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leiawritesstories · 2 months ago

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PART TEN: OCTOBER (PART I)

A/N: omg, this chapter got INSANELY long. due to me accidentally getting carried away by lawyer brain, i'm splitting this hot mess of a courtroom drama into two parts (at least). hopefully, the second half will be ready soon!! sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger oopsies

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Read on AO3

Word count: ~8.7k (yikes)

Warnings: swearing, lots of legal-ese (oops it's a courtroom drama!), angst, scheming, pining lovers, tension, brief descriptions of crime, references to deaths, trial talk, courtroom drama, oops it's a cliffhanger hehehe

enjoy........

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Gavriel knocked on Aelin’s door promptly at eight-thirty, exactly when he came to her apartment every morning since she’d been placed under house arrest. She teased him about it, but nothing could crack his military punctuality, and as had become her new normal, she let him in, half joking when she asked if he was going to stay for breakfast.

Her uncle smiled, lines crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I’ll spare you the awkwardness of my presence in your home.”

“My cell, you mean.” Her tone was wry, but resigned.

“You don’t need to be so fatalistic,” Gav returned. He sat down on her couch, stretching his legs out across the hardwood floor. “Plus, you definitely don’t want me standing around when you have your interview with Miss Rompier today.”

“That’s today?�� Aelin glanced at the whiteboard calendar hanging on the fridge. “Shit, I guess it is.” She blew out a sigh. “What are the odds I can get away with complete silence?”

“Celaena Sardothien, silent? I don’t think so,” her uncle teased.

Aelin laughed. “You’ve got me there, Gav.” She dropped into the armchair that faced the couch. “In all seriousness, though, how much do you think she’ll ask?”

Gav frowned. “By your standards, probably too much, but you knew that and I’d bet Row—ah, I’d bet Lieutenant Whitethorn’s favorite pistol you’re prepared for it. Just…” He leaned forwards, braced his elbows on his knees, and pushed his Commander Ashryver expression across his face. “Aelin, you can’t lie to the press when you’re about to go into trial proceedings.”

“I know,” Aelin said quietly. Resignation weighed heavily on her shoulders as she met her uncle’s unyielding stare. “Please believe me when I tell you that I’m not going to lie about…about any of it.”

“Good.” Gav nodded briskly. “Have you eaten?”

“I don’t think I can.” Her face paled, nausea churning in her stomach at the thought of what she was about to endure.

“Okay. Bring something with you, at least, yeah?” Her uncle rose from the couch. “I’ll even stick one of those char-shootery things you like in my bag.”

“It’s called ‘charcuterie,’ Gav,” Aelin chuckled. “Fine. I’ll throw a protein bar or something into my purse and see if I can stomach it after the interview.”

When she was ready, she slung her purse over her shoulder, stepped into a pair of bloodred four-inch stiletto heels that paired beautifully with her charcoal pantsuit, and after Gav checked the Wyrd cuff on her left arm, she followed him out to his car. The pair of TSF guards outside her door nodded politely at her as she left; they’d become accustomed to each other’s presence in the short time since she had been under house arrest. She’d started ordering extra takeout and leaving meals for them on the nights that she ordered food—not as bribery, just as a kindness—and after they confirmed she wasn’t trying to kill them with Pad Thai, they accepted her gift.

Aelin was uncharacteristically reserved during the drive to the courthouse, a route she assumed she would become very familiar with over the next few weeks as her trial proceeded. Gav pulled around to the east side when they reached the grand brownstone building, escorting her in through the more private east entrance to avoid the flock of hungry press that had heard rumors of the Shadow Assassin in court and crowded around the front entrance.

“Thank you,” she murmured as he guided her down the hallways.

“Not a problem,” he replied. “Far as those bloodthirsty vultures know, they have the wrong date.” He led her down a series of side hallways, all paneled in matching mahogany-stained oak and white plaster, her heels clicking crisply beside his military boots on the polished marble floors. After several minutes and several turns—which she memorized—he stopped at an unmarked door identical to every other one they’d passed. “This is the interview room. You’ll get time here with your lawyers during the trial, and I thought it would be the best location for this interview.”

“You, of course, thought correctly. Thanks, Gav.” She squeezed his hand. He nodded, stifling a soft smile as he held open the door for her.

“I’ll be back in ninety minutes,” he said, both to her and to the dark-haired reporter sitting slack-jawed and goggle-eyed at the table.

“I…Aelin Galathynius?!” The journalist snapped her mouth shut but continued to gawk with wide eyes as Aelin calmly sat down on the other side of the table.

“Hello, Kaltain.”

Kaltain Rompier had been looking forward to this interview for almost every minute of the five days she’d known she would get to conduct it. And none of that anticipation could have prepared her to come face to face with the woman behind the Shadow Assassin’s mask.

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, CEO of the massively successful tech development company Galathynius Inc., seated herself comfortably in the chair opposite Kaltain, folded her hands atop the table, and gave Kaltain a disarmingly soft smile. “Hello, Kaltain.”

“You’re Celaena Sardothien?” That stupid fucking question probably ruined all of her journalistic credit, but Kaltain had to hear it from the woman’s own lips before she would believe it.

Calmly, Aelin dipped her head in a nod. “Yes, I am.”

“Holy shit,” Kaltain whispered. She shook her head sharply and pinched her thigh under the table to snap her attention back to where it should be. “I suppose I should tell you that I’ve been granted special access to view and report on your trial. There will only be three of us—me, a photographer, and another reporter from the Gazette because they can’t have just one outlet printing trial coverage.”

“That’s a lot fewer press than I was expecting,” Aelin mused. “Normally, with a trial this big, the courtroom would barely have space for witnesses with the amount of press that’s there.”

Kaltain shrugged. “I was told that press coverage would be severely limited due to the sensitive nature of this trial.”

“Sensitive nature,” Aelin scoffed. “Well, I suppose if they’re going to trot out the photos, some people could get a little nauseous. It’s not my fault that not everyone can look at the aftermath of torture.”

“But it is your fault that you imparted that torture?” Kaltain added.

The smirk that curled Aelin’s crimson lips was nothing short of terrifying. “That’s for the judge and jury to determine. Excellent question, though. Anyone else would have answered it.”

“I’ve had a lot of practice developing the right kinds of questions,” Kaltain said with a smirk of her own. “So tell me, Celaena Sardothien, how long has your identity been known?”

“That depends on who you ask and what you mean by known,” Aelin returned. “I believe the name ‘Celaena Sardothien’ has been circulating around various parts of the internet for years, but it was specifically connected to this string of murders around March. Terrasen Special Forces have known that I am Sadrothien for approximately a month if I’m being generous, and Orynth Police have officially known my identity for nine whole days. Aren’t they so good at their job?”

Kaltain fought the urge to snicker at Aelin’s sly insinuation. “Officially?”

“I can’t say for sure how long they unofficially knew, but I believe they suspected a connection as early as this spring. You’d have to ask TSF Lieutenant Whitethorn for a more precise date, since he was the operative agent who arrested me after discovering my identity.” Unless Kaltain was losing her mind, she swore that grief flickered across Aelin’s neutral expression when she said Whitethorn’s name.

“Hmm. So, when a certain tabloid article circulated earlier this year, I assume you were behind its takedown?”

“Did that particular article feature some rather creative, lurid lies about Aelin Galathynius?”

“I believe it did.”

“Then yes, that sounds familiar.” Aelin smirked. “It’s a shame that that article came from such an unreliable source.”

Kaltain did snicker at that barbed little comment. “And when a certain Shadow Assassin showed up at my former place of work…that was you?”

Aelin nodded. “I’m sorry that I had to knock you out, but that’s why crime boss secrecy exists. Can’t have everyone who sees me running off and blabbing to the law about my appearance and physical location.”

“Oddly enough, that’s totally understandable in a twisted sort of way.” Kaltain glanced at her notes, then tapped her phone to pause the voice recording. “Off the record, what about Cortland? Was he making all that shit up when he brought me the story?”

“Not completely,” Aelin admitted. “He was at the same club that my friends took me to for my birthday, he was a giant sleazebag as per usual, and I did in fact punch him in the face for being a raging misogynist prick.”

“Hmm. I suppose he had that coming.” Satisfied, Kaltain turned the recording back on. “So tell me, Celaena Sardothien. Did you think you would get caught?”

Something that was both captivating and horrifying glinted in Aelin’s eyes. “Once again, that’s an excellent question, but you’ll have to attend the trial to find out the answer. I can, however, tell you one thing— there was a time during which I hoped I could make good on my name and vanish into the shadows, but that time has passed.” She sat back in her chair, those calculating eyes of hers never leaving Kaltain’s face.

The door creaked open. “Ninety minutes are up. Lawyer is here.”

Kaltain turned off the recording, gathered her notes into her folder, and stood up. “Thank you for answering my questions, Celaena.” The crime boss simply nodded, a gesture of respect, as Kaltain left the interview room. Outside, she walked to the nearest bench, sat down, and stared blankly ahead into the mahogany paneling of the wall.

What in all hell was she getting into as she covered the Shadow Assassin’s trial?

The reporter’s blank stare scared Rowan more than he cared to admit.

He’d been all but sleepless for the last nine days, constantly replaying his actions from the moment he called his Fireheart by her other name up to the moment he watched Commander Gavriel escort her to house arrest, the sleek black cuff a damning symbol around her wrist. Guilt and regret mingled with resignation and determination, all of his tangled emotions clinging tightly together in a protective film around his splintered heart.

“Miss Rompier?” He paused a few steps away from where the reporter sat.

Kaltain’s attention snapped to him. “Lieutenant? I’m sorry, I must have zoned out. The interview I just finished was…well, it was quite intense.”

“I can imagine,” Rowan mumbled. “Did you want an escort to the courtroom? The arraignment should be starting in half an hour or so.”

“Thank you, but no.” Kaltain flashed him a polite, fleeting smile. “I know the way pretty well.”

Rowan nodded and continued down the hallway, satisfied that the journalist hadn’t been rendered unwell by her interview with Aelin. With Celaena. Fuck, he still didn’t know how to reconcile the two identities—one a ruthless and heartless killer, one the light of his goddamned life.

When he reached the interview room, the muted hum of voices spilled out from beneath the door, a flutter of parting words that poured out into the hallway as Ansel Briarcliff, Aelin’s attorney, opened the door and stepped out.

“Lieutenant,” the redheaded attorney said crisply.

“Counsel,” he said gruffly in response. “Is your client ready?”

“I am finished speaking with her, yes.” Ansel was a master at speaking through legal loopholes, and Rowan had nothing but respect for the attorney whose friendship he knew Aelin valued so highly. He just nodded tightly, took a deep breath, and walked into the interview room.

And stopped in his fucking tracks.

“What the hell are you wearing?” The question practically exploded from his lips.

Crimson lips curled into a knife-edged grin that kindled a fire in his traitorous blood. “Open your eyes, Lieutenant. My blouse is beige.” Aelin settled her purse straps on her shoulder and fixed her cunning gaze on him.

Jaw locked, Rowan tore his eyes from Aelin’s face and swept an assessing look down her tailored charcoal blazer and trousers, the beige blouse that she was indeed wearing—damn his fucking mind for glimpsing the plunging cut of her blazer and skipping to the bare skin beneath—and the lethal crimson heels that raised her nearly to his eye level, their glossy hue perfectly matched to her lipstick. “Are you trying to piss off the judge, Fi–Sardothien?”

She shut down the spark of pain in her eyes almost before he noticed it, before he realized how close he’d come to calling her the name burned into his soul. “I think the only one pissed off is you, Lieutenant.” The ferocity with which she delivered his title drove a fist into the too-thin defenses around his beaten heart. “Shall we go? I have an arraignment to attend.”

“After you…Aelin.”

They were in the hallway, him at her back, when she stopped, turned sharply to face him, and drove a white-hot glare right into his forehead. “You know all of my names, Lieutenant Rowan Whitethorn, and yet you still choose to weaponize the ones that you know hurt the worst.” Grief rippled baldly across her face before she wrestled her expression back into neutrality. “Just choose one of them. Don’t confuse the court.” With that, she whirled back around and kept walking, and like a goddamn idiot, he fell into step at her shoulder.

Two steps behind, like he always had been.

Aelin composed herself as she entered the courtroom, hyperaware of Rowan’s presence at her back. She spared a quick glance towards the scant handful of cameras stationed around the room, thankful to Gav for controlling the amount of press who were allowed into the proceedings. Ansel tipped her head, silently ordering Aelin to get the hell over to her seat, and she strode across the courtroom, heels rapping against the wooden flooring.

Not two minutes later, Judge Malakai Aryn entered, took his seat behind the bench, and rapped his gavel once. “This court is now in session,” he announced in a level, measured voice. Despite the lines etched into his forehead and around his eyes, the judge’s gaze was as keen as ever as he swept it over the people assembled in the courtroom. “Ms. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, please stand.”

Aelin stood. She placed her hands behind her back and linked her fingers, allowing everyone seated in the witness and spectator benches to have a clear view of the Wyrd cuff around her left wrist.

“Ms. Galathynius.” Judge Malakai cleared his throat. “You have been charged with the following: Twenty-three counts of premeditated murder in the first degree. Twenty-three counts of premeditated torture causing grievous personal injury to the victims. Twenty-five counts of kidnapping an adult. Approximately ninety-three counts of unlawful trespassing. ‘Innumerable’ counts of breaking and entering. Destruction of private property worth up to thirty-two point seven million dollars. Arson. Wilful ignorance of Terrasen’s import and export bans. Violation of Statute 517.8b, which prohibits the sale of lethal weaponry. Aiding and abetting a federal prison break. And finally, Class A fraudulent impersonation.”

He paused, allowing the list of charges to sink in. Before he could continue, Ansel leaned into her microphone. “Your Honor, I move that the impersonation charge be dropped.”

“On what grounds, Counsel?”

“‘Impersonation’ implies that the accused took on the identity of a separate person, Your Honor, and my client did not take an additional identity. The name Celaena Sardothien was a mere alias.”

Judge Malakai nodded. “Does the opposing counsel object?”

“No objection, Your Honor.” Weylan Darrow, the prosecuting attorney, said flatly.

“Very well. The charge of fraudulent impersonation is dropped.” Judge Malakai struck his gavel. “In regard to the charges which you face, Ms. Galathynius, how do you plead?”

Aelin looked the judge straight in the eye…and remained silent.

The judge allowed the silence to extend for a long moment, then spoke again. “Ms. Galathynius, do you invoke your right to remain silent?”

Ansel flicked a glance to Aelin, who simply unclasped her hands. “Your Honor, my client would like to address each charge separately, as is her lawful right under Section 4, clause 2c of the Terrasen Constitution.”

“Very well. We shall proceed in ascending order of severity. Ms. Galathynius, how do you plead to the charge of violating Statute 517.8b?”

“I invoke my right to remain silent,” Aelin said, her voice clear and steady.

“How do you plead to the charge of wilfully ignoring Terrasen’s import and export bans?”