Page 107 of Rise of a Fallen Man

The one person who stood to pay dearly for all of it was Salas.

Because of his connection to me, his case never went to a judge. To keep it private, he was tried by the royal council, with only the council members and a few trusted guards present. The investigation was rushed, with the trial taking place only two days after his arrest. They couldn’t wait to deal with the undesirable as fast as possible, to erase him from existence, like a shameful stain on the history of the royal family.

The two days leading up to the trial I spent in the royal library, poring over every legal document I could find that might help me defend him.

Yet on the morning of the trial, I approached the throne room empty-handed. There simply was not a single law in Rorrim that was on Salas’s side. In the entire history of the queendom, not a single case had been successfully argued in favor of a fallen man.

Instead of books, notes, or scrolls in my arms, I had a dagger hidden under my purple council robe. I didn’t condone violence, but I couldn’t give up on Salas. I intended to pass the dagger on to him, and if diplomacy failed, I was determined to try anything and everything to free him, including breaking him out of jail.

The guards opened the doors into the throne room for me, and I entered the place I always held sacred in my heart. To me, this was the heart of Rorrim. Everything that was pure and nobleabout the queendom resided here. Now, I feared cruelty and injustice reigned here too.

The queen wasn’t in the room yet, but all twenty-four councilors were present. They bowed to me in greeting—a differential treatment that was nothing but decorum. My opinion mattered here only as long as it aligned with the established norms. When I went against the norms, I never won.

Lady Etah, the Head of the Council, peered at me above her reading glasses. “Greetings, Your Highness.”

“Greetings.” I walked across the open space in the middle with the white marble rose inlaid on the floor and took my seat to the right of the queen’s throne.

Mother arrived shortly after. Her long purple mantle swept over the white rose of peace on the floor on her way to the throne.

She’d said she wasn’t angry with me, just disappointed with my choices. Her disappointment cut deeper than her anger would. But in this case, I couldn’t regret my choices. In fact, if I had to make them again, I would. I’d choose Salas every time.

Four trusted guards, armed with swords and crossbows, entered the room. Behind them, two more led Salas in. His hands weren’t bound, and I realized why when he tripped over his feet, then ran his unfocused gaze across the room. They had drugged him into submission. The guards weren’t here to subdue him. They helped him walk because he was so heavily sedated, he might fall without them holding his arms.

My heart ached seeing him like that. I bit my lip and clasped my hands in my lap so tightly, my fingernails dug into the skin of my palms. The sting of physical pain helped me focus enough to speak.

“The accused is inebriated, Your Majesty,” I said firmly. “He doesn’t have the clear presence of mind to defend himself. We should postpone the trial until he’s mentally competent.”

At the sound of my voice, Salas jerked his head up. His chest expanded with a long breath as the guards seated him in a carved armchair facing the queen, with the white rose of peace between Mother and him.

“The accused is not the one in charge of his defense,” Lady Etah argued. “Lady Wal is. And she is in full control of her mind. Are you not, Lady Wal?”

“I am, Head Councilor,” Lady Wal replied with a soft smile.

They wouldn’t let me defend Salas, citing conflict of interests. They’d tried to ban me even from attending his trial, but I was a full member of the council, and as such, I had the right to be here today.

Lady Wal, a soft-spoken, tall woman in her fifties, rose from her seat and cleared her throat, checking her notes.

Since the law was not on his side, Lady Wal spoke primarily about Salas’s character. She praised his record as an obedient, hard-working slave. She outlined his rise to fame in the gladiators’ arena, portraying him as a man well-loved by the public. She brought up his role in apprehending the violent serial killer. Finally, she highlighted his heroic actions when saving me from the three-winged dragon in the arena. She mentioned his magical ability to wield fire, but Lady Etah promptly dismissed that part.

“The accused’s peculiar command of magic is irrelevant to this case,” she said. “Depending on the verdict reached today, however, we can conduct another investigation at a later date. It might be in the interests of the crown to determine exactly what kind of forbidden warlock magic this man might be practicing.”

She tapped with her quill at the scroll in her lap, peering at Salas, as if trying to decide whether she preferred him beheaded as a former whore or burned at the stake as a warlock practicing black magic.

“Considering the accused’s exemplary behavior,” Lady Wal concluded, “I believe that an execution would be too harsh a punishment for this man. I therefore petition Her Majesty and the highly esteemed royal council to replace the execution with an imprisonment for life. Let’s give him a chance to think about the choices he’s made and regret the harm that he’s done.”

My heart sank into my stomach with dread. A dungeon cell for the rest of his life—that was the highest leniency Salas could hope for, even in the eyes of his own defender.

Lady Etah unfurled her scroll. “The council understands the defender’s position. However, the law in this case is clear. Death penalty is the only appropriate punishment for this man.”

The queen nodded, and so did the rest of the council members.

My insides froze in horror.

“The gravity of his crime,” Lady Etah continued, reading from the scroll, “is further exacerbated by the long period of time during which his deceit took place. He’s had years to repent and confess in his crimes to the law enforcement authorities, yet he never did that. Any leniency for such a hardened, unrepented criminal would be a grave mistake on our part.”

Her every word fell heavily on my chest. Fear threatened to spike into panic, but I refused to give up hope.

I jumped to my feet. “Why don’t you prosecute me? I was the one who ordered Salas to my rooms. I lied for him. Making him a gladiator was my idea. I was the mastermind of his deceit. Prosecute me.”

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