Eagles and Swans
Chapter 42: Straight from the Source
It seemed the entire Astran administration was at the courthouse that day: the Kings, the Archbishop, the Minister of Flight, the admiral, and every manner of witness they had thought to pull in. Even Ruthenia’s new least favourite person, the guard in charge of her execution, was there.
Along the barricaded walkway, Ruthenia found a dozen reporters waving recorders in her face. Most asked after her feelings about the moment, and she gave short answers that amounted to “relieved” or “grateful”, despite Aleigh's warnings. They were inseparable as they braved the flashes of photographers eagerly filling film with their faces. But today, for once, Ruthenia hadn't any care about what picture the press would paint of her. Perhaps nearly dying simply did that to one.
Before she reached the door, she felt a tap on her shoulder. Tanio drew up to between them, trailed by two guards. “Break a leg,” he said. “My fate rests on your shoulders now.”
“No pressure,” she muttered back, and he patted her the shoulder before he was escorted into the courtroom.
Proceedings took place over the course of four hours, throughout which Ruthenia struggled to parse every word. The archbishop testified. Then her jailers, and then the executioners, one by one. The theologists presented their findings, read scripture for the room, describing the nature of Ihir's past conduits and conductance. Feathers, rain, lightning. She testified, too. She had not hidden a bag of feathers in her shirt. Her jail warden testified again: that she had been checked before she had been taken out of holding.
Through it all, the writing was on the wall. Though she didn't understand a word of the legalese that everyone else spoke, she could understand the feverish anticipation that crescendoed around her.
And at the end of the four hours, Chief Justice Ceidana ruled, at last, that the words Ruthenia had spoken on the execution ground had come from Ihir Himself. She declared all charges against Ruthenia and against the machine company dropped in light of the emerging new holy law. The law had yet to be enshrined in writing by the clergy, but Ihir's word, she claimed, did not need documentation to come into effect.
In the neighbouring courtroom, she later found out, the Swan’s Post was found guilty of deliberately disturbing order in the New Town and for inciting the riots.
The publication, on account of these charges, was to be defunded and put under probation. Because Reida's managerial duties had not been officially documented, it was Galino Marva, manager of the Swan's Post, who was slapped with charges of instigating violence.
Ruthenia exited the courtroom just in time to watch Galino Marva storm red-faced out of his trial, steering Reida out with him. “I trusted you to do good things for my company!” he roared.
“Maybe you could have started by respecting us,” she snapped back.
“You had me for a fool! You are hereby terminated, and forever soiled in my eyes. All my peers shall be aware of your duplicity!”
He stormed off fuming through the crowd, in time for Reida to catch Ruthenia’s eye. Today, she wore a dark cherry lipstick and a maroon coat, her hair brushed into a bob.
“Oh, don’t you mind my ex-boss,” she muttered. “The company's good as dead now.”
“Now that he's off the royal bankroll, maybe he'll finally get into some honest work,” Ruthenia answered, then paused. “You didn’t say there would be an assassination.”
She shook her head solemnly. “I didn't know it would happen either. I don't think anyone realised it would turn so bloody, least of all—our friends.” Ruthenia couldn't help her heart sinking like a leaden weight. “But how are you coping with it all?”
Ruthenia hummed in thought. “I'm still waiting for the shock to sink in. How are you?”
“Getting by,” Reida answered, face going grim. “I think I've been numbed too. It has all been too surreal to take in just yet.”
“What will you do, now that the press is gone?”
“My talents are probably better spent elsewhere,” she replied. “I reckon there are places needing a writer, or a reporter.”
“And may I join you, dear Reida?” A new voice cut in from behind, that they quickly found, on turning, to belong to Den.
“Oh, hey, Den,” Ruthenia said, glancing between Reida and he. “The game's up. Reida's not a manager at the Swan's Post any longer. Why don't you tell her the truth now?”
“The truth?” he answered, eyebrows raised. “The truth is, I think you've been misunderstanding me. I never cared for a stake in my father's company. Seeing it go up in flames is infinitely better than anything I could have dreamed.”
“Wait, but, you—why did you talk about getting with Reida like you were planning some sort of war?”
At this, Den put a palm to his cheek. “Ruth, don't expose me like this…”
“Oh, love,” sighed Reida, turning him by the shoulder to face her, “If you want me so badly, then there's no need for pretences.”
Den was silent for seconds, then he said, “Well, now my father's company is in ruins, my heart is still aflame for you. So perhaps it never had anything to do with that company—”
As the pair sank together in a kiss, Ruthenia realised her presence would not be of interest to them for much longer. Shaking her head with a grin, she left them to it.
*
Tanio and Sharmon were waiting in the archway of the lobby. When they turned, she broke into a sprint and launched straight into a hug.
“You did it, you treasure,” he said with a laugh to his voice. “I always knew you had it in you. Work resumes this Saturday.”
“Oh, please,” she groaned. “I guess we'll have to start from scratch. Considering I, uh, crashed the Swift into the deck of a warship.”
At this, Tanio grinned. “We'll call that a successful test flight. Anyhow, I hear that more funding will be flowing our way soon, now that we're out in the open. And all this was only possible because of you, Ruth. My employee and ward of all time.”
Ruthenia smiled despite herself. “Can't wait to be back at Beacon Way.”
“Can I at least get you a proper bed?”
“You know…maybe you can. The hammock's lost its novelty.”
“Aw, this is too sweet,” Sharmon sighed, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “How high did you get the Swift to go?”
“Higher than the peak of Calmen Ihira!” she exclaimed. “I felt like I could have reached the clouds…if only I'd had enough fuel.”
“Well, I'm itching to find out too,” Tanio put in. “We'll see you this Saturday, Hedgehog Head?”
He beamed. “Ten o'clock, on your porch. Same as always.”
*
Ruthenia chanced upon Aligon by the receptionist's counter, mingling with his entourage of uniformed guards. Before she could change course, he had lifted his gaze to meet hers, and waved her towards him—an invitation she knew better than to refuse.
“How do you do, Most Blessed Lady?” he asked as she entered the circle.
She cringed. “Are people really going to start calling me that?”
“It's what you get in return for changing the nation,” sighed the Arcane King as they passed a stampede of journalists. He spoke with a jovial smile and swept his furry red cloak out for the cameras, and she walked straighter just to look like she was holding her own beside him.
“Will you be letting your brother back into the family?”
“I'm sure he'll be flattered that you care so much,” he laughed. “We were ready to welcome him back if he changed his stance. But now that you have been acquitted, and have earned the favour of Ihir, no less, I'm afraid we are the ones who must change.” He sighed. “Congratulations, Ruthenia. You have turned the tables on me. That does not happen often.”
“It's just the beginning,” she muttered. “A lot of change is about to sweep the country, and you ought to heed it.”
Aligon sighed. “I know only too well. Our little game of checkers carries ever on. And now that you’re a holy emissary, we are almost on equal footing. That'll make things interesting, eh? Blessed Ruthenia, Saint of the Death Row?”
Ruthenia did not get to reel with his words, for the Arcane King gestured to dismiss her then, and she took the cue, slipping out of his circle of guards.
Left without protection, she found strangers and acquaintances descending on her with a torrent of queries and declarations. First, Hazen’s son, the ten-year-old Ordinary Prince Rian, made sure to inform her that he had slept through her entire testimony. On the foyer steps, a reporter asked after her thoughts on the riots, which she declined to answer. Then another pointed a conical radio receiver at her and shouted, “How do you explain this very sudden turn in your fortune?”
Ruthenia shrugged. “I had the help of my friends,” she replied. “And a lot of planning.”
Some other time—some four months ago, maybe—this attention, the camera flashes, the swinging of open receivers, would have mortified her. But now it was merely a drag, and by the twentieth question she was twitching to escape.
“That is all!” she snapped at the next reporter. “Aren't you all engorged with information already? I'd like to talk to my friends!”
They continued to tail her, but in thinner groups. Ruthenia was almost glad for the bottleneck of the bridge to the flight deck, where no more than two could follow directly behind, and those two happened to be Anio and Cathia, squeezing themselves in behind her before the mayhem could follow.
“Oh, I am so relieved to see you,” Ruthenia gasped. “Those reporters just don’t know when enough’s enough.”
“If you scold them, some of the fresher ones do get frightened off,” Anio said.
Cathia giggled. “Oh, and if you speak too many expletives, they can't use the recordings.”
“Scoldings, expletives, noted.”
When Ruthenia finally escaped to the other end of the bridge, she stretched her arms with a deep breath to welcome the warm afternoon—but promptly froze when she noticed where Aligon had gone: he was conversing with his brother at the edge of the landing deck.
Cathia interrupted Ruthenia's staring with a nudge. "Doesn't His Ex-Highness look uncomfortable? The poor thing. Ruthenia, you must go rescue him."
Nodding quickly, she crept in their direction. Aligon was first to notice her approach; his face lit up with a smile as he turned. “Miss Cendina,” he declared, and only then did Aleigh turn as well. “Shall I leave you two to discuss your affairs in private?”
“Don't let me frighten you off, Your Majesty,” Ruthenia muttered.
“Oh, I have little else to do here. I only ask that you not implicate my little brother in yet another of your heinous plots,” answered the King with a trace of a smirk. A snap of his fingers brought his royal detail again. He turned to Aleigh. “I sincerely hope only pleasant interactions pave the way forward.”
With one last pointed smile at Ruthenia, the Arcane King glided away in a rustle of cloaks, his guards encircling him once more.
“That didn't sound especially pleasant to me,” she said.
With a sigh, Aleigh turned to the city beyond the platform. “Legally speaking, all is well—he offered to return my title. These past two days have changed everything. He needs my favour to keep his career afloat. And yours.”
She nodded slowly. “Well, will take him up on it?”
“I seem to recall someone saying that I spend all my time averting my eyes from my power. Well, I have come to see the usefulness of a voice of dissent in the council.”
She smiled. “Look at you, becoming such a rebel.”
“I learned from the best.”
“What will you do once you return to the palace?”
He closed his eyes. “I shall set myself to becoming a more assertive council member.”
“I meant this evening,” she chuckled. “But tell me more about your political plans, if they interest you more.”
He blinked. “Oh. Well…I'd like to write about today's events in my diary.”
“You have a diary? That's cute.”
He folded his arms. “What? That's a completely normal pastime.” She could almost swear he was blushing, but the golden light made it hard to tell.
She burst out laughing. “I don't have a diary.”
“But of course you don't.”
The next time their eyes met, Ruthenia felt an ache take hold of her, and he returned that look with some esoteric emotion she longed to decode. But all she came away with was a fever of longing that she then spent the next minute trying to quell.
“Are you well?” asked Aleigh then. “I can't blame you if you are tired after today's proceedings.”
She nodded. Visions and sensations of swirling ocean currents wrapped her, and she shivered. “I can't wait to get home.”
“Then let us go.”
Before she could say anything else, he walked away, as he always did. Too late she turned, watching him disappear around a corner. By now, the bustle had thinned to just the stragglers. Sighing, Ruthenia gazed out to watch a distant ferry pass between the towers of Helika City, wondering what she would fly on now that her umbrella was gone.
“What's he like?” She leapt at the sound of the voice from behind her. A startled glance over her shoulder revealed that the question’s asker was Iurita. She wore a blouse and skirt in muted hues, frilled but not ostentatiously so.
Ruthenia frowned. “Who, Aleigh?”
“I'm curious, you could say. We all know how he treats officials and acquaintances. But how does he treat someone he's partial to?”
“Me? I don't think he's ‘partial’ to me.”
At this, she laughed. “He gave his title up for you, no? I think you have him wrapped around your finger.”
“Well, he is, uh—very sweet, I guess,” Ruthenia stammered. “What are you doing talking to me, anyway? I thought you hated my guts.”
“Oh! Yes. I actually came here to…apologise.”
“Oh—really?”
Iurita bowed her head. “I must admit, before this, I never did understand you. Your anger, your hatred for people who had never personally affronted you. But I cannot help but to understand, now, and for whatever it's worth, I truly regret the way I treated you.”
It was only then, gazing upon the haunted look in Iurita's eyes, that Ruthenia remembered. Her mother, Eina Astrapia, had been shot to death last night.
“I’m so sorry,” she choked, tears welling up in her eyes. “None of last night should have happened. Not in my name. I wish I could have done something—”
She fell silent when Iurita laid a hand on her shoulder. “None of it was your fault. Don't blame yourself. You were at death's door, too.” The girl’s smile was strained, her voice constricted. But she would shed no tears in front of Ruthenia. “Let us not be enemies any longer.”
“That sounds good to me.”
A shadow crossed them. Both turned.
“Oh, good afternoon…Your Highness? I'm not sure how to address you.”
“Good afternoon to you too,” said Aleigh. “And, my sincerest condolences.”
Iurita touched a hand to her heart. “I appreciate it.”
Benedice peered over his shoulder. Wind whirled across the platform, fluttering hair and feathers.
Iurita glanced between the two. “Oh, yes! I was just leaving.” She lowered her head in a bow. “I shall see the both of you in class. Have a good evening.”
They watched while their classmate drifted back into the crowd, her long silk gown fluttering behind her. Ruthenia sighed. “I don't think I have fully begun to grasp how much has changed in the past week.”
“We can worry about that as it comes,” said Aleigh. “For now…back to the Bollard District?”
“The ugliest house on Beacon Way, you can't miss it,” she replied.