“Bell was in the dungeon with common criminals, and other raiders betrayed his identity.”
“What of his crew?”
Tom shook his head and opened his mouth to say more as Lazlo banged his gavel.
Like everyone around her, Lu sat up straighter. She had proven herself during the revolution by catching details from enemies, as those with something to hide often lowered their guard around children. Her parents relied on her now for the same reason—with her mother as a Senior Councilmember and her father as a general councilmember, they trusted her to hear what might otherwise go unnoticed by officials.
“The next item deviates from our negotiations,” Lazlo said, “but if our guests allow, we will sentence a convicted criminal and return to proceedings within the hour.”
Lu’s mother spun on Lazlo. “The accused has not yet been convicted. We have not even interrogated him,” Kari stated.
“What would be the point?” Lazlo consulted his ledger. “Devereux Bell is the suspect in more than three dozen counts of theft from Grace Loray. Witnesses say he stole Variegated Holly from the castle’s own stockpiles; he was also seen taking two boatloads of Hemlight, and the vessels as well; he has impersonated members of the Council—I could go on. The syndicates at least hold to certain levels of honor and do not steal from under our watch. An unaligned raider like Devereux Bell deserves no sympathy. We must condemn him immediately and return to the far more pressing matter of the treaty.”
“Bell deserves to be aware of the reason for his sentence,” Kari countered. “Our Argridian guests do not expect this country to cease proper procedures for them.”
One of the Argridian diplomats rose from the front pew. No, not one of them—the only one who mattered. Milo Ibarra, a favored general of the Argridian king.
Lu’s body went stiff. When Argrid had stopped calling Grace Loray a colony and started calling it an abomination, Milo had overseen its cleansing. Now here he was, a human embodiment of the war, returned under a banner of peace.
“Of course not, Mrs. Andreu,” said Milo, straightening his silken overcoat. “We are most eager to bear witness to how Grace Loray handles stream raiders, in fact.”
Kari’s brow furrowed. “Handles?”
“Once we finalize this treaty, threats to Grace Loray become threats to Argrid. It is no secret that raiders are a danger.” Milo took a step forward, hands behind his back. The chandeliers flared light on his greased black hair, the steep Argridian slants of his jaw and nose. “The raiders deal in the most dangerous botanical magic and spread such hazards to their corresponding Mainland countries.”
“All botanical magic trade with the Mainland is now tightly controlled,” said Lazlo, shifting in his chair. “The Council has binding trade agreements with Tuncay’s empress, Emerdon’s queen, and fifteen of the twenty Mechtland clan lords. And, after this treaty is finalized, we will be proud to add Argrid to that list as well.”
Milo’s expression was sardonic. The Argridian treaty had not yet touched on what magic, if any, would be approved for legal sale in Argrid.
“Treaties between governments will not stop criminals, Senior,” Milo responded. “The stream raiders’ threats extend beyond magic trade. They encourage disunity by holding to their countries of origin—Emerdon, Tuncay, the Mechtlands, and Grozda—and funneling impoverished immigrants between nations, which spreads diseases due to their destitution and unsanitary lifestyles. I understand you have tolerated them because of an ill-made promise during the war, but promises should not excuse crimes.”
Those around Lu shifted awkwardly, shame pinking their cheeks for the pestilence of stream raiders. But Lu was overcome with rage at Milo for ignoring why they had made a promise to the raiders at all.
“If you mean to change a way of life, you must offer a benefit the old way could not,” Lu’s mother had said. “Something more valuable, or that would solve a more immediate problem.”
Over the course of the eight-year war, Kari and the other leaders had tried numerous times to get the raiders to join forces with them. Neither Argrid nor the rebels had numbers on their side—Argrid because they were used to enacting obedience through the threat of damnation, and the rebels because they were only made up of those rare people willing to risk their lives for freedom.
But toward the end, Argrid overtook a rebel headquarters. The revolution leaders, finding their safe house and the assets therein compromised, grew desperate. They didn’t have the numbers to retake the safe house from the majority of Argrid’s forces—and so Kari and a handful of revolutionaries told the stream raiders that if they helped end the war, they would have a place in the new government. The raiders, eager to have unmatched control over Grace Loray, agreed.
Despite months of negotiations after the war, the raider syndicates scoffed at the proposed system of laws, demanded anarchy, and retreated to their declared territories when they did not get their way.
Unity with the raiders should have happened. Without laws keeping them in check, they were what Milo said: a constant source of danger and threat, a drain on the economy.
“That promise was not ill made,” Lu’s mother said. Lu smiled—trust Kari to always advocate for Grace Loray’s best interests. “The raiders’ support allowed peace to come between Grace Loray and Argrid. Their existence speaks to cultural differences we should embrace, and we will treat raiders, including Devereux Bell, as the worthy citizens they are.”
Milo scoffed. “The only thing criminals like Devereux Bell are worthy of is death, Mrs. Andreu. I have been under the impression that you wanted us to see Grace Loray as a functioning nation, not as an embarrassment.”
Lu’s hands fisted around the strap of her satchel, her mind echoing with a childlike plea.
Leave, please leave, get off my island, leave us in peace—
Kari’s golden-brown skin paled, the only sign of her displeasure, and she didn’t engage Milo further. The rest of the Seniors remained silent, whether in fear or shame Lu wasn’t sure.
A moment, and Kari waved to a soldier standing by a door behind the dais.
“Bring in Bell,” she said in the voice that reminded everyone of her moniker during the revolution: the Wave. She could break with unstoppable fervor and be completely unmoved, no matter the opposition.
The mood of the courtroom changed. People rose, angling to see the doorway. Lu couldn’t help but think of Teo, how he would have reacted to Devereux’s entrance with the same desperate curiosity.
The soldier opened the door. Another entered, blocking the man behind him, trailed by a final soldier. Two more followed—which felt extreme for the guarding of one man, chained at the wrists and ankles with irons that rattled, but Devereux Bell’s notoriety made them cautious.
The men stopped in front of the Seniors, the soldiers blocking Devereux from view of the room. A waist-high beam with an iron loop at the top had been set into the floor before the dais. One soldier linked Devereux’s wrist manacle to the post, and the soldiers stepped to the side.
Devereux Bell, his back to the room, stood like a man well aware of the power he wielded, leaning his weight casually on one leg. He was wiry but tall, and his dress was what one would expect of a raider: threadbare pants, knee-high boots, his shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, in varying shades of black and speckled with patches and stains. Unlike most men, he did not wear his hair tied back—the black strands hung loose to his shoulders.