by Ruth Davis Hays
He stood, the chill air caressing his skin. Eyes closed to the world around him, D’harro’mar’rie’Khiall let his fate sink into his conscious mind, feeling it tickle the raw indignation of the last few days.
The Blessed Fathers of the Monastic Temple University of Coreigan had made up their minds about his motives and guilt long before his tribunal had begun. Twelve hours spent with his neck tied to a rock in order to incapacitate him was the least of his trials as he was relentlessly questioned and prodded.
The first moment they had allowed him to stand upright, he had insisted to them, “Nothing happened in the garden.”
“We will decide that. Now, open your mouth.”
“Why?” Khiall flinched back from the approaching acolyte. “I’m bathed in blood, yet you want to look in my mouth? I didn’t bite him!”
“Father Grae is simply…
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