[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

later to session, they will all come in here and then we'll never get rid of them." Pulling away, he walked over to the wardrobe and pulled out a light
weight, dark blue tunic. It was soft, well-worn, something he often wore when he settled in to work on paperwork through the night. "Try this. It's a bit too
light for the cold, but a good cloak and some mulled wine will counter that."
He helped Allen into the tunic, using a cloth belt to cinch it up at his hips. Satisfied with that, he returned to the wardrobe and drew out a heavy, dark
blue cloak trimmed and lined with soft, dark brown fur. Swinging it over Allen's shoulders and twitching it into place, he pinned it with a silver pin
portraying a dragon and a gryphon twined together. "All set, then," he said, and stole one last kiss before moving away to finish dressing himself.
The great hall fell silent as they entered, but Sarrica ignored it, simply walked on hand in hand with Allen. When they reached the dais, he settled Allen
in a seat prepared with his back in mind.
After he took his own seat, and arranged the relevant papers on the table between their seats, Sarrica said, "For those not formally introduced, I make
known to you Prince Allen Gaulden, my betrothed. As my future consort, he will be assisting me in session today. Bring the first case forward."
"Majesties," the bailiff replied and swept a bow before turning and beckoning forward nearly a dozen people, one of them in chains. Sarrica looked the
lot over, noting the poor state of the accused, the better condition of the vendors accusing him. The accused also seemed rather slight, not strong enough
to easily kill a healthy, fit Sheriff. "Explain the details to me again, bailiff. All parties will remain silent until he finishes the recounting."
Sarrica listened as the bailiff recounted the tale of a theft gone wrong, the vendor's son capturing the accused, the sheriff brought in to sort the matter
out, but instead devolving into tragedy. He already saw a few flaws in the telling. "I'm still not clear as to why the man attacked the sheriff. Accused, tell
me your version of events."
Instead of replying, the man just looked terrified, staring wide-eyed and looking on the verge of tears. Sarrica frowned. "What's wrong?" he asked the
man. "You need not be afraid, you may tell your version of events without fear of punishment for speaking."
One of the vendors the son who had made the formal accusation said, "He's been that way since he was clapped in chains. Won't speak a word, just
stares and acts jumpy. Half the time he acknowledges killing, the other half he denies it."
"He can't understand what is being said," Allen interjected. "You said the matter happened at a neutral market in an area where Mesta, Outland, and
Gearth intersect. That also puts it near the main port of Outland. He probably speaks very rough Outland, enough to trade, purchase food, small things. I
assume you've mostly spoken Outland to him? Have you tried anything else?"
"He only reacts to Outland," the bailiff replied, looking over his own notes. He glanced at the accused. "He looks Outland, with those eyes and hair."
Allen's mouth tightened in irritation; it was the most emotion Sarrica had ever seen him display outside their bedroom. "What do you think?" he asked
quietly.
"I think he's a sailor, from the Far Islands," Allen said, and before Sarrica could reply he began to speak to the man in a language that Sarrica did not
remotely recognize. But the way the man's face lit up, the way he began to cry openly with relief...
It made Sarrica painfully aware that language barriers were a far bigger problem than he realized. When they finally stopped speaking, Sarrica looked at
Allen in silent query.
"His name is Tima. According to him, he thought he was buying three loaves of bread and two bits of dried meat. He handed over his coin and took his
purchases, and suddenly was being accused of thieving. They bound him, threw him in a shed, and kept him there for two days until the Sheriff came by on
his rounds. At that point, Tima does not know what happened. He was clapped in irons and watched as the street vendors who had him arrested handed
money over to the Sheriff. He thought he was being sold back into slavery when he had only just recently obtained his freedom. He panicked and tried to
get away. He says they drew their swords and tried to stop him. He claims it was not he who stabbed the Sheriff, but the son, and that it was an accident
due to so much going on in such a small space."
Sarrica nodded, not really surprised. "Would you translate for me, for all parties?"
"Of course."
Smiling briefly at him, Sarrica turned to the group before him and said, "The accused is set free, with the sincere apologies of the high crown for the
misunderstanding. He is to be compensated thrice over. The son will face penance for the accidental slaying of a Sheriff. Trial fees will be covered by the
high crown. This case is closed."
When they were gone, Sarrica was not the only one who stared at Allen with awe. "What in the world were you speaking? I was not familiar with it at
all. I suppose I should have asked what twelve languages you know, when I have only nine kingdoms."
"Farland, which is spoken mostly by sailors and merchants. It's derived from Outland, but has changed so much over the centuries that they're only still
vaguely related. It explains why he knew enough Outland to get by, but not enough to get himself out of trouble."
"Quite the silver tongue, indeed," Sarrica murmured, pleased by the look Allen shot him at the unsubtle tease. "I don't think silver does you justice,
though."
Allen's mouth quirked with amusement. "No, Majesty? What am I, then?"
"My golden tongue, of course. I think you will seduce away my kingdom when I set you loose upon it."
"I don't want to seduce a kingdom, Majesty. Only a High King."
Sarrica smiled, and took his hand, twining their fingers together. "That, you have already done, consort. Shall we move on to the next case?"
"Bring them forward," Allen said in reply, smiling at him one last time before they went back to work.
Fin
About the Author
Megan is a long time resident of m/m fiction, and keeps herself busy reading, writing, and publishing it. She is often accused of fluff and nonsense. She
loves to hear from readers, and can be found all around the internet.
maderr.com
maderr.livejournal.com
lessthanthreepress.com
@amasour [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]