The Skypirate Part 40

"Several months after you escaped." She glanced at Shaylah. "After your medical officer let slip what he had really done that night you came for him, that he had unbanded a gold collar. That and the fact that I was the missing Captain Graymist's friend, and the owner of the escaped slave, was far too much evidence for the Coalition to ignore."

Shaylah's breath caught audibly. "They blamed you?"

Califa shrugged. "It is Coalition tradition, is it not? If you cannot punish the perpetrator, you must punish someone. Anyone."

Dare was staring at her, as if this put a c.h.i.n.k in his anger, and he didn't like the fact. "And I suppose you think it was punishment enough? Or do you believe that rescuing a few of my people is payment enough?" The rage was building in him again. "Thereis no payment large enough!"

"I know," Califa said quietly.

"You know? How could you possibly know what it felt like, what it still feels like to this day, to remember, to dream of it and wake up shaking at the memories?"

"I know," she repeated. Then she reached up to tug at the cloth that concealed her throat. It slipped away, revealing the dull gold gleam of the collar and the crystal sparkle of the controls.

Califa heard Shaylah gasp, but her eyes stayed fastened on Dare. She saw his eyes widen, then narrow as he stared first at the collar, then at her face. He was shocked, but she could read nothing more in his expression. It was Shaylah who finally spoke, her voice shaken.

"This was your punishment? For not giving us away, they enslaved you?"

"A gold collar for a gold collar," Califa said simply. "Coalition justice."

When Dare spoke, his voice sounded as if his fury had been shaken, but his words belied the idea. "And this is why you expect me to believe this convenient change of att.i.tude, now that you are in our power?"

"Dare," Shaylah said, still staring at the collar, "I know you are angry, but think of the price she has paid for protecting us. Think of the times she could no doubt have freed herself by simply telling what she knew."

"No." Califa drew herself up straight, ignoring her inner quaking as she faced this man who had so much reason to hate her. "He is right. I expect nothing. Except that you not take your rage at me out on another who does not deserve it."

"I care not what you expect," Dare snapped. "I am no longer your slave, to be ordered to your whim."

She closed her eyes for an instant, summoning an image of Dax, firing that last bolt that would kill him. If he had courage enough for that, surely she could face this man without breaking. She opened her eyes.

"No," she said. "You are a king. And the rightful King of Trios has always been known as fair." And then, knowing what she was risking, she added, with a glance at Shaylah, "And even the man I knew as Wolf clearly knew where the true blame belonged. And did not belong."

Dare stiffened. He stared at her for a long moment, then snapped, "The High Council convenes at midsun. Someone will be sent for you."

He turned on his heel and was gone before either of the women could speak again.

Califa felt her shoulders sag, and fought of a wave of exhaustion. She wasn't up to this kind of emotional confrontation, she had gotten little sleep andJust why she hadn't gotten any sleep came back to her with a fierce jab of vivid, heated memory. A tiny moan escaped her.

"Oh, Dax..."

She didn't realize she had spoken it aloud until Shaylah said quietly, "I will try to talk to him again. He is a fair man, Califa, but he is very angry. I don't know that it will do any good."

"I cannot blame him," Califa said honestly. "Were I face to face with one of the people who had used this against me"she flicked a finger at the collar"I would be no less enraged."

Shaylah shook her head. "I can't believe theyShe broke her own words off with a sigh. "I suppose I have been too long removed from Coalition madness."

"Madness." Califa sighed. "I lived for them, and it was always nothing less than madness."

"I know what it is like to have your entire concept of life turned upside down," Shaylah said sympathetically.

Califa studied her old friend for a moment, then said in awed surprise, "You...you believe me, don't you?"

"That you are not the woman you were? As I am not the woman I was? Yes, I think I do." Shaylah smiled ruefully. "However, I admit that since I discovered my pregnancy, I seem to have become quite the optimist."

For some reason, Rina's pixie face popped into Ca-lifa's mind. "I suppose you must," she said thoughtfully. "If you cannot hope for the best for your child, it would be a reason for sadness, not joy."

Shaylah looked startled, then she smiled. "That you understand that is the best evidence yet that I should believe you. The Califa Claxton I knew would never have wondered, nor cared, about such things. But then, I always suspected that Califa was mostly bluff."

Califa felt color tinge her cheeks.

"Nor," Shaylah added in a teasing tone Califa nearly wept to hear again, "would that Califa haveever blushed."

"No," Califa said, her voice tight with unshed tears. "No, she wouldn't."

And in that moment Califa knew that in regaining this woman's trust, she had won a prize worth more than her entire misspent life. Even if they ordered her execution, she could not regret coming here; she had regained her friend, and broken through the barrier that had imprisoned Dax, and she would change neither even if it would change her own fate.

"Come," Shaylah said. "Sit down. Tell me of Dax. I am most curious. I have never seen Dare so...torn as he was last night, both hating and loving this lifelong friend."

So Califa told her friend of the man who had taken over her life, realizing now why Rina had so welcomed a feminine ear; the relief of sharing her chaotic feelings was immense. But the relief did not last. The more she spoke of Dax, the more anxious she was to get back to him. She was afraid, both of what was to come and what he might do. Shaylah was quick to realize the reason for her growing tension, and with an apology, summoned the boy who had brought her here to take her back. Califa understood; she was still a prisoner here.

"Perhaps," Shaylah said, "you should spare some of that worry for yourself."

"I do not care," Califa said, and meant it. Yet when Shaylah took her hand and clasped it briefly, she welcomed the touch.

"I will talk to Dare," she promised again, but Califa held out little hope for a change in the direction of that particular fierce wind. Dare had too much reason to hate, and too little reason to forgive.

The look the man posted outside the door of their cell gave her, a combination of leer and smirk, did little to ease her doubts that anything had truly changed.

"He deserves to die, for consorting with the likes of you," the man muttered.

Califa kept her head high and kept going. When she stepped back into the small room where Dax lay on the cot staring at the ceiling, she tried to summon up some of Shaylah's optimism.

"Shaylah understands. It was she who sent for me. She will try to talk to Dare"

"She needn't bother," Dax said. He turned his head to look at her then, and Califa felt a chill ripple through her at his expression. "I hear from the guard his decision is already made."

She blinked. "What?"

"He's picked out an executioner."

Chapter 27.

Califa wondered if every Triotian left alive was crowded into the council chamber. The huge hall, still showing the damage of Coalition guns, was packed. All eyes were riveted either on the man who sat in the isolated chair between the crowd and the table at the front of the room, or on the man who stood to one side, a huge, curved sword on his belt, and an ominous-looking silver tool of some kind in his hand.

Califa's eyes s.h.i.+ed away from him as she wondered what method of execution was favored on the enlightened world of Trios. Dax sat in silence, staring stonily forward at nothing. He had not said a word to her since that blunt statement when she had come back into the room that had been their cell. She tried to convince him that the guard, who had obviously learned that she was of the Coalition, was merely being vicious to a perceived enemy, but he hadn't even reacted.

But what had frightened her the most was what he had done when the armed escort had come for them. The guards had tensed when he bent to his boot and pulled out the knife, but he merely looked at it for a moment, then, with a flick of his hand, hurled it toward the door. The ease of the movement was belied by the solid thunk as the blade dug deeply into the carved wood. Then he walked past the still-quivering knife as if it wasn't even there. But it wasn't until she had taken her own place, in the seat off to one side reserved for the next to appear before the council, and sat watching Dax's utterly expressionless face, that Califa realized the significance of that action.

He had given up. In jettisoning the knife he was never without, he had jettisoned the last of his defenses. He looked like the slaves she had seen who had surrendered; his proud posture was slumped, his face blank, and his eyes were flat, cold, and as dead as the ashes of a long extinguished fire. Califa felt something tighten in her chest, a chilly little knot that ached abysmally.

There was a steady hum of talk among the gathering, which rose a bit in volume as a pet.i.te figure entered the room and walked down to a seat on the aisle in front, followed closely by Fleuren, carried in the arms of the man she had greeted as her grandson. Rina's head was held almost defiantly high. Her expression was mutinous, and Califa felt a pang as she wondered what Rina had been up to. They had not been allowed to see her since Dare had ordered their confinement, and Califa had been worried.

The girl's carriage and steady stride faltered as she saw Dax, sitting silent and alone, unmoving, his back to the crowd, a guard at each side of the chair. But then she spotted Califa, and her head came up once more. Something flashed in those jade eyes so like Dax's, a look that was almost conspiratorial, and Califa knew the girl was indeed up to something. But there was no time to speculate as a door at the front of the hall opened, and the Triotian High Council entered, and filed down to their seats at the long table.

Some of them showed the same momentary hesitation when they spotted Dax, in particular a slender woman whose blond hair was streaked with gray, and the dignified older man who led the procession and took the seat at the center of the table. Only the youngest, a man barely into adulthood, did not react; he was too busy looking smugly full of self-importance, Califa realized sourly.

Shaylah had told her that Glendar, the last surviving member of the original council, would preside over the session; the older man in the center, who had led them in, must be him, she thought. There were single chairs at each end of the long table, and when the five members of the council had taken their seats and the crowd hushed, it became apparent to Califa who they were for. No sooner had she thought it than Dare and Shaylah entered, side by side, then separated to take the remaining chairs, which placed them facing each other eight feet apart. Shaylah's back was to Califa, but she could see Dare's face all too clearly; she found nothing of encouragement in his handsome features. The respectful silence of the crowd pounded home the reality; Dare was their king by choice, and, incredibly, Shaylah their queen. Neither of them looked at her, or at Dax. Nor did Dax look at them. Or at any of the council; he had s.h.i.+fted his gaze to the floor in front of the table and sat there staring fixedly.

The man she a.s.sumed was Glendar rose. He cleared his throat. Dax still did not look up.

In a deep voice that sounded somewhat strained, the silver-haired man called the session to order, announcing as if it were news that this special meeting had been called to address the question of multiple transgressions of law on the part of a Triotian of blood.

Then, sounding awkward, he addressed Dax.

"Be you Dax, of the family of Silverbrake?"

"I am."

The words were barely audible, and came in a voice as lifeless as his eyes. He never even raised his head. Califa felt that tightness in her chest increase.

"It is the understanding of the council that you have waived the representation allowed you. Is that true?"

"It is."

"You wish to defend yourself, then?"

"No."

He still did not look up, and Califa felt that lump grow tighter, bigger.

Glendar frowned. "I don't understand."

Dax said nothing.

"Dax," the old man said, "these are serious charges."

In that moment, the reason for the man's strain showed through, and the reason for that pause when he'd first seen him. He knew Dax, Califa thought. Knew him and liked him. Or had, once. And it was paining this dignified leader of the council to have to do this.

Glendar tried again. "You know the procedure, Dax. You must have a defense, at the least an explanation. Theft, piracy, even murder"

"Don't forget treason."

"Treason?" Glendar sounded startled.

Dax stared at the floor. "What else would you call it?"

Glendar glanced at the others; they looked as puzzled as he did. Except for Dare, Califa noticed. He looked merely thoughtful. Then, even as she watched, she saw a kind of understanding dawn in his eyes, as if something had just occurred to him.

"There is no such charge against you," Glendar said gently. "But the others are serious enough."

"Yes."

"Your defense, then."

"I have no defense," Dax repeated.

"Dax!" the man exclaimed. Dax never moved, his dark head stayed bent, his eyes fixed on some imaginary spot on the floor, as if he thought himself not good enough to even meet his accusers eye to eye.

Califa nearly shouted at him, begging him to stop this. Can't you see they don't want to do this? she cried out silently. Even Dare had stiffened, staring at Dax tensely. Give them a chance, another option, she pled inwardly.

Suddenly the woman next to Glendar stood up, the one, Califa remembered, who had also wavered when she'd seen Dax sitting there, so alone save for the guards beside him.

"Dax," she said gently, "we have not forgotten you. You were once of our best and brightest. We know there must be an explanation for the terrible things we have heard. Are they lies, exaggerations?"

"No."

"But surely"

"The worst of what you have heard is true, and not the worst of what I have done."

The woman sank back into her chair, obviously shaken. Califa was shaking herself; he hadn't just given up, he was begging them to convict him. She could hardly breathe for the painful tightness of her chest; he had finally found a way to punish himself enough.

"Dax," Glendar said urgently, "you must realize, in time of war, these charges could warrant even death, should his majesty so decree."

"I know."

"Then please, answer the charges."

For just an instant, Dax's eyes closed. Then they snapped open again, still downcast.

"Guilty," he said.

Murmurs of shock rippled through the room. Califa heard Rina cry out, and saw her run out of the room. At a quick whisper from Fleuren, her grandson, Renclan, followed the girl hastily. Numbed, Califa listened as Glendar abandoned his pretense at impartiality. He left the table and walked over to bend in front of the single chair.

"Dax, please, you leave us no choice. No defense is as a conviction."

Dax remained stubbornly silent. Glendar straightened. He took in a deep breath, and turned to face Dare.

"Your majesty? Do you wish to invoke the war authority for execution?"

Even through her numbness, Califa saw Dare, already looking stunned, pale a little. Shaylah moved, just slightly, and Dare's gaze flicked to her face. Then, letting out a long breath, he shook his head. Califa felt relief flood her. But it was short-lived when Glendar's next words showed her the truth of what had happened; Dax had escaped death, but had been condemned back to the h.e.l.l he'd been living in for the last six years.

"It shall be banishment, then," the old man said sadly, "as demanded by the laws of Trios, you shall be marked as an exile and forbidden ever to return."