Is the Law of Our Side?: Part Two

"Admit me chorus to this history"

November 10th

"Court will reconvene in one hour." 

After a tedious first half of the day, the observers in the balcony were anxious for relief. Cherry Albion stood before the magistrate's echo stopped, already adjusting her tiara. It was a stunning piece she felt well worth the trouble of actually wearing on her head. "Father?"

Francisco was chiefly present for the sake of his daughters. He did have a political interest in a governor with experience, and some scrap of his Albion blood did not want to see Lord Gale rise in importance beside his inexperienced niece. However, he ultimately preferred that an intelligent and reasonable person, as Contessa Capulet had been, be allowed to override tradition for the greater good. That was Lady Iden's problem to solve. He would have been content to let her have that and all the pageantry that went with attending this sort of trial. Cherry and Morgaine, on the other hand, regarded this dynastic drama and the attendant spectacle as natural fodder for a theatrical triumph. He had secured a place for each daughter in the observer's balcony at their request and one more for himself just in case the drama escalated beyond the proceedings. 

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I'd like to take in a bit of the fresh air before the others gobble it up." 

He nodded and rose, rolling his shoulders. Fresh air and some exercise would be welcome. Surreptitiously looking to the left all morning had stiffened his muscles. 

It hadn't been until after retiring the previous night, when Ophelia made light of their overt tactics, that he had realized Cherry and Ann were scheming to marry off Morgaine. He had been roundly teased by his wife for blindness - and deservedly so. The machinations were just a step below obvious. Ann's request at dinner that her in-laws 'keep an eye' on her lively brother in the courtroom was unsubtle in retrospect. Reflecting on recent weeks, so many innocuous moments now rang an alarm. 

And what was he to do? He and Ophelia had long ago decided against arranging matches for the children. Outside of subverting a fortune hunter or villain, he wanted to leave the choice to the girls. Lord John Anjou would one day be the head of a financially sound noble house and was a man of good character and temper. If he seemed a bit oblivious to the scheme, that had to be forgiven - Morgaine appeared to be equally unaware. Yet, Francisco had an ancient and powerful urge to make the young man's life as difficult as possible for as long as he showed any interest in Morgaine. He pointedly asked Morgaine - and Morgaine only - if she would like to join them. 

Although she was as tired of sitting as anyone, she bit her lip uncertainly. "I should hate to lose our seats. This is for research, and the front of this balcony is far enough away from the proceedings as it is."

Cherry pounced. "If you and Lord John were to move to the middle, that ought to be enough to discourage any seat-poachers - provided, of course, that he is agreeable to remaining." 

John owned that he was.

"Perfect! Oh, look at that," she sighed as she took her father's arm. "Already crowding the exit! Then again, wouldn't it be delightful to costume such a scene, Father? Can you imagine..." Cherry chattered in a steady stream to keep her father's attention as they left the balcony.

Though it was soon abandoned by all the others, the balcony felt a bit close to both John and Morgaine. It was strange thing, they could each admit. John's sister and Morgaine's brother were married, and so they had been thrown into company together before without discomfort. Truth be told, they hadn't paid the other much mind at all. Then, one day not so long ago, they saw the other as if for the first time. Every meeting since had been excruciating and delightful all at once. The sum of those two emotions was, they had learned, awkward silence.

"So..." John began.

"Yes."

Once he shook off that brutal failure, John ventured a second, better attempt at conversation. "Is the trial meeting all your expectations?"

"It's... well, it's a bit dry so far," she admitted. "The Marriages Act was not written for entertainment." 

"Agreed." After a pause, he added, "I imagine you won't include it in your dramatization." By way of Ann's 'slip of the tongue', John was now party to Morgaine's script-writing endeavors. 

"Few would pay to see such drudgery, but I'm sure it will be part of the foundation for more interesting events."

"If nothing else, surely you can count on Lord Tybalt for dramatics. He can only crush his wife's hand for so long before he snaps."

Morgaine raised a brow. "I can't say I saw that. Perhaps I am not paying enough attention." 

"Or you are paying attention to the actual proceedings. Your presence has a noble purpose; I freely confess I am here for amusement only."

"I suppose it could be argued that I am as well, looking for inspiration for an amusement. I am not here out of concern for the future of the realm." 

John smiled. "And if you were to write the amusement now, how would it end?"

Morgaine's hand reached to tuck away a lock of her hair, realizing only too late that the few strands that were not pulled neatly up and away had nowhere to go. She blushed. "I never write the end first," she managed to say. "I like to start from the very beginning."

With better success, John touched his own hair, as either unrest or vanity so often prompted him to do. His mother joked that he had created its wavy texture by his frequent fussing. "It is a very good place to start," he allowed. 

Still, as she gazed down at the empty lower level, Morgaine's mind was in the end and not the beginning, and it was leaning dangerously close to her sister's way of thinking. Morgaine believed her strength was in the big picture, a complete work painstakingly created from parts that each contributed to the whole. She believed that her sister, if she was prevailed upon to write, would capitalize on the individual possibilities for high drama and scandal. If the trial was all as boring as the first half of today was, Morgaine would want Cherry's help to dream up plots and intrigue, conflicts, secrets and schemes, traitors, divine punishment delivered to the irredeemably wicked...

What in God's name....?! Morgaine shook her head briskly, as if waking from a nightmare. 

"Are you well, Lady Morgaine?"

"Yes," she replied instantly. "Yes, very well. It's only..." She allowed herself a nervous little half-laugh. "I believe my sister's thoughts might have overtaken my own for a minute. She has a greater taste for the, er, extremities of drama, and she does not hesitate to plead their case to me."

"That could be useful in this case. It's all rather black and white. Either Goneril Capulet has betrayed her mother's final wishes and usurped her niece's birthright, or a quite minor branch of that family tree is using the Crown Court to wage an unjust rebellion." Shifting in his seat, he added, "Well, there is also the business of old Lord Capulet's interestingly-timed death."

Morgaine smiled and looked down. "You are halfway to Cherry's leaping-off point, Lord John, but quite close to my ideal." A blush swept over her as she immediately regretted her phrasing.

If John had noticed, he gave no indication. "You prefer to create in grays?"

"I prefer to think there are very few of us who are not gray. But, in fiction," she admitted, "the well-drawn, irredeemable villain has his place beside the just hero. And they are infinitely more entertaining than the average person. We wouldn't need fiction if reality was so interesting."

"And if you were a betting woman, as you see it now, who would be the heroine and who the villain?"

"Alas, my lord, I am not a betting woman. You would have to go to Cherry for that."

"I am perfectly happy where I am, Lady Morgaine."

---

Halfway through the recess, the balcony re-admitted the Summerdreams. 

"Why couldn't I talk to Hal?" Bottom grumbled as she was maneuvered into the seat between her parents. 

"You know why."

"No, Mother, I just know why you think I can't."

Titania rubbed her forehead in a vain attempt to ward off the headache to come. Fostering Puck's interest in diplomacy had not only felt like a motherly indulgence but given Titania peace of mind. Bottom's practical interest in her birthright had never been high, but she had reacted poorly to any suggestion that she might give it up. So long as Bottom grew up to understand the importance of appearances, Puck could exercise his natural talents behind the scenes and thus keep the Summerdream legacy alive. The Fae needed excellent representation in Verona, and, vain as it was, Titania did not want to be remembered as the mother of the Summerdream who lost the ambassadorship. Now, Bottom was grown up and had yet to demonstrate any political instincts whatsoever. If a year or two at Queen Mab's court didn't positively affect Bottom, Titania would have to carefully consider whether it was better to tie a bow on a strong legacy rather than risk it perishing in disgrace. "It is a delicate situation."

Bottom scoffed, "Is there ever a situation you think isn't? If the magistrate's brother can be betrothed to Desi, I should be able to talk to Desi and Hal and Puck!"

Oberon looked to Titania and suggested with his eyes, as only a soulmate could, that she let him take a shot. "Starling, you roll your eyes because I say it so often, but an ounce of prevention is truly better than a pound of cure. Remaining neutral in times like these allows your mother - and you, one day - to work with whoever is the victor. If you prefer, think of it as a sign of respect. Hal and Desi's family - and Puck's, yes - deserves to settle their differences without a foreign power even appearing to interfere, don't you think?"

"I think a foreign power is interfering with me seeing my best friend's wedding."

The parents met eyes again. They were still weighing the idea of postponing Bottom's trip long enough to let her attend the wedding. Titania was leaning against the delay, as she was concerned her daughter would see it as a reward for her behavior. If Bottom's attitude shifted for the better, Titania would relent. At the moment, that change did not appear at all likely. "You had an agreement with the Queen well before Desi was engaged. She'll understand."

Hating that her parents were right, Bottom said nothing. Desi had asked her to be a bridesmaid, but when Bottom revealed that the Queen had already asked her to come to court, Desi had banned her from even attending. She thought nothing could be more special than being part of the Fae court as confidante and cousin to the Queen herself. While all that held a small amount of appeal to Bottom, she thought this invitation was primarily a pretense to throw surplus princes at her and see if one would stick. Bottom wasn't ready to marry anyone, but if she had to, she wouldn't be choosing some strange princeling who had never even been to Verona. "And Hal? Do I even get to say goodbye to him before he gets locked in some dungeon if his mother loses?" 

"I'm sure Lady Juliette has no intention of treating her cousin harshly if she prevails. And consider," Titania continued, "how likely Lady Goneril would be to let you speak to Hal if she thought our family had taken sides against her. Staying at arm's length even from Puck lets us resume good relations with both sides afterward."

"Lady Goneril can go jump off a bridge," she grumbled.

Titania glared at her daughter. "Bite your tongue."

"She's doesn't even care about him except when she can use him up. She'll probably do something horrible if she loses, and then he'll... he'll..." Bottom couldn't say it. There was something inexplicable, something that made it feel like her stomach was melting into something warm and good, whenever they touched. It wasn't that he was an exceptional kisser (even after a lot of practice, he was merely a good one) or that he knew how to woo with words (though Bottom found his attempts charming). It wasn't even his strong, lean legs and perfectly formed backside, or his reddish-brown hair and blue-green eyes. Hal wasn't beautiful, certainly not half as beautiful as someone like Prince Kailen... 

That thought prompted Bottom to glance behind her, to see if the fourth member of their party had come up yet. He had not. 

Prince Kailen was one of Mab's many surplus princes. Officially, he had come to be Bottom's royal escort on her journey to the Fae Kingdom. He was also certainly meant to be the first of the line of princes thrown in her way, though Bottom had already rejected him in her head. It was not for that reason that he was the source of consternation in the Summerdream household. Titania suspected him of being under orders to report back to Mab on the legal proceedings and resented the implication that she could not be an impartial observer. Bottom was almost certain that Kailen had no idea he was causing any tension in the family, but, though she loved her mother very much, she currently did not feel like comforting her with that observation. If she was so smart, she could work it out for herself. 

---

With fifteen minutes left in the recess, Leon was still luxuriating in one of the benefits of being an Iden. His father-in-law had opted for the air during the recess, but his brother-in-law had bid Leon come with him, a schemer's twinkle in his eye. In a matter of minutes, they were raiding Charlotte's wine cabinet and enjoying furniture that didn't belong in a torture chamber. They had both just finished their last glass. At their current level of intoxication, they expected they could pass for sober at about the same time the trial concluded for the day. 

"Is it always this boring?" Leon sighed. "And do we always have to come?"

Freddie shook his head. "Just the big ones, and we switch off who goes. Father likes to come and George doesn't mind. Caro likes the dressing up but hates everything else."

"And I hate it all so far. If those chairs weren't so fucking hard, I'd've fallen asleep." Remembering he would have to go back to the chairs before long, Leon hauled himself up to a sitting position. He was halfway to actually getting up. "Goddamn, but it's just so boring."

"Nah, nah!" Freddie waved his hands. "You're doing it wrong, brother. Char's putting the thumbscrews to them, just with laws, which is boring as Hell at the beginning. What you've gotta do until the juicy parts start is look at my sister."

"Thanks for the advice, kid, but I already do that."

"Gross, and not like that, asshole. Char..." Freddie thumped his fist on his chest to steady himself. "Char learned this from my mother, and it works so good. My sister might be better, dunno, 'cause I was pretty young when my mother died, but I saw her do it a few times... so good."

"What is so good?"

"Sorry!" Freddie grinned. "She's making them sweat."

"And?"

"That's it."

"That's the dumbest fucking thing-"

"No, no! No, see? See, they come in all ready, knowin' what they wanna say, and she lets them. She doesn't give 'em any hints, and 'cause silence makes people uncomfortable, they talk for a while and let her see where they're goin'."

Incredulous, Leon snorted. "You're telling me there's something those four dumbasses know that she doesn't?"

"Hell no! God, what do you take me for? No, she lets them talk, an' then she crams the law down their throat right on the spot. They sit there and think and re-think everything. Every time, they get nervous and their ideas start jumping around, and Char can see even better what they're thinkin' - maybe even what they think the old Lady Capulet really wanted."

Leon lazily reached for his empty cup swirled the few droplets that clung to the inside. "What she wanted was her dead daughter back from the grave." He sucked down a gulp of air and the droplets of wine. "Maybe the old woman went a bit mad and didn't change it on purpose. Maybe this is all a big noise over nothing."

"Or! Or, or, or maybe the older daughters found out the youngest was getting it all and burned down the house themselves. Darcy had a point - the old lady had to have known the daughter's will just gave everything to her children. If your will got your daughter killed, why put your granddaughter in it?"

"What, because it would be a surprise if the dead woman leaves her inheritance to her kids? And if old Lady Capulet thought the killers were in her family, why the hell would she risk a goddamn war going after Montagues? Doesn't make sense." Attempting to accentuate his point, Leon slammed his cup down on the table - the cup, being at an unfriendly angle, slipped and rattled on its side. He groped for the cup and set it right on the second try. 

"And the man who might have known it all is dead." Snickering again, Freddie added, "Char must be burning up about that. The only even remotely objective person who knew what that deal was when the old lady died goes to the grave just in time."

"Conveniently enough, for someone. Who do you like for it?"

"Ehh..." He dipped his head from one side to the other. "I don't know. If I had to guess... Lady Goneril. I think."

Leon snorted dismissively. "The one who had the title and who wasn't in the house when he died?"

"I told you, it's a guess! I don't know... gut feeling, something about how Lady Desdemona acts around her mother, the way she talks about her."

"That's your gut talking?"

"What, do you get hard when my sister talks about her mother?"

"God, no!"

"Because that would be doubly gross, considering she's dead. I know it's not a love match, but my sister might have something to say about that."

"Say about what?" Charlotte asked. Her expression would have made it clear to any sober person that she knew exactly what. 

"Nothing, Char!"

"Nothing, Char," Leon echoed. 

She rolled her eyes. "Providing the two of you can stand, return to your seats. I'll be reconvening the court soon." 

The men rose to their feet and made a valiant effort toward steadiness as they walked to the door. Freddie stopped to kiss his sister's cheek, aware even in his haze that she couldn't stay angry with her baby brother. 

"Try not make a habit of lunching on my wine, Freddie," she requested in a sisterly tone. 

"You never drink it anyway!" Freddie giggled as he was pushed along from behind by his brother-in-law. 

"My guests do, so at least drink the cheaper," she called after him. "We both know you didn't taste a drop."

"There's nothing cheap about or around you, bright eyes." 

She snapped her fingers around her husband's approached wrist and held it in the air. Yet, try as she might, she couldn't quite manage the accompanying glare. There was something about Leon that amused her against her will. "Seat. Now."

---

Also returning to their seats were Cherry and her father, though the former would have been content to wait. "Could we tarry just another minute? You hardly ever see the Guards wearing those formal uniforms, and I can't see them from our seats."

"From the look of things, there will be more than enough time for that on other days, sweetheart. We don't want to keep your sister waiting."

"She has Lord John with her," Cherry countered. "Just another minute, Father? Please?"

Though he knew it was playing directly into the scheme, he agreed. His girls were grown-up ladies now; the chances to be the indulgent father were few and far between. And, truth be told, Cherry had never been so inclined to ask permission as her sister had. She had always preferred to ask forgiveness. "One more minute."

"Thank you." She squeezed the arm he had given her on their walk about and turned away to burn another minute on costume ideas... 

... and walk right into a stranger. Any urge to admonish vanished when Cherry laid eyes upon the most truly fair face she had ever seen. Something about him said he was male, but he could pass for a lovely maid. Many a plain girl would envy his pretty features: the delicate complexion, the hair just blonde enough to contrast with it, the eyes colored like rain clouds and the colorful vines that grew out of them to catch his brow and fall across his cheekbones. Those who did not envy? Cherry had no patience for great fools. 

"My lady..." The stranger's apology shifted into an odd, uneasy smile that could not be helped. He felt as if he had come face to face with a fresh work of art... and the art was analyzing him.

Francisco's sudden presence asserted itself and snapped the spell. It did not pass, however, before he could see his daughter's expression. "Cherry, sweetheart, are you all right?"

"Quite all right, Father.

"I wasn't wasting a thought on where I was walking, as you can well believe."

"It was entirely my fault," the stranger insisted, "and I am grateful that my absentmindedness did not cause any harm. I beg you would accept my deepest apologies, Lady Cherry and Lord... ?"

"Albion."

"My apologies, Lady Cherry and Lord Albion."

After an awkward moment, Francisco prodded the stranger for his name. 

"Kailen." It took another moment for Kailen to realize that one name would not suffice in Verona. "Forgive me again. My name is Kailen Gossamer."

"Ah, a relative of Lord Oberon's?" 

Kailen's lips popped with a funny little laugh. "Yes, my lady, I am."

"An unfortunate time for a family visit," Cherry remarked, "but it is an entertaining spectacle, at least."

"In it's own way. I am enjoying my cousin's company and all Verona has to offer, but my main purpose is to escort Oberon's daughter to my sister's court by the end of the year."

'My sister's court...'  ... oh, goddamn it. 

Lord John Anjou had just lost the distinction of being the most irritating presence in Francisco Albion's life.

Next Post: "When valour preys on reason, it eats the sword it fights with."