Chapter 11: The Witness

The girl was sixteen at the most.

She wore the brown apron of an apothecary's shop, and her hands were twisting it into a rope.

Two guards brought her down the length of the hall, and she stopped a few feet from Aveline and did not look up.

"Tell the council who you are," said Lord Crale, in his kindest voice.

"I work in the apothecary's shop on Candle Lane, my lord."

"And what did you do four days before the banquet?"

"I sold a vial of bitter almond essence, my lord. To that lady."

She pointed at Aveline with a trembling finger.

"She wore a green cloak. She paid in silver. She said it was for the rats."

A rustle went around the table.

Aveline held very still.

The Queen leaned back in her chair, looking tired and sorry.

"Child, you are certain?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"She had red hair?"

"Auburn, Your Majesty. And a scar on her eyebrow."

"Which eyebrow?"

"The left."

It was a good answer, practiced and quick.

Aveline looked at the girl's feet.

She thought of the book.

The book had never named a witness.

It had never needed one.

By the time chapter thirty came, the foolish betrothed was guilty in everybody's mind, and the trial was a formality.

She was not guilty yet, but the room was already almost done with her.

She opened her mouth to speak, without any idea what she would say.

"Four days before the banquet," said a voice from the head of the table.

The room turned.

Torin had not moved from the king's chair.

He sat with one hand on the arm of it, his grey eyes fixed on the girl.

"At noon, you say?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"In Candle Lane."

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