The witness was duly led in, a young woman in a plain dress, her colouring typical of the northern empire, dark hair and skin of an olive hue save for a cluster of livid red stripes on her neck. She was clearly overawed by her surroundings, hands clasped together and head held low, her eyes alighting on me for only a second before she snatched them away.
“State your name,” Lord Velsus ordered.
The young woman had to cough twice before she got the words out, her voice coloured by a barely suppressed quaver. “Jervia Mesieles.”
“That is your married name, is it not?” Velsus enquired.
“Yes, my lord.”
“State your birth name.”
“Jervia Nester Aruan.”
“Quite so. Your father was formerly Governor of Linesh, was he not?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“In fact, he held stewardship of the city at the time of the Hope Killer’s occupation. An occupation many believe led to an outbreak of the red plague, during which you yourself almost perished. Is this not so?”
Jervia’s hands twitched and I surmised she was fighting an impulse to touch the marks on her neck. “It is so, my lord.”
“However, you were saved by the intervention of the Hope Killer, who called for a healer from his homeland. So, it would be fair to say your father considered himself in the Hope Killer’s debt, would it not?”
Jervia closed her eyes, raising her head and drawing a breath. When she opened them and looked at me I saw the unmistakable apology they held. “It would, my lord,” she said in a laboured tone, the voice of a reluctant actress.
“It is said,” Velsus went on, “your father was given a gift by the Hope Killer shortly before his arrest. What was it?”
“A sword, my lord.”
The Imperial Prosecutor’s gaze swept the assembled advisors, brows raised in surprise. “He accepted a gift of the Hope Killer’s sword, the very blade that had been stained with the divine blood of the Hope himself. A man of more noble spirit might have found such a gift an intolerable burden on his honour, but given your father’s ineptitude in defending his city and failure to take the honourable course in the aftermath of defeat, hardly surprising. Tell me, was there anything unusual about this sword?”
Jervia took another ragged breath. “Yes, my lord. The blade had strange markings upon it, and sometimes . . . sometimes Father would take it out, at night when he thought no one could see. He would draw the sword and the blade would glow with a strange, white fire. It . . . did things to Father, changed him, somehow . . .”
