The Trial

The queen stood rigid as the council returned to the chamber. She watched, prepared to see her husband condemned for unforgivable crimes.

Nine of the most venerated members of her clan walked noiselessly to take their places at the great table, robes flowing behind them in liquid ripples. Once the others were seated, the senior counselor drew the scroll open before him.

“It is the decision of this council that Daegus O Cuana, High Prince of the Clan Moraine,” he read, “is guilty of the charges brought against him. So say you all?”

One by one, each member of the council voiced their consent.

“Yea.”

“Yes, counselor.”

“Aye.”

With every vote, every assent, the queen’s back grew stiffer and stiffer. Normally the council operated under the guidance of their queen. But when a member of the royal family forsakes the laws of his people, the burden of justice falls to the council.

The queen did not look at her husband. Would not.

Staring straight ahead, unseeing, she barely registered the rest of the decree.

“Daegus O Cuana, you are so judged,” the senior counselor recited from the scroll. “For the crime of bringing death to humans for the benefit of power, you are hereby stripped of your magic and sentenced to a millennium in the Everdark.”

Gasps echoed across the chamber.

The others in attendance were shocked to see their high prince condemned to the harshest punishment known to their kind. Banished for a thousand years to the bleak, black, unmagical realm. A living death, they called it.

But the queen had expected nothing less. Her husband had sunk too far, been beyond recovery for too long. The council had no choice. In order to save the clan, they had to sacrifice their high prince.

“Sentence to begin immediately.”

The counselor handed the scroll to a page, who turned and carried it to where the queen stood, motionless. When she did not move to accept the offering, the page whispered, “Your majesty?”

Something inside her snapped.

For the first time since Daegus had violated the Trocaire, the queen looked at her husband. The wild-eyed man held tight in the grip of two massive guards bore no resemblance to the man she had married so many centuries ago, who had taught her how to temper her rule with mercy and heart. That fae was long gone, replaced by a power-addict who would break the most sacred laws of their clan to get his fix.

Now, as she studied her husband from across the room, she expected to feel nothing. She expected ambivalence at best. Perhaps even joy.

The rage and shame shocked her.

Hot, vile anger boiled within her and she struggled to maintain control. If her husband’s fall taught her anything, it was that she could never lose control. Could never allow herself the luxury—the indulgence—of giving in to the emotion. To the power.

Too much was at stake.

As the auromancer began the spell, the queen took the scroll from the page. Sparks of magic illuminated the air. Colors swirled around the fallen high prince, faster and faster, until he stood in a cocoon of light and color.

“Cedamus!” the spellcaster shouted.

The light flared for an instant and then it was gone. He was gone.

The queen held the scroll tight in her fist.

Emotions pounded through her. Anger. Pain. Relief.

It was over.

Almost as one, every fae in the chamber turned to face her. The page was the first to kneel, followed by the senior counselor and the rest of the council. Soon, the entire chamber had dropped to their knees, heads bowed in deference.

“All hail Eimear O Cuana,” the senior counselor said, “Queen of the Clan Moraine.”

As she looked out over the people—her people—a new determination filled her. Responsibility. Her husband had failed their clan. She would not.