Killing an enemy in wartime was not murder, for example, he said. But killing a man for his purse was. He carefully cited a case for each proposition. He said the court would need to decide to which pole of these two the present matter (he used that word) fell more closely. He noted, with limited relevance, that no money had been stolen in this affair. He closed by lamenting that the king was indisposed and unable to lend his great wisdom to their task today.

He sat down.

The other advocate for the two dukes nodded his head soberly. Patted his colleague on the shoulder. Did not rise to add anything. At all.

The queen stared at them. She turned and looked back at her husband’s two uncles, the protectors now of Ferrieres and the prince, her child. The king’s child. The men who had chosen these advocates. Thierry could not see her face then. He did see the dukes shift in their seats. It allowed him a guess as to her expression. Her rage.

He felt it rising within himself. For no good reason concerning his own life, concerning young Thierry Villar, tavern poet.

He met the gaze of Marina di Seressa among the women behind the queen. He saw her eyes narrow. She shook her head quickly, emphatically, but by then he was already on his feet, and so quite visible in that hall, among that company.

He leaned forward, said quietly to the provost, “Have I permission to speak for you? Lacking that, I have no standing here at all.”

Robbin de Vaux turned to look at him. And after what felt a long moment said, “You do. Let me speak first.”

“Are we fools?” Thierry asked.

“Very likely,” said the provost of Orane.

De Vaux rose to his feet. A big man, distinguished-looking. Not among the higher nobility, but with a lineage, and of importance in this room given his history and his office. He bowed to the queen, to the nobles behind her, to the high cleric. Then he bowed one more time, to the empty throne of the king of Ferrieres.

He said, after waiting for Queen Bianca to acknowledge him, “Your grace, I claim no eloquence at all. I am a soldier and an official of the court, defending Orane from danger as best I can. I was called in the middle of the night to investigate a terrible murder. I seek leave to have an advocate speak on behalf of the provost’s office, with no aspersions cast on either of the fine men who have just spoken. Will you grant it?”

Eloquent enough, Thierry thought.

So, evidently, did the queen. “I do grant leave. Your advocate may speak. I will hope,” she added, “he does so cogently.” Which was telling, really.