Midlife Blues - Victoria Danann Page 0,15
baffled. Seeing no reason to repeat myself since he’d obviously heard me clearly, I simply waited. He shifted and looked at Lochlan, perhaps for help. When none was forthcoming, he said, “Some of us can communicate without words.”
“Telepathically?”
“Yes, Magistrate.”
“I see. Are you such a person, Max?”
“I am. Yes.”
“So you’ll be prosecuting on behalf of the phoenix and answering for, um, her, as well?”
“That’s right.”
“Understood. Now step back,” I added, looking between the two so that there was no misunderstanding that I meant both.
I may have been a little terse with the Ombudsman, but I sensed it might be important to establish a clear understanding that I would not be swayed by sparkling blue eyes, an athletic build that Adonis would envy, or a swagger stick with all that might imply.
Actually, I told myself, wearing riding clothes to court was rather stupid.
Just then the fellow in the three-foot-tall striped hat caught my eye. I sighed.
I knew enough from reading the journals of magistrates who’d preceded me to know that the plaintiff presented their case first. “Ombudsman, you may present your case.”
As I reached for a bottle of water and loosed the cap with a loud-ish plastic crack, I realized that all trace of nerves had left me the moment I’d taken my place.
Good gravy. What if the Powers That Be had been right about me?
“I want to hear the facts of the case along with the damages to your client, as you see them, and your recommendation for resolution.”
A loud murmur rippled through the crowd as the fae turned to each other and conversed in loud whispers. Apparently, I’d said something unexpected. Good. It was about time somebody shook the magic kind out of their complacency with ugly behaviors.
Max hadn’t had time to sit before I’d delivered instructions for him to begin. I detected some uncertainty on his part, but it was clear he was committed to work with whatever departure from the norm I threw at him.
“Yes, Your Honor,” he began. “Phoenices are special, even to our kind. And rare. At any given time, in all the world, there would be only a few. They are treasured by fae for their rarity and the mesmerizingly brilliant light that shines all around them.” He paused. “It might be compared to the human idea of angelic aura.”
He looked to me as if waiting for confirmation, but I gave nothing away. It was not a conversation. It was a hearing.
“The capture of phoenices for pets was cited as highly inappropriate long ago because of their fiercely independent nature. Allow me to cite that as a precedent of which we are all aware.” He stopped and looked at the pais pointedly for effect. “It would have been frowned upon if the daughter of the House of Sforza had taken the phoenix for a pet with the intention of showering her with luxury, nurture, and affection. But the treatment the bird received at the hands of this pais was as sadistic an act as I’ve heard in the many years I’ve been working for the bureau.
“The pais kept the phoenix caged so that flight was impossible and frequently amused herself and friends by dousing the phoenix’s feathers with an accelerant and setting the bird on fire so that they could witness the death and resurrection. In the normal course of a phoenix’s life, combustion and rebirth would occur once every five hundred years. That would be, on average, six times. The phoenix was forced to undergo the transformation dozens of times.” He stopped and looked at the pais seated at the other table. “For entertainment.”
After a lengthy pause, he turned to me and said, “So far as damages, I’m at a loss to name damages for a protracted period of captivity combined with the most heinous torture imaginable. But the phoenix is suffering from irreparable damage that might best be called psychological.”
As Max seated himself, I formed an appreciation for the work of this bureau of Behavioral Oversight and for the expert delivery and eloquence of Max’s case. Short. To the point. And emotionally devastating. At least to me.
I turned to the other table. “Gote Murelli. What do you have to say in defense of your client?”
As Max sat down, Murelli pushed his chair back and stood. “As the bureau knows, fae are self-governing. While there may have been a citation at one time regarding the capture of phoenices, techni…” He stopped mid-word, remembering what I’d told Max. “It should be viewed as more a