The Road to Hell

Chapter Twenty-Three

January 11

Gadrial peered at her reflection with critical eyes. The burgundy silk gown the duchess had ordered her private dressmaker to run up for her was a glorious confection, but she was in no fit state to truly appreciate it.

Yesterday, after the long day waiting on the Board of Inquiry, she’d finally accepted the duchess’s offer and taken a suite in the Portalis ducal apartments, which stood so much closer to the Commandery offices used by the Inquiry. This morning her hostess had provided everything she needed. Nor was Sathmin Olderhan alone in “looking after” her.

Many of the Olderhan staff might believe Shaylar and Jathmar were the villains the news painted, but not one believed the slanders whispered against Jasak Olderhan. They’d helped raise that boy into a man. And now they clearly very desperately wanted Gadrial to like them. It was almost overwhelming how well they were treating her. This dress wasn’t just from the duchess, and she knew it. Yet as much as she appreciated their remarkable welcome, it was impossible for her to respond the way she knew she ought to. However hard she tried, she simply couldn’t see past the horror of what the Union of Arcana’s Commandery might do to Jasak.

She gave her reflection a brave attempt at a smile. It failed miserably, so she gave up, closed her eyes, and covered her face with both hands. Help me get through this day, Rahil, she prayed. And please, I beg of you, help Jasak. He’s not Ransaran, but he needs your help.

Needed it desperately…

Gadrial slipped off the burgundy silk. She’d hoped it might cheer her up a little, but her eyes were so damp she was afraid of dripping on the dress and ruining it with water spots. Given what the duchess had paid for it, she didn’t want to ruin it the first time she took it out of the closet, and she’d forgotten to ask the designer if the silk had been treated to repel water. She wasn’t sure of the wording for spell that would accomplish it, either, which made her wary to experiment on so expensive an item.

So she dutifully stripped it off, hanging it carefully in the closet where a magic field kept garments floating at the perfect height for the wearer, kept any of them from touching and wrinkling any others, and served, as well, to repel dust, moths, and anything else that might nibble on them. She’d never seen a closet like it, ever.

Before the news had come, night before last, she’d vowed to build the spells necessary to replicate it in her own closet, at home. She still intended to do that. She really did. Just as soon as her life settled down enough to make going home again, possible. That threatened to start the faucet flowing again, and she drew a deep breath to calm herself, pulled out a suit to replace the burgundy silk, and dressed quickly.

She’d already planned a whirlwind of a week, meeting with her Academy staff, with the duke and several of his political supporters, and with Halathyn’s widow. When the summons for the Board of Inquiry came immediately, she’d canceled or delayed everything she possibly could-except for Mahritha vos Dulainah. Halathyn’s widow would actually have understood if she hadn’t come. The woman’s generosity of spirit overflowed even now, and she’d done her very best to comfort Gadrial. If Halathyn had been her second father, Mahritha had been her second mother, and she’d watched that second mother’s eyes fill with tears at last when Gadrial told her Halathyn had named the very last universe he would ever explore in her name. That was what had finally broken her composure, and Gadrial wished desperately that she’d had some miraculous piece of magic to wash away the pain of Halathyn’s death.

But today promised to be worse. So she dressed quickly, then spent a great deal of care over her face and hair, using cosmetic spells to tint eyelids and cheeks, to smooth over the dark smudges under her eyes, put there by sleeplessness and strain, and to repair her dry, bitten lips so they were moist and expertly shaded in her best, most flattering colors. For her hair, she wanted a simple, businesslike look and she murmured spells from the latest fashion crystals, grateful she could do the job, herself, rather than having to pay a Gifted hair and makeup artist to do it for her.

Of course, she could always borrow the Duchess’ in-house artist…

Gadrial sighed while her hair lifted itself into the upswept style from the crystal, tucking itself into the proper configuration. Once she had it smoothed to her satisfaction, she set the spell with a simple holding incantation and clipped her favorite bracelet around her wrist. She checked the results carefully in the mirror, then nodded, satisfied.

Sleek, simple, professional.

All signs of stress carefully obscured.

Except her hands, which shook. She dragged down another deep, desperate breath and told her eyes to stay dry. I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not…Word had come at dinner, last night. Without waiting for the Board of Inquiry’s report, Parliament had announced War Hearings and the Commandery had declared sufficient grounds to begin court-martial proceedings.

Jasak was being court-martialed.

She snarled a curse under her breath, snatched up her crystal case, and strode out of her beautifully appointed suite. The actual court-martial-the trial, itself-would run concurrently with a hellish schedule of Parliamentary hearings, both set to begin today.

Every single one of the “witnesses” who’d returned from the frontier had already given their preliminary testimony to the Board of Inquiry, which had been used as the basis for the decision to proceed with a formal court-martial. Now all the witnesses, including that snake of a Mythlan, Bok vos Hoven, would be questioned again-and again-minutely, as the officers of the court attempted to determine Jasak’s guilt or innocence on a number of charges.

That nightmare was scheduled to begin this morning, at North Hathak Army Base. This afternoon, it would be Parliament’s turn to poke and prod and drain them dry. They would undergo interrogation on that schedule for as long as it took to find Jasak guilty or innocent of the military charges and for the members of the War Operations and Intelligence Committee to obtain what they termed “sufficient information to pursue national defense,” keeping their personal lives on hold while they wobbled back and forth like marionettes on strings.

Rahil’s mercy, but she dreaded the next several days. Or weeks. Surely it wouldn’t last for months?

She drew another breath and focused on what was on her plate for today. She’d never testified at a court-martial. She’d never been called before a parliamentary committee for official hearings, before, either. Halathyn had, in his capacity as a theoretical magister, several times, and she was trying to recall everything he’d said about the process, but her nerves were so jangled, it was difficult.

Her role today would be similar to his, with the emphasis being on what she’d seen and heard from the moment that first rifle shot had split the air on the morning Yurak Osmuna and Falsan chan Salgmun had shot one another. She had her notes, in the slim case she used to carry her PC, and held more of her research data on additional data crystals. She wasn’t sure she’d need it, but she wanted to be prepared if Parliament’s newest standing committee asked for particulars on what she and Halathyn had been working on.

What maddened her more than anything was that neither Jasak nor his father would comment on anything that was happening. They were perfectly prepared to discuss the general news, to share her fury at the obvious distortions in the journals and public crystals. And they made no bones about their wrath at the way Jasak’s shardonai were caricatured and demonized in those accounts. But she couldn’t get a word-no one single, solitary word-out of either of them where the implications for Jasak were concerned!

She’d thought she’d come to some acceptance of the way she felt about Jasak Olderhan. The way she felt about living in his world. But during the past five days, the Jasak she’d known during their long journey had utterly vanished. She didn’t even know the cool, remote stranger who pretended to be the same man she’d ended up kissing so passionately during their final run into Portalis. The tears prickled again, and she swore savagely under her breath and told them to go right back where they’d come from.

It didn’t work.

She was busily engaged in the mortifying business of scrubbing her cheeks fiercely dry with the backs of both hands as she stepped into the magical drop-field that wafted her from the fourth-floor bedroom suites to the ground-floor area where meals were taken, visitors were met, and life was generally lived. Even with a direction finding spell, she could barely find her way around beyond the immediate environs between her assigned suite and the dining room.

They’d been gathered in that dining room for a late supper when word had arrived. Jasak’s only comment had been that the court’s investigators had promised to be impartial, thorough, and scrupulously honest. He’d actually told her to trust the court’s officers! Oh, yes, certainly, she’d fumed through a haze of anger and horror. Trust them. They’re impartial. Honest. They’ll reach the right verdict. Right. And if Jasak or his father or those officers expect me to believe that, they’re either arrogant or fools! Or both.…

She didn’t trust any of them. Not as far as she could throw them, which was about as far as she could pick up and throw this sprawling townhouse. Trust them? Hah! She didn’t even understand them. They were Andaran. She’d spent the entire night alternating between sobbing into her pillow and throwing the pillow-and everything else within reach-at the walls.

Court-martial!

He hadn’t done anything wrong!

Didn’t anyone besides her see that?

It had taken Gadrial a shame-faced hour, this morning, to repair the damage she’d wrought with spells that put the broken pieces of the Duchess’ lovely knick-knacks back together.

Now the drop-field set her gently on the ground floor and she set her teeth and stepped out into the corridor, heading grimly toward the dining room for yet another meal she didn’t feel like eating. When she’d tried to talk to Jasak after dinner last night, he’d taken both her hands in his, said, “I really can’t talk to you right now, Gadrial. Not until the court’s finished questioning you as a witness.” And then he’d kissed her-on the cheek! — and vanished through a side door.

She’d wanted to scream at him.

She still did.

When she reached the dining room, a waiting maid redirected her to “the breakfast room.” Gadrial hadn’t even heard of that room, since breakfast had invariably been served in the same chamber in which they’d eaten dinner and luncheon, but she followed the maid through a maze of corridors, expecting to find the entire family, comprising the duke and duchess, Jasak, his youngest sister, and Jathmar and Shaylar. Instead, she found the duchess, by herself.

Jasak’s mother glanced up when she halted in the doorway.

“Come in, Gadrial, dear,” she murmured, beckoning her over.

Uncertain what to expect, Gadrial crossed the sunny, cheerful little room-little by the townhouse’s standards, anyway-and set her PC case down on an upholstered chair no one would be using.

“Sit down, Gadrial,” the duchess said, patting the chair beside her own.

She took her seat with great hesitation and the duchess gazed at her, then nodded.

“Mmm-hmm, as I suspected. You’ve spent a night as miserable as mine. More miserable, I should expect, since you’re so unused to Andaran ways.”

“How could you tell?” Gadrial asked in a hoarse voice. “I was so careful, this morning, to erase the signs.”

“Yes, my dear. I know.” The duchess’ smile was surprisingly sweet. “But you’ve been a leading light at the Institute for years. All those breakthroughs in magic theory have had you in the crystals countless times. And this is the first time I’ve ever seen you-in person or in the news-when your makeup and coiffure have been perfect.”

“Oh.” Gadrial bit her spell-tinted lip. “In my defense, things in the lab can be messy, and I never quite knew when reporters might be stopping by.”

“But we know there are plenty of reporters watching now.” The duchess nodded again, gently. “And you care a great deal about what happens to my son.”

She nodded. And then, to her horror, the faucet started running again. She waved her hands in helpless apology, then gave up and simply accepted the linen napkin the duchess had rescued from the table’s place setting and handed to her. A moment later, Gadrial found herself in Sathmin’s arms, sobbing miserably. The Duchess of Garth Showma didn’t complain about the tears soaking her five-figure silk suit. Instead, she kissed Gadrial’s hair, rocked her, even crooned a soft little tune that reminded Gadrial-achingly-of home.

“Wh-where did you learn that song?” she quavered.

“Mmm? Oh, in Ransar, my dear.”

Gadrial sat up, astonished. “Ransar? You’ve been to Ransar?”

“Oh, yes.” She gave Gadrial a conspiratorial wink. “It was a perfect scandal in the family. I insisted-forcefully-on applying to the Ransaran Academy of Fine Arts and Magic. When I was accepted, I turned our household into a living hell until Papa finally agreed to allow me to attend. Poor Papa. He never did understand why it was so important to me.”

She tilted her head and peered down at Gadrial.

“I’m profoundly glad I spent those four wonderful, illuminating years in Ransar. Particularly now.”

“I don’t understand. Why particularly now?”

“Because, my dear, when my son finally recovers from his bull-headed, stubborn insistence on doing this his own way, without the slightest assistance or advice from anyone, he’s going to find himself in need of a new career and someone to help him put the pieces back together in a totally new configuration.”

“You think he’ll be found guilty?” Gadrial asked softly, and pain ran through the duchess’ eyes.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But in a very real sense, it makes very little difference, since Jasak’s military career is likely over, whatever the final verdict.” She bit her own carefully spell-tinted lip, allowing Gadrial to see her distress. “Even as an Andaran, myself, I’m sometimes appalled by the way our menfolk embrace the absurd code that regulates the way officers are allowed to function.”

“You’re appalled?” Gadrial gasped, and the duchess’ eyes flashed.

“You think it’s easy to watch a husband or a son pay fealty to a set of rules that chew them up and spit them out through no fault of their own? I understand why they do it-why it’s important to them-better than you probably ever will. But Gadrial, child, it hurts to watch them do it, knowing they’re innocent of any wrong-doing and knowing it’s tearing them apart, inside, too.”

Gadrial felt quite abruptly small and selfish and mean.

“No, dear, don’t feel that way,” the duchess said, deciphering her stricken expression. “You’ve no idea how comforting it is, knowing Jasak has someone as wonderful as you waiting to help him when he finally lets you back in.”

“Why has he locked me out?” she wailed. “I don’t understand it. Not at all! It can’t be this folderol about being a witness. We spent months together getting back home. If ‘witness contamination’ was going to happen, it already would have!” Then she lifted her hands to her cheeks, which scalded hot. “Oh, Rahil…” she whispered. She met the duchess’ gaze, eyes wide with horror. “It did. I fell in love with him.”

She covered her eyes, moaning, and Jasak’s mother gathered her in again and kissed her hair once more.

“I know. Which is precisely why you and I are having our breakfast alone this morning. I told Thankhar to take himself off with his son and fend for themselves, and Jathmar and Shaylar are enjoying breakfast in bed. And I’ve already promised both of them that I will personally be present during their questioning, whether by military or civil authorities.”

“I don’t understand,” Gadrial murmured into the duchess’ silk-clad shoulder, which was obviously spell-protected, since the material was not only unspotted, it wasn’t even wet. “How can you do that?” She sat up again, peering curiously into the duchess’ face. “You’re not a soldier or a witness, so how can you attend the court-martial? And the Duke said the parliamentary hearings will be closed sessions, too.”

The duchess chuckled. “My dear, you’re not Andaran. Trust me. I’ll be granted admission, whether they like it or not.”

Gadrial frowned in confusion.

“I think I’d better find out what you mean. I’m in love with the heir to a dukedom,” she said, feeling more than a little dazed at the notion, “and I have no idea what that entails, politically. Or even socially.” She bit her lip. “How can you possibly keep all those crazy rules straight? And why would you want to be present when Jathmar and Shaylar are questioned? I mean, they’re the reason your son’s being court-martialed. Why would you want to protect them? You haven’t known them long enough to consider them friends, the way I do.”

The duchess sighed and gave Gadrial an odd little smile.

“You do have a way of getting to the heart of things, don’t you?” she said. “Very well, let me start with your last point. Why do I want to protect them? Because they’re helpless. And because it’s my duty to protect the helpless. That would be the case even if they hadn’t become part of my family, my household.”

When Gadrial just stared at her, totally mystified, the duchess settled back with the unmistakable air of someone about to launch into a lengthy lesson.

“An Andaran noblewoman has a lifelong duty to help anyone who’s helpless, whether they ask for assistance or not. I know very well what you Ransarans think of the notions we Andarans hold dear, the concept of service before self. But it’s very real for us, very serious. We aristocrats enjoy great privileges, but they come with great price tags. Sometimes those price tags can bring terrible pain, even rip your world apart.”

Gadrial’s eyes widened.

“Oh, yes,” the duchess nodded. “You may laugh at our militant notions all you like,” she said, arching one brow in a delicate challenge Gadrial had no intention of taking up, “but many a case of serious injustice has been set right by an Andaran noblewoman who’s taken up the cause of the person being wronged.

“We may not serve in combat, but we do fight.” The duchess leaned in as if bestowing a secret. “At school in Ransar, I learned that Ransarans and Mythlans think Andaran women are oppressed. Yet they somehow never noticed that Andaran men are every bit as controlled as the women are. They fight the wars, and we ensure the home front is worth their sacrifice. Sometimes that involves a bit more force than some of the administrators who think they run things quite expect.

“Andaran women aren’t in uniform, but we might as well be. If the Union of Arcana expects otherwise, they’re in for quite a surprise. The Andarans at the Commandery are fully cognizant of our power…and more than a little wary of our wrath. And before I’m done with this business, the rest of the gentlemen who think they run our worlds will be more than a little wary, too. I promise you that!”

Her eyes flashed in a way that delighted Gadrial.

The duchess was a fighter!

“Having said that,” the duchess continued smoothly, “let’s turn to Jathmar and Shaylar. They’re utterly helpless and at grave risk of enduring serious further injustice on several levels. That makes them my business. My official, Andaran-duty business. But it doesn’t end there, my dear. Since they’re Jasak’s shardonai-a decision on his part which I whole-heartedly support-they’re not simply in the custody of my family; they are my family, and that makes those duties even heavier and more vital for me to uphold.”

Gadrial’s brow furrowed.

“You’re serious about that. It isn’t just some abstract concept for you, is it?”

“No, indeed, it is not. Jathmar and Shaylar are legally a part of my family, part of my household.”

“Your household?” Gadrial echoed. “I thought Andaran men were in charge of Andaran households.”

She could hear the outrage in her own voice. So did the duchess, whose lips quirked again.

“That’s the general perception. But as with many other things about Andarans, it’s, ah, somewhat less than accurate. Thankhar is the lawful head of the family, but by long tradition, an Andaran wife is expected to run everything-and I do mean everything-about the home front when the men leave for war. It’s been so long since the Portal War that some people have forgotten about times when nearly every Andaran governorship was being managed by the Governess, but that is and remains the Andaran tradition.

“The fact that far too many men and women-and too many of them Andarans, like that toad Thalmayr, I’m sorry to say-have forgotten how Andaran women fight is secondary to this discussion, however. The point that is pertinent to this discussion is this: the duties and obligations of the Andaran code are as binding on its women as on its men. And that, my dear, is where I shall nail their balls to the floor.”

“Oh!” Gadrial couldn’t help it. She gaped open-mouth in astonishment; then clapped both hands over her lips. “Sorry,” she gasped. “I just had no idea it really could work that way.”

“It does and it will,” the duchess assured her. “Under Andaran honor codes, I am the one responsible for the safety and well-being of every member of my household. That’s true whether they’re blood-kin, servants in my employ, or invited guests. I’m required, under a fairly stringent set of rules, embodied in Andaran law, to ensure their comfort and their safety.

“An Andaran woman who deliberately allows a member of her household to be injured can be punished quite severely under those laws. I don’t mean common accidents, which can’t be foreseen. I mean if she allows anyone to deliberately injure them. It’s a serious charge and therefore a serious obligation.

“Its origins lie in the endless wars between various noble houses during the pre-Union centuries. A woman who aided her husband by luring his enemies into the home under a guise of hospitality, then betrayed them, was rightly viewed as a dishonorable murderess. That’s why the law is so stringent on that point. And that law has all kinds of ramifications in the modern world, which we Andarans understand quite well. Unfortunately, those ramifications are poorly understood outside the Andaran nations, and it’s been entirely too long since they were publicly reasserted-and demonstrated.

“What that translates to in our current situation is simply this: I’m legally obligated to protect Jathmar and Shaylar, which means I must ensure their safety, which means I cannot allow anyone to bully, browbeat, threaten, or batter them, even emotionally. Not while they remain part of my household. And since they’re a permanent part of my household, that duty’s legally binding upon me in perpetuity, either for the duration of their lives or mine. Oh, and should they have children, that duty will extend to them as well.

“I cannot perform that legally-binding duty if I’m not present during their interrogations. Therefore, I must be granted access to the hearings, whether military or civil. They must allow me to attend. Even if they desperately want to keep me out, they can’t.”

“Can’t?” Gadrial’s eyes widened, and the duchess smiled serenely.

“Can’t.” She picked up her cup and sipped hot bitterblack. After so many years married to an Andaran, she’d actually developed a taste for the Union Army’s beverage of choice. “It’s always possible they might be foolish enough to try. In fact, I rather wish one of them-a Mythalan, by preference-would be that foolish, although I doubt they’ll oblige me. I would so enjoy ‘bringing the hammer down,’ as Thankhar so charmingly put it.

“But, as I say, I very much doubt any of them will be that stupid. And since they can’t keep me out, they must adjust their behavior accordingly. Politicians-and officers-who might not balk at savage attacks in my husband or son’s presence will think twice before indulging that sort of nastiness with me in the chamber.”

Her Grace’s eyes twinkled.

“Thankhar is a politician and bound by the rules of his office, whereas I’m not a public-office holder. That gives me far more latitude in which to kick up a fuss. I assure you, Gadrial, I can be every bit as difficult, stubborn, and cantankerous as they are, when I put my mind to it. And unlike them, I’m perfectly prepared to take every single archaic, persnickety, underhanded, and devious advantage that antiquated social code you dread bestows upon us ‘poor, downtrodden women.’”

Gadrial stared at the Duchess of Garth Showma in genuine awe.

“Perhaps it’s impertinent of me, Your Grace, but I’ll say it, anyway. Jasak has a seriously wonderful mother.”

“Thank you, my dear.” The duchess’ smile went tender and abruptly watery, and she lifted one hand to touch Gadrial’s cheek. “I’ve hoped for a long time that Jasak would find someone very special. He’s going to need you.”

“He won’t even talk to me,” Gadrial whispered.

“No. Not yet. He’s like his father, that way. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve wanted to put Thankhar’s head through the nearest wall. Try to understand, Gadrial. Jasak’s entire focus over the past several months has been getting you and the Sharonians safely home, with as little further hurt as possible. He’s also had the responsibility to bring back a prisoner who quite seriously wants him dead. I refer to the shakira he caught abusing a garthan under his command. And he’s also had the worry of making sure Otwal Threbuch and Jugthar Sendahli reached home safely, as well.”

Gadrial blinked. “Why would he worry about a pair of veterans who can take care of themselves very capably?”

“Two reasons. One, Otwal must testify before the Commandery and the court-martial board, which means his life’s as greatly at risk as yours until this whole mess has come to an end. The Olderhans have enemies, Gadrial, a fair number of them. That’s something you must understand from the outset.

“If you link your life to my son’s, you’ll also become a target of those enemies. In the main, that means political swipes, violated privacy, and the occasional attempt to destroy one’s reputation-or career. That’s a very serious matter for you to consider, Gadrial, which is another reason I wanted to speak to you privately.

“More importantly, as far as Otwal’s concerned, the man Jasak is responsible for handing over to the Judiciary General on capital charges is a Mythlan with high family connections. Very, very high. If the witnesses whose testimony can exonerate my son-if that’s possible-were to suffer accidents prior to testifying, the court would almost certainly hold against him.”

Gadrial nodded.

“Yes, I understand that. In fact, the Duke mentioned it the day we arrived. I just hadn’t realized Jasak was thinking about possible attempts to kill us during our journey. But that’s the real reason the Duke sent Hundred Forhaylin out to New Ransar, isn’t it? Not just to insure our privacy once we got closer to home.”

“Did Jasak tell you that was why Hathysk was sent to meet you?” the duchess asked, arching both eyebrows, and Gadrial shook her head.

“No, but he did let me leap to that conclusion without disabusing me of it,” she replied a bit tartly, and the duchess chuckled.

“I do love my son, but he is very like his father, isn’t he?”

Their eyes met with a shared warmth, amusement, and exasperation, but then the duchess sighed.

“Unfortunately, you’re quite right about the reason-reasons, plural, I should say-Thankhar sent him to meet you. A piece of advice, my dear, from a veteran of the nasty little game of politics: never, ever underestimate what a shakira will do to protect himself, his family line, and his culture. Before you point out that you’re only too familiar with shakira machinations, let me say this. There have been times when Thankhar’s put our entire residence and every member of our family under the heaviest wards money can buy from the top security magisters in the business. Ugly accidents tend to befall people who go head-to-head with line lords or who merely incur their wrath.

“Jasak believed that the initial hummer dispatches had delivered the news of both the battle between his platoon and the Sharonians and the news about the arrest of Bok vos Hoven. Given who vos Hoven is related to-closely related to-it was quite reasonable for him to assume a hummer message could have been sent back down the transit chain with instructions to shakira operatives to arrange a nasty little surprise for your traveling party. Without Otwal’s and Trooper Sendahli’s testimony-or yours-the chance of his conviction would have gone up astronomically. And, of course, if they’d managed to kill all of you, there’d be no need of a court-martial at all, from their perspective.”

Gadrial swallowed hard. “That’s ghastly.”

“Yes,” the duchess said simply. “It is.”

Anger licked Gadrial’s nerves like tongues of flame, and the eyes which met hers this time held no warmth at all.

“Forewarned is forearmed, Your Grace. Thank you for that warning.”

“You’re welcome. Now, then, if Jasak is found guilty in his court-martial, the odds go up that this slimy little shakira won’t be found guilty of his crimes, even with Trooper Sendahli’s testimony.”

“I don’t understand,” Gadrial moaned, holding her throbbing temples. “He was caught in the act. How much more evidence would the army require?”

“An officer cashiered for poor judgment is an officer whose judgment-and motives-are suspect in all things. Including the arrest of a shakira allegedly caught beating and extorting money from a lower-ranked soldier. The Olderhans are widely known for opposing the Mythlan caste system, and Sendahli, as a garthan would have an obvious motive for wanting to see a shakira convicted, rightly or wrongly. And I truly hate to say this, my dear, but virtually everyone in the multiverse knows how you feel about shakira…and you happen to be one of the finest theoreticians in all the known universes. If anyone could hack the court’s truth detection spellware to let him lie successfully, it would be you.”

“I see.” And she did, clearly and hideously. “They’ll say Jasak trumped up the charges against an innocent man, out of prejudice, and that Jugthar went along with it. And you’re right; the shakira would love to drag me into it, as well, wouldn’t they.” She grimaced. “And the court will call that worm vos Hoven as a witness in Jasak’s court-martial, too, won’t they?”

“Yes.” The duchess nodded. “He was present at the battle that’s the basis for the charges pending against my son.”

Gadrial’s heart went a little colder and she swallowed hard.

“Surely the court’s officers will realize that nasty little slimeball will do and say anything to ensure Jasak is destroyed.”

“Of course they will…but that may not be enough to save the man we both love.” She bit her lip again. “I must ask, Gadrial. Did you actually see the battle?”

“No,” she whispered. “When we reached the clearing, Jasak realized immediately that the Sharonians might’ve taken refuge in all that storm debris. It was a perfect spot for an ambush, if that was what they intended. He wouldn’t put me at risk. So he assigned two soldiers as bodyguards and kept me back, out of sight. But I heard it all very clearly.”

Her Grace, Sathmin Olderhan, Duchess of Garth Showma, closed her eyes for a moment. Then she got them open again.

“Well, that’s better than it might have been,” she said. “You may not be an eye-witness, but you’re aware of what happened, when it happened, and in what order. That’s something the court will have to pay attention to, at least.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t see it, Your Grace,” Gadrial whispered.

“Don’t fret too greatly, my dear,” Jasak’s mother said firmly. “And given what we’ve just been discussing, it’s time to drop this silly formality. My name is Sathmin. And don’t even try to protest,” she added. “One of the greatest joys of the four years I spent studying in Ransar was the delight of having people use my name, rather than my title or its related formal address.”

Her smile was soft with memory.

“Those four years were so…liberating. It took some getting used to, at first, but I missed it desperately when I came home and discovered that my father had set up a marriage arrangement for me.”

“He arranged your marriage?” Gadrial gasped, horrified.

“Oh, yes. Most Andaran marriages are carefully arranged by the parents on both sides of a prospective union.”

Gadrial’s heart sank.

“Oh, no, dear child,” the duchess said firmly, “none of that! If I thought you weren’t suitable, we wouldn’t be here, this morning, having this conversation.”

When she finally managed to speak, Gadrial’s voice was filled with wonder. “That’s the second-highest compliment I’ve ever been paid.”

Sathmin Olderhan blinked, startled and obviously puzzled for a moment; then her eyes softened.

“The highest was when Halathyn vos Dulainah agreed to train you?” she asked gently.

“You’re close. That was a profound compliment to a country girl barely turned eighteen. But the highest compliment was the day he resigned from the Mythal Falls Academy. He was furious over the accusations against me, but I couldn’t believe it, when he resigned his faculty post. He was Chairman of the Department of Theoretical Magic Research, the most coveted and honored position in the entire academy. And he threw it away. Threw it into their teeth, like a hurled stone. Over me. I wasn’t worth it,” she whispered.

“My dear,” Sathmin murmured, taking Gadrial’s hand in hers, “I beg to differ. You most certainly were worth it, or he wouldn’t have done it. You forget how many conversations I’ve had with him, in my role as an Institute advisor and sponsor. Moreover, I’ve watched the Garth Showma Institute prosper and grow and outshine the Mythal Falls Academy again and again, under your leadership. To succeed wildly in an endeavor in which your enemy has attempted to make you fail, Gadrial, is always the very best revenge. Trust me; you’ve accomplished that many times over.”

The duchess smiled again, sweetly.

“And by placing me in the same company as Halathyn vos Dulainah, you’ve paid me one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. So, having settled how admirably suitable you are for my son, let’s get some breakfast into you.”

Sathmin touched a spell accumulator beside her chair. Nothing happened here, but Gadrial knew the spell would inform the staff that the duchess was ready for the rest of her breakfast. Less than one minute later, that breakfast arrived, set out efficiently by the maids who looked after the family meals. The spell-enhanced serving dishes were the best on the market, programmable for various temperatures, with a simple dial on each serving dish allowed the staff-or diners-to dial the holding temperature up or down, as desired.

She settled in and tucked into her meal as Sathmin worked exceedingly hard at putting her at her ease. Within minutes, she’d relaxed enough to actually enjoy the stories of Jasak’s childhood mishaps, hijinks, and triumphs. She needed that, and she blessed Jasak’s mother for helping her prepare for the coming ordeal. And she prayed to Rahil, as well. Prayed hard, hoping that what she’d heard that terror-filled, agonizing day in a forest far from this lovely breakfast room, would save the man they both loved.

The alternative was unbearable.