The judge--an elderly, gray-haired Moroi who looked like she could still kick ass--called the room to attention, and I twisted around to face forward again. The Council was entering, and she announced them one by one. Two sets of benches had been arranged for them, two rows of six with a thirteenth in back raised. Of course, only eleven of the spots were filled, and I tried not to scowl. Lissa should have been sitting there.
When the Council was settled, the judge turned to face the rest of us and spoke in a voice that rang through the room. "This hearing is now in order, in which we will determine whether there is enough evidence to--"
A commotion at the door cut her off, and the audience craned their necks to see what was going on.
"What's this disturbance about?" the judge demanded.
One of the guardians had the door partially open and was leaning out, apparently speaking to whoever was in the hall. He ducked back into the room. "The accused's lawyer is here, Your Honor."
The judge glanced at Damon and me and then delivered a frown to the guardian. "She already has a lawyer."
The guardian shrugged and appeared comically helpless. If there had been a Strigoi out there, he would have known what to do. This bizarre interruption of protocol was beyond his skill set. The judge sighed.
"Fine. Send whoever it is up here and let's get this settled."
Abe walked in.
"Oh dear lord," I said out loud.
I didn't have to scold myself for speaking out of turn because a hum of conversation immediately filled the room. My guess was that half were in awe because they knew Abe and his reputation. The other half were probably just stunned by his appearance.
He wore a gray cashmere suit, considerably lighter than Damon's grim black. Underneath it was a dress shirt that was so bright a white, it seemed to glow--particularly next to the brilliant crimson silk tie he wore. Other spots of red were scattered about his outfit--a handkerchief in the pocket, ruby cuff links. Naturally, it was all as perfectly tailored and expensive as Damon's outfit. But Abe didn't look like he was in mourning. He didn't even look like he was coming to a trial. It was more like he'd been interrupted on his way to a party. And of course, he sported his usual gold hoop earrings and trimmed black beard.
The judge silenced the room with a hand motion as he strutted up to her.
"Ibrahim Mazur," she said, with a shake of her head. There were equal parts amazement and disapproval in her voice. "This is... unexpected."
Abe swept her a gallant bow. "It's lovely to see you again, Paula. You haven't aged a day."
"We aren't at a country club, Mr. Mazur," she informed him. "And while here, you will address me by my proper title."
"Ah. Right." He winked. "My apologies, Your Honor." Turning, he glanced around until his eyes rested on me. "There she is. Sorry to have delayed this. Let's get started."
Damon stood up. "What is this? Who are you? I'm her lawyer."
Abe shook his head. "There must have been some mistake. It took me a while to get a flight here, so I can see why you would have appointed a community lawyer to fill in."
"Community lawyer!" Damon's face grew red with indignation. "I'm one of the most renowned lawyers among American Moroi."
"Renowned, community." Abe shrugged and leaned back on his heals. "I don't judge. No pun intended."
"Mr. Mazur," interrupted the judge, "are you a lawyer?"
"I'm a lot of things, Paula--Your Honor. Besides, does it matter? She only needs someone to speak for her."
"And she has someone," exclaimed Damon. "Me."
"Not anymore," said Abe, his demeanor still very pleasant. He had never stopped smiling, but I thought I saw that dangerous glint in his eyes that frightened so many of his enemies. He was the picture of calm, while Damon looked like he was ready to have a seizure.
"Your Honor--"
"Enough!" she said in that resounding voice of hers. "Let the girl choose." She fixed her brown eyes on me. "Who do you want to speak for you?"
"I..." My mouth dropped open at how abruptly the attention shifted to me. I'd been watching the drama between the two men like a tennis match, and now the ball had hit me in the head.
"Rose."
Startled, I turned slightly. Daniella Ivashkov had crept over in the row behind me. "Rose," she whispered again, "you have no idea who that Mazur man is." Oh, didn't I? "You want nothing to do with him. Damon's the best. He's not easy to get."