Free Judge by R.J. Larson

stay here?”
    “Yes. Unless we can persuade both sides to see reason—and I don’t feel like being reasonable!” Much as Ela dreaded it, she was needed in Parne. If only Kien were here as a military judge, protecting his treaty.
    “I wish Kien were here,” Beka said, so plaintive, so near Ela’s own thoughts that Ela nodded and blinked away frustrated tears.
    “First,” Jon spoke as if pondering aloud, “we deal with our living baggage, stash our gear, stable the horses, and eat. Then I’ll investigate and decide if we must intervene.”
    The living baggage, Ruestock and his cohorts, were reassuringly meek as Jon’s servants led them into Ytar’s sparse new jail. Jon called the jailer to the prison gate and snapped, “I am Commander Jon Thel, here on official business. I require your full cooperation and an interrogation room—as soon as I’ve found quarters and stables for my staff and my family.”
    Family? Hmm. Ela almost smiled. Jon had evidently adopted her and Tzana.
    The jailer scowled at the destroyers, the Thels’ servants, and Beka, Ela, and Tzana—particularly Tzana—seeming ready to complain. Jon said, “This is Ela Roeh. Prophet of Parne.”
    The jailer exhaled, swallowed, and bowed. “Um. We’re honored, Ela of Parne.”
    Infinite, she begged in silence, give me wisdom. And patience. Her headache eased. She smiled at the jailor. “Thank you, sir. Your name is . . . ?”
    He squared his shoulders as if reporting for duty. “Amak.”
    “Thank you, Amak. Unfortunately, I must trouble you further. The former ambassador of Siphra is one of your prisoners, and I’ll need to speak with him as soon as I’ve settled my sister in our quarters. I’d welcome your presence as a witness to our conversation.”
    “Of course.” Eyes narrowed with distaste, Amak said, “Former ambassador, eh? He won’t require pampering, will he?”
    “None at all. He’s suffered too much pampering already.”
    Jon looked over his shoulder at Ela. “General Rol would insist that I also witness your meeting with Ruestock—accompanied by my subordinate-commander.”
    “Witnesses will be welcomed,” Ela murmured. Perhaps Ruestock would be more businesslike. Less blatant in flirting with her.
    Jailor Amak interposed, “Am I permitted to bring in our local authorities?”
    “Yes.” Jon gave the man a glare evidently calculated to impress. “On behalf of the Tracelands, I require their attendance tonight. Send word to Ytar’s council.”
    Beka sniffed as they rode away from the jail. “I’m all for seeing Ruestock punished, but if you two are dragging the city’s council into this, then no doubt the meeting will last all night. I am bowing out. Tzana and I intend to rest and enjoy our evening.”
    A glowing smile lit Tzana’s wearied little face. “Yeah!”
    “Cowards,” Jon teased. “Let’s go find some food.”

    The meeting hadn’t even begun and already she was tired. Ela shifted the branch between her hands and watched Jon motion his subordinate-commander, Selwin, to sit at the jail’s starkmeeting-room table. Bruised from today’s roadside battle and exuding bothersome self-importance, Selwin swaggered to the table, acting as Jon’s scribe.
    Would it be rude of her to verify the subordinate-commander’s discretion? Undoubtedly. Ela bit her lip as Jailor Amak led the rope-bound Lord Ruestock inside. Amak bowed to Ela. “I supposed you wanted to speak with this one before the council arrives.”
    “Yes. Thank you,” Ela murmured.
    Jon addressed Selwin. “This part of the meeting is unofficial.”
    Grimacing, Selwin folded his hands on his traveling desk. “Yes, sir.”
    Ruestock sniffed. Disdain dripping from his every word, he said, “Ah, yes. An unofficial meeting. How convenient for you, that you might pretend no knowledge of it later, good sirs.” And he uttered a soft curse.
    Ela watched Jon’s hands clench into fists. He said, “I remind you that a lady is present.