Before hoisting me on a horse—with wrists bound—Miccola wrapped a gray cloak over my ruined, blood-stained shirt. This wasn't how I wanted to wear Deadhead's Company colors for the first time. The dreams have a way of twisting around to strike a woman like a viper stepped on. But at least I was wearing it. In a strange way, it boosted my mood. I straightened my back as much as I could and jutted my chin up.
They were taking me to Gala's Rock. By law, the Head Priestess there had custody of me, and was the one to decide my fate.
Captain-Commander's involvement in the proceedings wasn't explained to me. Maybe the fact that I was asking for employment with her Company had played a role. Maybe she believed that I had killed a scorpia assassin. Or, on the opposite, she could have suspected I was a scorpia's associate and she wanted to find out more. It was in her interests to squash any rumors that tainted her Company's good name in the kernel.
Whatever her reasons, the Captain-Commander Nashila rode at the head of the Deadhead Company's squad escorting me. Whatever her reasons, her presence also gave me strength.
Despite hostile stares the passersby paid me, I didn't lower my head. I was riding through the streets of my own city, Palmyr. I did nothing wrong—
No. I did a few things wrong and some things of questionable moral value—but!
But I wasn't guilty of what they accused me of. I wasn't a part of any conspiracy against my Queen.
On the Company's beautiful horses, with the crowds parting before the drummer and the piper, the journey went far faster than when I ran on foot through the city and swam.
The jury to hear my case assembled in the same courtyard with the terracotta tiles and lemon trees that I had crossed for what felt like a century or so to me. For the rest of the world, only a month has passed since then.
The Temple pulled all stops for my trial. The majestic walls of the Temple and the spires soared overhead. Pricey carpets covered the area designated for the pundits and judges. The rest of the Temple priestesses and lay servants stood on the harder ground. I couldn't think of a single face missing. Really, I was flattered by their efforts to judge me.
The Head Priestess presided over the gathering from a huge gilded chair. It's not to say it was a throne, because it was only Queen Zinaida's right to sit on one. But they lugged the biggest not-throne from the refectory.
Seven senior priestesses appointed as judges crowded around their matron, except for two really ancient crones occupying lesser chairs in consideration for their wisdom and infirmities.
The Gala's priestesses' sarees glowed like marigolds in the sunlight, but an awning kept the wise heads from overheating. They thought of everything.
The Captain-Commander took in the sight. She narrowed her eyes as if blinded by the sun, then urged her horse onto the carpet. The trained mount obeyed without a moment's hesitation. After all, in the mare's reckoning, hers might have been the most noble feet to grace the carpet that day. Or she didn't see any difference between the finest weaving and green grass. Both were soft, and that's what matters to horses.
Once in position, the Captain-Commander remained in the saddle, towering over the Head Priestess, and more impenetrable than the statues behind her back.
I couldn't wait to see what happened when the dappled gray lifted its tail with the predictable consequences. Did they have a stable-hand on standby to handle the noblest pile of dung?
The seven of the Deadhead Company's senior officers dismounted and assumed their places next to Nashila's horse solemnly.
Hence, my jury consisted of sixteen crones. Half spoke for Gala's temple. The other half--for Mythra's worshipers. I looked for a tie-breaker and sucked my teeth. There was none.
Queen Zinaida was not present—and neither was the Divine Empress of the Southern Empire. I took it as a good sign rather than an insult to my lowly station. In this case, I didn't mind being someone of no import. Probably, everything was already decided beforehand, so the whole thing would be mercifully short, whatever the outcome.
The crowd eagerly pressed from all sides onto the empty space in the middle of which I now stood alone. Tired of furrowed brows and sullen stares, I found Kozima with my gaze. He smiled at me and mouthed something. I couldn't read his lips, but he was beaming. Although a good sign, his reassurance worried me. What did he do last night? Did he come out of it with his dignity and virtue untouched?
Anastasia's golden head bobbed above the sea of the lower-ranking sarees. She didn't beam at me. Her face was set in a mask of a weary expectation. At a first glance it was no different than all other Gala's servants, but there was something intangibly different about her frown. It also bothered me.
"Ismar!" the Head Priestess thundered, silencing the crowd. "If you're done gawking--"
I rubbed my wrists—they cut the rope before pushing me into the middle of the plaza, but the circulation was slow in returning—and bowed. I had been taught manners. They just didn't come in handy lately. And, sure, I was invested in my fate.
"Your Maxima. Your Eminence," I greeted.
The Head Priestess' silver brows creased. It didn't escape her that I put the Captain-Commander's title before hers. If Nashila had noticed the same thing or cared about my preferences, I couldn't tell. She might as well have been made of stone for all the feelings her countenance displayed.
The Head Priestess took precedence, I had just denied her, by speaking first.
"Ismar!" she bellowed out again. "You stand accused of creating public disturbance, possession of items linked to the outlawed Cult of Scorpia and concealing knowledge of threat to Her Majesty, our Beloved Queen Zinaida."
The assembly buzzed like a hive of aroused bees. They wanted the full tale.
I obliged and told them everything.
Or everything I could tell them.
Naturally, I couldn't mention Parneres.
Or Kozima.
Or Lydia.
Or even Anastasia.
So, my tale, out of necessity, was short and full of strange coincidences.
The Head Priestess smiled thinly.
"You ran away from the Temple of Gala that raised you from infancy. You worked on a boat, waiting for the Deadhead Company's Commander to grant you an audience. An audience you didn't request beforehand. Then you've crossed paths with a strange woman from the Far South who took an immediate and intense dislike of you."
"My character rubs some women the wrong way," I admitted ruefully. I even opened my arms wide to the sides to show how it was all prejudice.
"Imagine that," the Head Priestess sighed. "On a preternatural hunch, you had unmasked this complete stranger as a scorpia assassin. You were on your way to report your discovery to the Deadhead Captain-Commander, when this mysterious woman had accosted you. Apparently, she also had a preternatural hunch."
I raised my eyes heavenward to indicate that Divines ruled us all as they wished.
"You fought and killed the scorpia-assassin."
"Yes, that's correct."
The crowd murmured, unsatisfied, so I added helpfully, "That's how I ended up with the black dagger and the assassin's token in my possession."
"However, her body wasn't found despite the city-wide search."
"Even our glorious Watch misses some things sometimes. Thank the Divines it happens so rarely!" I did my best to infuse my voice with sincerity.
The Head Priestess closed her eyes tiredly. "Ismar, this is sheer, mind boggling nonsense."
The words she actually wanted were 'a load of bull' or even stronger, but a high station has its disadvantages. My chin thrusted forward. I would die before I pointed a finger at Parneres!
I was ready to hear out my verdict, but the Priestess spoke again. "Fortunately for you, Ismar, you have better friends than you deserve. They made inquiries on your behalf."
A cold shiver crawled down my spine. I forced myself not to look at Kozima. What did he do? Merciful Gala, what did he do?
"Anastasia, step forward, please, and bring the witness."
Ana--what? Anastasia, my bosom friend? Mythra's talons, I was dead!