Hearts in Zenith (Four Husbands and a Lover)

22. The Retribution

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.