Midlife Blues - Victoria Danann Page 0,16
guideline than a rule. The incident may represent an error in judgment, but the pais is young.”
I looked at Natasha. “How old is the pais?”
“In human years, she is about two hundred fifty years old.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was way inappropriate, but come on.
“Gote Murelli. I don’t think the deliberate and systematic torture of other creatures is a matter of a lapse of judgement or a behavior that will be corrected by maturity. You’re not suggesting that the pais did not commit this crime then.”
Another round of collective murmurs rose to an almost deafening level. I banged the gavel in front of me and leaned toward Lochlan.
“What was that about?” I asked.
“The response from attendees?”
“Yes.”
“The word crime.”
“Because essentially nothing is illegal to the fae?”
“Yes.”
“If nothing is illegal, on what grounds does the bureau bring suits?”
Lochlan looked apologetic. “When victims of grave offenses cannot speak for themselves, the bureau speaks for them. What determines ‘grave’ is, as you said, subjective. What determines that something is court-worthy is, as Murelli said, more a guideline than a rule.”
“How will there ever be anything other than chaos so long as the fae live by no organizing principle?”
“The royal families are the organizing principle.”
“And the royal families live by a code of moral and legal anarchy.”
Lochlan pulled in a deep breath. “Well said.”
After weeks of poring over the history of Court Meets, the bigger picture suddenly came into full focus as I sat on the bench listening to my very first case on my very first day as magistrate.
“How much authority do I have to change that?”
Lochlan’s eyes went wide, but he replied dutifully. “Full. Authority. Magistrate.”
I nodded, drew back, and returned my attention to Gote Murelli.
“Does your client have anything to say on her own behalf?”
“No, Your Honor…”
The pais interrupted. “Yes, I do.” She gave me a look that said she couldn’t believe she was expected to engage someone such as myself in dialogue and would just as soon have a conversation with a cockroach. “This is nonsense. Name the fine and let’s be done.”
I almost didn’t recognize my own voice when I said, “You will stand when you’re addressing the court.”
There was a brief and hushed, but extremely animated exchange between the pais and Murelli. It involved a lot of facial expression and hand-waving.
“Gote Murelli,” I warned.
“Yes, Your Honor.” He looked pink around the ears.
“Let your client know that her reluctance to comply isn’t helping her case.”
He turned to the pais with a look that got her attention.
With a grand show of disgust, she got to her feet.
“I want to hear, in your own words, what you were thought the phoenix was feeling when you were forcing its unnatural resurrection.”
She scowled while her chin retracted toward her spine. “Feeling?”
“I’m certain you’re familiar with the word, Alexilia.”
I guessed by the noise that followed that I’d stepped in it again. I turned toward Lochlan and said in hushed voice, “Was I not supposed to say her name?”
Lochlan made a funny face. “Well, ‘supposed to’ is hard to define.”
Looking the other direction, I saw that Keir’s right forearm was thrown over his glorious abs while his left hand attempted to cover uncontrollable laughter.
Turning back to Lochlan, I said, “Why didn’t you tell me not to call them by name?”
His shrug was accompanied by a wan smile, “Forgot?”
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. While my end goal wasn’t the avoidance of offending the royal families, there was no call for unnecessary poking.
“Should I apologize?”
He shook his head vigorously. “Definitely not. It would be interpreted as weakness.”
“Great.” I sighed.
By the time I swiveled my chair back to face the room, the noise had died down, no doubt because the fae were waiting for my next norm-busting, sensational trick.
“Excuse the interruption,” I said to no one in particular. To the pais, I said, “You were about to describe your perception of what the phoenix was feeling while she was being burned alive and forced to regenerate.”
The pais’s scowl didn’t lessen. She glanced toward the gallery where her kin were spectators then leaned down to whisper something to her counsel.
After a minute or so, I said, “Gote Murelli. Please instruct your client to answer my question.”
He cleared his throat. “Your Honor, I wonder if I might answer on…”
“No. You may not. I’ll hear from the pais.” I looked at her pointedly and added, “Now.”
“You wouldn’t know this,” she said to me, “being human.” Her disdain was so thick she could barely form the word