Free Call of the Colossus: An epic fantasy novel (The Mindstream Chronicles Book 2) by K.C. May Page A

leave, she stood and slid her folded pardon into her blouse over her left breast, then wiped her hands down her thighs. Though many people glanced at her, she was no longer the focus of attention. The spectators began to file out of the courtroom as if a simple meeting had just concluded, though a few remained behind, gathering in small groups and talking quietly amongst themselves. On the elevated platform behind the elders’ bench, Gastone and Tornal argued in hushed voices.
    Rivva came over, reaching for Jora’s hands. “Congratulations. I hope you’re pleased with the outcome.”
    “It’s better than being beheaded,” Jora said with a grin. “Thank you.”
    “Justice Captain,” Rivva said, beckoning him with a crooked finger. When he neared, she told him to have Jora’s belongings delivered to her room at the dormitory. “And make certain her flute is among them. I expect it’ll be in pristine condition. If the dominee has any complaints, direct her to me. I expect her full cooperation.”
    “Yes, Your Highness,” Milad said. He snapped a bow and gestured to his enforcers to follow him, then left the courtroom.
    “I’ll be back tomorrow to continue our earlier conversation. Rest well, Jora. It’s been a trying day for you. Not intending the pun, of course.”
    Jora chuckled. “I will. See you tomorrow.” She watched the princess sweep from the room, her guards following behind.
    Now what? she wondered, looking around. Do I have my old room in the dormitory?
    Elder Devarla stepped down from the platform and approached. Her expression made her look far more stern than Elder Kassyl had or even Elder Sonnis before he revealed his true nature. “You and I need to talk.”
     

     
    “Come with me,” Elder Devarla said. She strode from the courtroom, her back straight and her eyes directed ahead.
    Jora followed obediently, casting shy smiles at the three judges who stepped aside to let her pass. The small groups of chattering elders and adepts in the spectators’ gallery paused their conversations to stare as she went by.
    Devarla had paused in the corridor for Jora to catch up. They walked side by side toward the back door and the walkway beyond, which led to the dormitory. “You’ll be staying in your old room on the fourth floor, number four thirty-four. I’ll have Disciple Bastin lead you through your assignments, but you’ll report directly to me. I want to meet with you daily–”
    “Are we going to pretend all that didn’t happen?” Jora blurted.
    Devarla blinked down at her. She was a tall woman, lean and bony, with a long neck and a nose too small for her face. Jora found herself envying that nose, so much smaller than her own, as well as the elder’s blue eyes and the confidence she exuded. “No, we aren’t pretending anything. How could I forget that you murdered your last elder? Do you think that doesn’t worry me?”
    Jora stopped, her hands balling into fists. “I didn’t murder him. He’s not even dead. Weren’t you paying attention?”
    “Pardon my poor choice of words. He’s not here, serving Serocia through his duty to the Order, is he? Regardless of what he’s become, he isn’t the man we knew as Elder Sonnis.”
    “You’re evading the question,” Jora muttered as she continued walking again. When they reached the rear door, Jora shoved it open and went through, but she paused to hold it open for the elder.
    “What would you have me say?” Devarla asked, letting the door close behind her. There was tension in her voice, a barely restrained frustration. Or perhaps it was fear. “You’re capable of turning me into some accursed worm thing to do your bidding, so obviously you have all the power in this relationship. Tell me, Gatekeeper. What would you have me say? Command me, and I’ll say whatever you’d like to hear.” The two women stood outside the justice building, glaring at one another.
    Jora’s face burned with shame and anger. “You can’t guilt me