WINDWEEPER (17 page)

"I'll give you my coat," Gerren said, feeling the cold seeping through the walls, the damp on Conar's chilled flesh.

Conar shook his head. "Would know where I got it…"

"What do I care? You're my son! I will not see you freeze to death!"

Conar could think of worse ways to die. The voice that answered his father was strained; ashamed to admit it was afraid of more pain. "Would hurt me, Papa. Make me pay for it."

Gerren seethed. The Tribunal had absolute authority under the law, and he, himself, was sworn to uphold their edicts. But this time the bastards had gone too far. They had tortured his son! And now to make him sit here in the freezing cold…

In the distance, the two men heard the rattle of key to lock and flinched.

"Go, now, Papa," he begged. "Leave me before they find you."

"Conar, no—"

"Papa, please." Conar gathered up what waning strength he had left. He couldn't tell his father they were coming for him again to bring him more pain and degradation. He wanted his father far away from this place when the screaming began. "Please, for my sake, go."

Gerren placed a soft kiss on his son's limp, oily hair. "I am so sorry I have done this to you."

"Go," came the weak, tear-filled reply.

King Gerren came to his feet. "I love you, Conar. We all love you."

Conar wasn't sure he knew what that meant anymore.

Gerren took one last look at his son before closing and locking the cell door behind him. As he pulled shut the secret door leading away from the punishment cells, he saw in his mind's eye Conar's face turned up to him.

Only a shimmer of blue could be seen through the swollen, puffy lids; the tears had been easily seen. The tears, and the lost, hopeless pain.

Kaileel Tohre lay with his head in Robbie MacCorkingdale's lap. The younger man gently smoothed the white-blond shock of thick hair from the High Priest's forehead and stroked the smooth-shaven jaw.

"And did he sign the confession last eve, Master?"

"Eventually," Kaileel said sleepily. "He had to be reminded of his mortality, but he did sign."

"But will it hold up in court?" a third man asked from the window.

"Oh, yes. His family can protest that the confession was extracted under torture, but they can't prove it. I administered the healing potion after he was made to sign." Reaching up a hand, Kaileel pulled Robbie's mouth down to his own and kissed the thick lips.

"Tell me about it," came a disgusted hiss from the window.

"Um?"

"About how you made him sign, Kaileel."

A self-satisfied smile lit Tohre's thin face. He looked at the window where Galen McGregor stood. "I told you, you could have come with me." He smiled. "I didn't know you were so queasy."

"I'm not," came the waspish reply.

"Ah, but you still have some feeling for your twin." Tohre chuckled. "I understand."

"Just tell me how you got him to sign!" Galen snarled.

"I had him brought back to the interrogation chamber and then I again put the document before him. He didn't want to sign, wouldn't hold the quill despite my guard's best efforts, but eventually he was made to see the light."

"How?"

Kaileel shrugged. "Well, it was like this…"

* * *

Conar was forced into the same chair he had been put in every day for weeks, refusing to sit of his own accord, just as he had every other time.

Kaileel put his lips close to Conar's ear and spoke in a clear voice that the nearly deaf man could hear. "Listen carefully, Conar. I am going to say this only once. This confession will be signed tonight, and no later, because if it isn't, I will be forced to bring charges against the others in this conspiracy with you. I don't think you'd like for me to do that since the first person I would have arrested would be your precious bitch-wife."

Conar flinched, but he didn't speak.

"Do you think she could stand such pain as you have endured, my Prince?" Kaileel whispered. "Can you imagine how her lovely face will look after Kullen finishes with it?"

A single tear formed in Conar's right eye and slid down his battered cheek.

Kaileel continued to torment the helpless man, gauging the hurt that settled on the ravaged face. "Consider what the stability of her sanity would be if I let my men use her. I will, you know. I can do that. The Tribunal has given me the authority. I can have her brought here and make you watch while my men question her about her part in this affair."

"No," Conar snarled through split lips.

"Think about it, Conar. Her tender, soft, flesh being battered, cut. Her body being used like the common whore she is!"

"No."

"Have you ever used her as I used you when you were a little boy? Do you remember what it feels like? Do you think she would find pleasure in—"

"I will sign," Conar said weakly.

Kaileel grinned. From the slump of the prince's shoulders and the trembling of his lips, he knew the fight had been knocked out of Conar McGregor. "I didn't hear you, Beloved."

"I will sign, Kaileel." Tears coursed down Conar's sunken cheeks as the quill was placed in his hand.

Kaileel bent over the writing desk, the better to see. He placed his fingers over Conar's, helped him guide the quill. Slowly, Conar scribbled his name on the document. When he finished, he laid down the quill and hung his head.

"You didn't even read what you were signing."

Conar's voice was barely a whisper. "I couldn't see the damned thing. You saw to that."

"It doesn't matter, Sweeting. By tomorrow morn, by the time you are brought before the Tribunal for trial, you will be able to see and hear everything that goes on." A gentle hand reached out to stroke Conar's hair. "I will again be able to see that handsome face."

"So I'll look good in my coffin."

Kaileel shook his head in admonishment. "You will be sent away, yes; but you aren't to die. Living is part of your punishment. Living without your precious wife since your marriage can now be annulled."

Conar's head came up. He stared blankly toward Kaileel's voice. "What?"

"Since you signed this confession, admitted your adultery, the Tribunal will have no choice but to annul your marriage."

"Adultery?"

"You know the Tribunal frowns on royalty committing adultery. Your marriage contract expressly forbids it. We've known all along about your tawdry little affair with the servant wench. We've simply waited until the most opportune moment to use it against you. You may not be guilty of the other charges, but of this, you know you are! Do not concern yourself with the servant, she will not be punished since you used your authority to make her come to your bed."

"Kaileel, please…"

"And because the Tribunal can annul your marriage, making the annulment retroactive to the time before you were disinherited, they can now contract with another heir to the throne for the Princess Anya Elizabeth's hand in marriage."

"No." It was a whimper of hopelessness.

"Your father has already named his heir. Galen has been reinstated through my manipulation. Your precious wife will soon be his to do with as he pleases!"

"Kaileel, don't do this, please!"

"As soon as your trial is over, as long as you are a good boy and cause us no trouble, I will see that no charges are brought against that bitch. Make one false move, utter one word we do not wish to hear, and I swear she will be lashed to death once Kullen and his men are through with her!"

Conar struggled wildly to get free, shouting his hatred.

"When your punishment is carried out, you will be exiled to some distant place from which you can not return, and your wife will be wed to the next in line to the Serenian throne. The Tribunal, and I, will see to it!"

* * *

Galen looked away from Kaileel's beaming face. Somewhere deep in his soul he wondered if his love for Liza was worth all the pain in which he had been a party. All the pain he had suffered at the Abbey in Conar's place. He had scars on his back to remind him that he had been initiated in Conar's stead. But he had not been consecrated to the Domination's evil; It had rejected him. He had been found unworthy even of that.

"Don't worry," Kaileel told Galen. "The woman is within reach. We will give her to you."

Aye, Galen thought, and all the pain he had suffered would be worth it. Worth every damn vile touch he had been forced to endure to win her.

* * *

He waited quietly, hands in his lap. He wore freshly pressed and neatly creased breeches, a clean white shirt. His boots were polished.

The door opened; a guard came in carrying a writing desk. After setting it in front of him, the guard turned sharply on his heel and exited. The door closed.

He glanced idly at the top of the desk. It was a beautiful piece of parquetry inlaid with black oak, cherry, and pine woods. The pattern across the top was an intricate maze of sharp angles intersecting all the way to the rolled edges of three of the sides. He admired the workmanship, the table's beauty, and then returned his gaze to the farthest corner of the room.

He sat for over an hour before the door opened again and someone entered. He didn't move; didn't turn. He didn't need to. He knew who had entered.

From the corner of his vision, a parchment was laid upon the writing desk; a quill was held out to him. He glanced at the parchment and then at the man who had placed it before him.

"Read it."

He sighed. What difference did it make if he read it or not? He would sign it anyway. He reached for the quill, but it was held away from him.

"I must insist you read it before I allow you to sign it."

He lifted the top portion of the page away from the desk and scanned the writing. He closed his eyes when he was through, let out a tired, weary sigh, opened his eyes again. He patiently held out his hand for the quill.

"You have read it?"

He nodded.

"And understand?"

Again the silent nod.

The quill was laid in his hand. He carefully scrawled his name along the bottom, then put his hands in his lap and lowered his head.

The door opened, the guard removed the desk, and left, quietly closing the door behind him.

"The trial will convene in less than an hour. Is there anything you wish to say to me?"

He raised his head, focused on the man's face. What was there left to say?

His visitor bent over him, took his chin in a tender grip. "You will be tried in open court."

He spoke for the first time in two days. "And found guilty."

"Then punished."

A fleeting smile touched his dry lips. "I know you will enjoy watching that, Kaileel."

Kaileel Tohre blinked. His fingers moved up the Prince's cheek and caressed him.

"I loved you," the High Priest swore. "I love you more than you will ever know, and you spurned me. Spat on me. But even so, I will give you one more chance. Just one. All you need do is say the word. If you were but to accept me, to accept what I can offer you…"

Conar slowly shook his head, reached up to take the man's hand from his face. He held the hand in his own as gently as though it were Liza's. "I would rather die."

"You just might."

His voice was more dead than alive as he answered. "Leave me alone, Kaileel. For once, just leave me alone." He squeezed Tohre's fingers, then released him.

"Where you are going, you will surely be alone!" the High Priest promised before slamming out of the room.

* * *

The King was amazed at the difference in his son's appearance as Conar was led into the Tribunal Hall of Justice. There wasn't a mark on his face. Thankful he had said nothing to the woman sitting so rigidly beside him, he silently seethed. This was, no doubt, Tohre's doing. The bastard hadn't wanted the Tribunal, nor the young man's family, to see how horribly he had been treated. Without the physical evidence of torture, Conar's battered face, no one could claim duress.

The King had been shown his son's confession. Even knowing the evil thing was all a lie, Gerren could not protest its authenticity until Conar, himself, had made an appearance in court.

He should have known the Domination would never have brought Conar to these chambers the way he looked two days earlier. With brutally abused body on exhibit for all to see, the King could have called for an investigation. Now, unless Conar told the truth, the charges would make no difference. And even if he tell all, would anyone believe him since no marks attested to the fact that Conar had been horribly, savagely beaten?

Legion closely watched his brother. Conar entered the room with shoulders slumped. Whatever had happened in the Interrogation Facility had considerably shaken the young man. He had yet to look up to see if his wife were in attendance. He stared at the floor, his hands at his side, submissive and obedient.

Brelan's eyes narrowed. There were no livid bruises to indicate Conar had been tortured, no shambling walk that would have meant leg irons. He had been freshly shaven and barbered, his skin glowing with a recent bath; his hair was still damp, hanging in curling tendrils around the nape of his neck. It looked for all the world as if he had been well-treated, but was overcome with guilt.

Brelan knew better.

Hern knew better, too. Something had caused this lassitude, this spiritlessness. Conar seemed detached from what was going on, oblivious to those who sat in the benches. He wondered if the boy had been drugged.

Liza wondered, too. She stared at her husband, willing him to look at her, at anyone; but he kept his face averted, his head down. She looked to his father.

"He looks well enough," Gerren told her, sensing her unease.

Brelan heard his father, but the words did not match the emotion in the man's voice. Their father had been to see Conar two nights ago and no doubt saw the results of two weeks worth of interrogation. What they were now seeing was the result of some potent healing charm. Brelan expected such a ploy and came prepared. But he had not expected Conar's quiet acquiescence. He watched Conar tremble as Liza's voice broke through a moment of silence.

Legion understood. The confession had been extracted, no doubt, under penalty of Liza being harmed, even arrested in the so-called conspiracy against the King. If that were the case, it made sense that Conar would not seek to clear his name. A'Lex leaned over to speak in low tones with Brelan, who sat with a carefully controlled face, his chin resting on the apex of his fingers.

Brelan nodded as Legion spoke. He knew his eldest brother was right. Liza had been threatened.

"Will they let him give defense of himself?" Teal du Mer asked, leaning forward to whisper.

"Why wouldn't they?" Legion asked.

"They didn't allow Roget to," Teal answered. "They read the charges, asked him if they were true, then passed sentence. All Roget said the entire time was, "
Aye
."

Hern turned. "They've got to let him speak in his own behalf. They have the confessions of the other six men implicating him in the plot. Even with that damned forged confession, they still have to give him time to tell the Tribunal why he did it." Hern's knowledge of Serenian law was almost as good as Teal's.

"In Oceania, a man is innocent until proven guilty," Chand Wynth said bitterly from his place beside his brother Grice, who sat behind Brelan. "Here, he is guilty until proven innocent!"

"Be quiet, Chandling!" Grice snapped. "We are here to observe, not to interfere!" A loud bang came from near the rear of the courtroom. Grice turned to see a portly man pounding on the floor with a six-foot-long quarterstaff.

"Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye! This Tribunal Court of Justice is declared open!" the bailiff called. "Stand in honor of the Tribunal's arrival!"

Those seated in the visitors' benches came to their feet as the three Tribunal judges filed into the courtroom. Their long, official rust-colored robes rustled as they took their seats on the High Bench. The bailiff struck his quarterstaff on the floor and the visitors resumed their seats.