, covered in blood, searching for his mother's eyes.
But she was staring past him, at the open door and the neighbors who had come to help.
"By then, he was beyond hope of saving."
"Don't dare cry," Aevryn muttered, his bony hand tightening on M'yu's shoulder. M'yu bit his cheek, bit it hard enough to taste blood, hard enough to drive back the hateful eyes and bitter snow and his feet running and slipping and falling against dark, icy streets. His stomach churned, and now he swallowed down the wave of nausea that he hadn't managed to that night, when he threw up every bit of his supper against the bricks of the alley wall. It'd tasted like bile and mushroom cakes, like waste and regret.
The crowd was murmuring, the last echoes of the Tsaright's scepter bouncing off the walls. "Thus concludes the first testimony. The defense may speak."
Aevryn stepped around M'yu, half-blocking him from view. "These are blatant fabrications, or at best, misrenderings of the situation. One girl's word!" He swept his hand out toward the crowd. "How many of you could be falsely condemned by what a single woman thought of you?" He met the gaze of Knights in the crowd; one-by-one, the men and women's heads dropped.
He spread his arms to the Tsaright's throne. "Then I would submit that there is little to say. She has no evidence, and if I am compelled to argue against her fantasies and empty words, then we will be here until the sun dies." Aevryn stepped back.
"The defense requests more evidence, then?" Xten asked. "That can easily be provided." He gestured to guards at the entrance closest to Karsya, and the courtroom doors swung open.