“My father’s duty was over. Mine is not,” Devyn stated blandly.
“Are you saying that the lady’s daughter is alive?”
“I believed she was,” Devyn answered, stepping around the question.
“You felt her and you were compelled to go to her?” the druid asked.
“No. I couldn’t sense her, but I knew she was still alive.”
“How?”
“When I was sixteen, some of the gifts of the Griffin manifested. I believed it proof that she lived.”
“So, you went to Londinium,” Fidelma completed for him.
Devyn bowed his head, his back straight but his head lowered in deference to the court.
“Yes.”
“Where you have stayed until now.”
“Yes,” Devyn answered simply.
“And in these many years you searched for the new lady, did you find any trace of her?” Lady Emrick asked.
“I thought I would be able to sense her once I was in Londinium, but no, m’lady, there was no trace that she was alive through the bond we had shared when she was a baby,” Devyn answered carefully. For years, he hadn’t been able to sense me, the bond between us having been broken since the day my mother died. His only clues had been non-magical ones he found inside the city’s databases, something in the perfection of the records alerting him that they were manufactured. It had been enough to give him the belief that there was more to me than met the eye, despite my lack of magic.
“Yet you did not return home?” Lady Emrick pushed.
“I had to be sure.” Despite all the evidence to the contrary, he had refused to give up on me.
“And are you sure now?”
“Yes, m’lady.”
Gideon’s eyes flashed across at me, deeply frustrated at the farce playing out in front of us.
“Your participation in the tragic events that took place in the borderlands stripped your family of all honour. The King of Mercia took pity on you and allowed you to foster in his home and learn alongside his son so that you might still have a life worth living. You swore that oath of loyalty freely and it is to your shame that you walked away and broke what was left of the lord’s heart. He did not live long after your desertion,” Lady Morwyn recounted.
Devyn had remained rigidly controlled but this was news to him, and he swung jerkily to face Deverell, looking for confirmation. The King of Mercia did not even deign to flick his eyes in Devyn’s direction, but that was confirmation enough.
Nobody had thought to tell him. Deverell had chosen to say nothing, though he must have known what a blow it would be to the boy who had grown up in their home.
As for myself, I dismissed the flicker that ran through me. I didn’t have time to deal with learning how my father had died, right now.
“Do you have anything to say in your defence?” Fidelma asked, her eyes flicking lightly to me.
Still stunned at the blow, Devyn said nothing. Our hopes were pinned on his transgression from years ago being blamed on his youth and his commitment to his responsibility as the Griffin. Bronwyn’s eyes locked with mine, her grim expression telling me to stick to the plan to avoid adding the complication of my resurrection and our subsequent decision to prioritise Devyn’s health over my safety.
But surely once they knew he had succeeded in finding me, his transgression of leaving would be forgiven? It certainly sounded like his being the Griffin, and the responsibilities that came with that, overrode any other promises of loyalty he might give.
The jury of peers removed themselves from the room to deliberate.
They were not gone long, and on returning they were sombre and difficult to read.
The High Druid, lords and ladies lined up behind the table and remained standing.
“The court has reached a decision.”
My stomach sank as I took in their grim expressions.
“Hear me out first, I beg you,” Llewelyn interjected. “I have no son. Give my nephew into my care and I will—”
The druid lifted her hand and Llewelyn was forced into silence.
“I have already heard your proposition, Lord Llewelyn. Your appeal is refused.”
What was she doing? Why wouldn’t she let him appeal? He was Devyn’s last chance. Fidelma looked to her left and right to make sure none of the other nobles planned any further intervention.
“As Lord Montgomery and Lady Morwyn have said, integrity and fealty are central to our laws and society. Devyn Glyndŵr, you have repeatedly broken this most fundamental pact. Your word cannot be trusted and you sit beneath the worms in the ground. We all live in service to a higher goal – to the gods, to the land, to the water, to the air. You serve none of these and so none will serve you. You will be taken from this court and the axe shall end your life, whereupon you shall be burned so that no trace of you remains to burden the earth. That is the court’s decision. Sentence to be carried out immediately.”
I couldn’t have heard correctly. Death? My hands pushed the hair off my face and I looked up, but I couldn’t see. My skin felt as if… They couldn’t do this. I wouldn’t let them do this.
I stepped forward. Marcus’s hand tried to restrain me but I pulled away and swung myself out onto the floor.
“No!” I was fairly vibrating with anger. My voice was shaking with it.
Devyn attempted to stand up and speak, but I couldn’t hear anything over the roaring of surf and thunder in my ears. I would bring this castle down on top of the lot of them.
All eyes were on me as a wild wind whipped through the hall.
“You cannot kill the Griffin,” I stated.
Lord Montgomery laughed dismissively. “Griffin? There is no Griffin. “
“Devyn Glyndŵr is the Griffin,” I repeated.
Llewelyn barely reacted, his hollowed eyes still registering the verdict. The King of Mercia watched remotely from an expressionless face. The other lords looked at each other in
