“And none of these people would have any reason to lie?” Emily made a show of rolling her eyes. “Perhaps we should ask her ourselves?”
“You cannot believe anything that spews from a whore’s mouth,” Jair snapped. “She...”
“There are truth spells,” Emily said. She turned and cast one over Queen Francoise. “If she lies, the air around her will turn red.”
“Oh, really?” Jair glowered at Storm. “Is she telling the truth?”
Storm looked displeased at being caught between the two, but nodded reluctantly. “Yes.”
Emily allowed herself a flash of relief. “Queen Francoise,” she said. She ignored Jair’s snort at the title. “Did you have any form of intimate relationships with either of your stepsons?”
“No,” Queen Francoise said. Her voice was weak, but stronger than Emily had feared. “I have never had intimate relationships with anyone, apart from the king.”
“Goodman Jorlem,” Jair hissed.
“To be clear,” Emily said. She’d been taught to triangulate, just to ensure there was no room for half-truths and loophole abuse. “You have never had sex with anyone, apart from your lawful husband?”
“Yes,” Queen Francoise said. “Just him.”
“Poor bugger,” someone shouted.
Emily looked past Jair, at the council. “How many other charges do you think will hold up?”
Jair reddened, but pushed on. “Goodwoman, did you urge your husband to crack down on the rebels?”
The queen hesitated. “I believed it was the right thing to do,” she said. She paused, clearly trying to think of something to say that wouldn’t be a lie, but wouldn’t look bad either. “I...”
“So you did!” Jair stabbed a finger at Queen Francoise. “Do you know how many people died because of you?”
“Wait,” Emily said. “Queen Francoise. How much authority did you have? As queen?”
“Very little,” Queen Francoise managed. “I could command my maids, but not issue orders to my husband and his council. I could only advise.”
“And one of your maids claimed she was slapped so hard she went blind in one eye,” Jair said, coldly. “Is that true?”
Queen Francoise flinched. “I didn’t mean to do it!”
“But it was what you did, was it not?” Jair glanced at his paper. “You brutalized your maids and servants. You had your men beat them, when they did not move fast enough to suit you. You even struck noblewomen... even some of their men. You made them work all day and denied them food, you harassed them and even forced them to prostitute themselves to survive. You even treated your companions like shit. What were they to you? Whipping girls? Or did you glean a kind of sick pleasure from watching them grovel in front of you?”
Jair addressed the crowd. “This woman is not a good woman at all.”
“But she had very little influence,” Emily countered. It was hard not to wonder if she’d made a mistake. Slapping someone hard enough to damage their eye... she found it hard to imagine any sort of justification. What had the queen been thinking? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “You are blaming her for something beyond her control. You might as well blame the farmer for poor weather.”
“She was a parasite,” Jair said, flatly. “She spent her days trying on new dresses, while the common folk wore rags. She spent hundreds of gold coins on a custom-designed necklace, while countless families couldn’t afford to feed themselves. She issued promissory notes, backed by taxpayers’ money, without even a glimmer of intent to pay them back. She abused her maids, beating and slapping them at will... she even put them out on the streets, when they grew too old to serve her. She deserves to face justice for her crimes!”
The crowd roared. It was growing tired of the argument. Emily could feel angry eyes burning into her head. The mob wanted blood and it wanted it soon. The people might not care, much, about the queen’s wealth and how she spent it, but they hated how she’d treated her servants. Emily didn’t blame them. Queen Francoise deserved some sort of punishment. But did she deserve to die?
“She didn’t make money, she took ours,” Jair said. “She didn’t...”
Emily glanced up, sharply, as she sensed a surge of power above her. Magic... too much magic for anything less than a fully-trained sorcerer. It was so bright it was hard for her senses to see through the haze. And yet... there was something odd about it, something that nagged at her mind. It was...
“Look out!” The crowd howled in shock as a fireball blasted towards the council. It was strong, dangerously strong... so badly overpowered it might as well have come from a necromancer. “Get down...”
Emily threw her magic out in front of her, trying to catch and snuff out the fireball before it reached its target. The spell was just too powerful for her to deflect or break up the underlying spellware. If it exploded ahead of time, it would probably kill the councilors and half the onlookers anyway. She cursed, savagely, as she realized someone had copied one of her ideas and put their own spin on it. The destabilizing ball of light was going to explode and there was nothing she could do about it but shove it away as hard as she could.
She sensed a second fireball, lancing down towards the queen. Emily mentally shouted at her to run, remembering - too late - that the queen was shackled to the dock. The council should have run, but... it couldn’t be seen to run. Emily saw Althorn and Aiden, people she’d grown to like and respect, staring at the fireball... she couldn’t save both the council and the queen. She shoved her magic forward, wincing in pain as the fireball detonated with an ear-splitting
