Deeper into the Sky

Sequel to 'Asylum' ( s/9605072/1/Asylum (Original) and /works/1996536/chapters/4325541 (MA Rated Rewrite))

By Sivvus

The trial was the social event of the year.

Apart from the men who faced the axe, everyone looked forward to it with excited whispers and gasps of intrigue. Speculations ran rife through the court, until you could not pass by a single lady or lord in the narrow corridors of the great palace at Corus without overhearing the latest rumour.

The servants, in their invisible manner, carefully collected these stories and shared them in the kitchens, and from there the stories passed from baker to miller to farmer until they filled the land.

It was, everyone agreed, the most shocking thing to happen in the city since...well, they all had different views of the since. But whether that was the treason of the Conte duke many years ago, or the outbreak of the unmentionable disease a few months past, they all agreed this was just as shocking.

The facts were these: the king of Galla had sent an ambassador to King Jonathan after an uprising in one of his valleys, which had threatened the safety of Tortall. The invading army of mages and solders had been crushed by the expert command of the Lioness. The man who had led the Gallan attack was immediately disowned by King Timsra. Lord Orsille had, Timsra claimed, been acting in secret.

Galla, Timsra insisted, was not to blame for the attack.

Jon replied with sardonic diplomacy: I believe you. Incidentally, how are you punishing all the lords who aided Orsille in attacking my country? Surely they are traitors, too?

There was a delay of some months before the reply: Orsille worked alone.

Jon became less diplomatic. Along with a detailed list of the accomplices' names, he added a short rejoinder: We can prove he did not.

The tone between the two rulers became terse; border patrols were increased for a few weeks, but it was Timsra who finally caved. He did not mention how outnumbered his army was, nor how the Tortallan defences overwhelmed his own, smaller kingdom. Instead, he blustered: We will not execute some of the most powerful families in our realm just because of Tortallan hearsay!

At that point, frustrated with Timsra's insolent hostility, King Jonathan suggested the trial. A fair and balanced hearing in the comfort of his palace, with a jury of both Gallan and Tortallan citizens, so that the whole incident may be clarified.

The trial, the gossips said afterwards, was a terrible idea.

The heralds pushed the door open, and the whispering crowd fell silent. For a second the slight figure in the doorway hesitated, unnerved by their silence, but then she raised her chin in the air and stepped forward. The whispers began again at her first step, but it was when she moved fully into the light of the throne room's huge window that the crowd really came to life.

The woman was slight, but her small height matched her thin frame. That thinness was stark; her face and her bared upper arms showed a gaunt shadow which spoke of hunger, although she looked healthy and walked with strong steps. It wasn't her figure which raised comment, though, but the dress itself. The green fabric was cut to reveal her arms, but it was even more daring at the back. Her thick brown curls were tied up in a bun, and the fabric fell sharply away almost to her waist.

A few people gasped when they saw it. From neck to hip, the woman's back was covered in scars. Swollen white and purple knots criss-crossed in lines like a corset, screaming out against the delicate blue trim on the dress.

"Daine," the king beckoned her forward with a smile, and the girl stopped in front of the throne with a face like stone. He sighed and set his own face into a serious expression, gesturing to the man beside him. "Daine, this is his excellency Sir Wisnom, the ambassador for Galla. He asked to meet you before the trial begins."

"I know," the woman said, not bothering to look at the ambassador. Her voice was terse. "That's why you summoned me."

The court shifted and murmured to each other. They had not seen the girl at court before, and if that rude display was any proof then they could guess why! They waited for the king to tell her off, but instead he scratched his nose and gestured for the ambassador to come forward. While the man stood up, Jon leaned closed to Daine and murmured something the court could not hear. Whatever he said seemed to mollify her; she relaxed a little and shook her head, murmuring something in reply through a rueful smile. Jon gripped her shoulder for s brief moment and then moved back to let the ambassador take his place.

Daine stepped back, unconsciously rubbing her arm. Some of the courtiers warmed to her at that sight, believing that she was overwhelmed at being touched by the king, and so was not as disrespectful as she had seemed. Perhaps, they said, she was simply nervous of being in such esteemed company, and that was why she seemed so rude.

Jon knew differently. He knew how much Daine hated to be touched. She tolerated it from him, mainly because he still forgot until after he had gripped her hand in greeting, or patted her back in jest. He but back the urge to apologise to her now, because he could not be informal in front of the piercing scrutiny of the Gallan dipomats... but he was relieved when the girl caught his eyes and smiled slightly.

Daine had been furious when he had summoned her, and he knew that her performance today was her way of telling him off.

It was a trick she had learned from her friend Hazelle, an ancient socialite who had spent her life charming nobles out of their secrets and selling them to the highest bidder. The old woman had hidden Daine in her home when the girl first escaped from slavery. It had only taken her a few months to disguise the shy, frightened prisoner as a noble woman. The dress Daine wore, Jon knew, was as much Hazelle's idea as Daine's. If anyone knew how to make an entance, it was Hazelle.

"She wants to forget everything that happened." Hazelle had scolded the king, snatching the summons away from him. "Do you really need her to... to live through it again? To talk about what those men did to her in front of all those people?"

"I wish I didn't," Jon sighed and rubbed at his aching forehead. "I feel awful for it, but if we're going to bring those men to justice then we need her to testify. She'd want them to be punished, I'm sure of that."

"And your country would be so much safer with half the Gallan lords swinging from a gibbet," Hazelle retorted. Jon didn't even bother to deny it; his voice grew cool.

"Yes, and if Daine can protect my citizens from Timsra with a few words then I won't have to risk my soldiers' lives."

Hazelle pursed her lips, and then dropped the summons on the table with a look of distaste. "Well, you can get your page to take it to her. I won't be your courier in this."

"It will sound better coming from you."

"I know, which is why I'm refusing." Hazelle leaned her hip against the desk, and her dark green skirt rustled against the stone floor. "They'll both be furious about it. It's probably best that they only shout at one of us. You know they won't listen to you when they're angry, no matter how logical you're being."

"Logical?" Jon looked up sharply, "So you'll speak up for me?"

Hazelle grinned wickedly. "For your plan, your highness! As for you... facing the wrath of our two dear friends...? I will pray for you."

In the courtroom on that stuffy summer day, Jon wondered if Hazelle had managed to talk Daine around. That smile had seemed friendly enough, but she still faced down the ambassador with an expression of open hostility.

That esteemed gentleman was rather round, rather bald, and spoke in the kind of slow whine one would expect from a water wheel as it swelled in the cold. He looked down his nose at the girl, raising hia eyebrows at her dress, and steepled his finger before his round eyes. "What is your name?"

"Veralidaine Salmalin." The woman replied in a curt voice. The ambassador glanced at Jonathan.

"I thought you said she was Gallan, your majesty! That's not a Gallan name."

"I am Gallan. My husband isn't." Daine looked at the man properly for the first time, her eyes filled with dislike. "You should talk to me, not to Jon, since I had to come all this way to meet you. You're bein' rude."

"You're being defensive," He returned mildly.

She bit her lip at her outburst and shrugged. "My maiden name was Sarrasri."

"Sarrasri?"

"Yes." Her eyes dared him to comment on the name, to call out her illegitimacy in front of the whole court, but the man simply frowned.

"And you say you have evidence against your own countrymen?"

She laughed at that, and the dull sound echoed against the silence of many people straining to overhear. "I would never call them that. I have reason enough to hate them until the day I die. I was their prisoner for six years and a hostage for another nine months after I tried to escape to Tortall, I was taken as a slave by their leader and he told me so many secrets my ears fair bled, and I was there when the fightin' took place. Your trial is just play actin' against all I know. Those men are guilty."

The man leaned forward and his voice was quiet. "And why should we believe you?"

She shrugged. "Put a truth spell on me if you like."

"They don't work on the deluded, and you said yourself you were a prisoner." The man's voice was reasonable - that was the worst thing. The girl clutched her elbows as if she felt a sudden chill when the man said, "The prison where you were held is meant for the insane, isn't it?"

"Yes," She started,"But..."

"Were you locked up by accident?"

"N...no..."

"Oh, so you were meant to be there,but if these men are guilty then that absolves you of... whatever it is you did?"

"Sir Wisnom, you're out of line." Jon said sharply. "Daine's not on trial. I called her here to give evidence, not to..."

"Oh, she is on trial." The ambassador rounded on him. "She has to be! King Timsra knows that your whole case rests on what this girl's been telling you. He sent me to find her."

"Find me?" Daine planted her hands on her hips furiously. "I'm not some toy he mislaid!"

"No, but you are his subject." Wisnom looked again at the king, who had paled at his words. "Your majesty, with all due respect, that woman is a Gallan citizen and she is a criminal. She escaped from jail where she was held for murder. Just because she escaped into your country does not mean she is your citizen."

The crowd burst into a series of gasps and raised voices at that, and Daine fell silent and stared at her feet. Her lips moved and she winced, trying to find the right words against all the noise. Jonathan looked equally nonplussed, but when he raised his eyes to the ambassador he saw that the man was smiling.

"You planned this," He burst out, remembering the casual arrogance of King Timsra's letters. Wisnom smirked and then shook his head.

"Planned? Me?" He looked appalled. "My lord, we are simply here for a fair and balanced trial! The innocent will be pardoned and the guilty shall be discovered." He smiled sweetly at Daine. "Just as your majesty wished."