This was the trial.
He fought the urge to panic. He searched the crowd for Regent, but couldn’t find him. Surely Regent was there? Surely he wouldn’t abandon him now? X kept searching. There were so many lords. Their robes were flapping. The golden bands at their necks were glinting. Dervish sat in the middle of a row, laughing wickedly with his fellow lords. Were they laughing at X?
At last, amid the confusion, a lord no taller than a child mounted the stage. X watched as he stepped behind the podium and hushed the crowd. In a high, nervous voice, the lord announced that they would now hear final arguments before voting on whether the prisoner was to remain a bounty hunter or be locked away forever.
Final arguments!
X’s mind reeled. He was dizzy from the motion of the chair. His purple shirt was damp with sweat. The gash in his leg seemed to glow beneath the bandage.
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them—he saw Regent. At last! The lord rose from his seat and approached the stage.
Before Regent addressed the audience, he leaned down to X and confirmed what Ripper had said: X would be allowed to speak, but only once. X saw the sympathy in the lord’s eyes, and was moved by it. Without thinking, he whispered, “You have been so kind to me. Might I know your true name?”
The lord was shocked by the question. He turned away without answering.
Regent told his fellow lords he was disgusted that they were even contemplating further punishments to the soul who sat before them. He reminded his audience that, though X had committed no crime, he had spent his life in the Lowlands—that he had learned to crawl and walk and speak in a cell barely bigger than his body. Of course he had been tempted to run! Of course he had fallen in love!
It was a stirring speech. The lords seemed rapt by it.
Regent talked about X’s mother, about the rare blood that ran in his veins, about the appalling torture he had suffered on the plain.
X longed to speak on his own behalf—and was afraid he’d miss his chance. He remembered Ripper telling him to grovel. He practiced silently in his head: My lords, my actions have been disgraceful. I beg to remain a hunter, so that I might continue to serve you. I recant everything—and everyone—else. My only love is the Lowlands.
He loathed every word and meant none of them.
When Regent finished, there was a light rain of applause. Dervish, who seemed to live in a perpetual state of outrage, was so scandalized that he didn’t even bother taking the stage to give his rebuttal. He pushed past the lords seated next to him, and began shouting from the aisle.
“This knave MUST NOT and CANNOT remain a bounty hunter,” he declared. “He has ALREADY revealed what weak, lovesick stuff he is made of. He has ALREADY betrayed us. And yet some among us would let him remain a hunter and stroll the Overworld at his leisure? Nay, I say! NAY, NAY, NAY!”
Dervish expected his own round of applause. But after that bizarre string of “nays,” Regent said loudly, “Forgive me, but has a horse entered the room?”
Laughter rippled through the chamber.
Dervish stood hunched in the middle of the aisle, recalculating his plan of attack. A thought came to him. X could see it register in his eyes.
“The TRUTH,” bellowed the vile lord, “is that this knave does not even DESIRE to remain a bounty hunter. All he truly desires is to nuzzle his SLUT! I should have MURDERED her when I had the chance—and I may murder her yet!”
X rose from his seat. He was so furious and dizzy he could barely see.
Regent tried to calm him: “He bluffs in the hopes of enraging you. Do not be provoked!”
But X could hear nothing but the blood pounding in his ears. He stumbled off the stage, and lurched down the aisle toward Dervish.
“If you lay a hand on Zoe,” he cried, “I will make your face even uglier—with a rock!”
“You are hardly in a position to hinder me,” taunted Dervish. “I shall lick her neck, if it pleases me.”
Regent flew down the steps to hold X back. But, dizzy as a child spun around during a birthday game, X lashed out at Dervish with his fist.
He struck Regent instead.
A gasp flew up from the lords. The sentinels raced forward with their rifles. X looked to Regent, whose face was a mask of fury and surprise.
“I never intended—” said X.
Regent raised a palm to silence him.
“You have spoken,” he said, his tone suddenly clipped and officious. “And you may not speak again.”
X collapsed back into the stone chair. All was lost. He would never be a bounty hunter again. He would never see Zoe. His insolence might even cost her family their lives.
He gazed at the bandage on his leg. Blood rose through it like a little lake. To distract himself, he pressed his fingertips into it and felt the pain rush through him. Maybe, with Ripper’s help, he could prevent the wound from ever healing, so that he could jab at it forever—a permanent reminder of his loss.
When it came time for the lords to vote, Regent helped him out of his chair.
“Be silent, no matter what occurs,” the lord told him. “I have done all that I can.”
X forced himself to look out at his judges. Few of them returned his gaze, which told him everything he needed to know about his fate.
The diminutive lord who’d opened the proceedings called out the official referendum in his reedy voice: “Shall this soul remain a bounty hunter—yea or nay?”
A nay was shouted, and then another, and then two more.
X felt as if he were watching his future with Zoe vanish and die. He had promised to return to her unless two worlds conspired against him—what a reckless promise! All it had taken was his own anger and pride, his own voice leaping out of him unbidden.