Galen looks to Grom, scrutinizing his reaction and finding next to nothing. His brother is stationed next to Paca, his smiling queen, but it’s Nalia with whom he shares his-and-her matching expressions of indifference. Next to the Triton Royals, Toraf clenches and unclenches his jaw, but gives no other outward reaction. Galen’s gaze shifts to Antonis, across to the Poseidon side of the Arena. The wizened king looks slightly amused. Of course, after having spent so much time in self-imposed isolation, Galen supposes the king may not know how to act appropriately anymore. Otherwise, he’d have to question His Majesty’s sanity in allowing a genuine smirk to tug at the corners of his mouth. As if Romul had told a joke.

Galen wonders what his own expression betrays. Fury? Disbelief? Nervousness? But he’s not given much time to contemplate.

Tandel, an Archive from the Triton house and elected leader of the council for this tribunal, takes the center stone and hushes the Arena. “My friends, Romul has given us something to consider, and it is much appreciated. But he is the first to give testimony. If we are to resolve the matter, we must hear from the rest.” This seems to placate the masses. Tandel nods in self-satisfaction more than graciousness. “Now, we have Lestar, respected Tracker of House Poseidon, to give testimony.”

Lestar is seasoned, of an age to remember Nalia’s unique pulse, her identity. Toraf says a Tracker never forgets a pulse. If that’s true, Lestar can positively identify Nalia as the Poseidon princess. His testimony, along with Yudor’s, will end this ridiculous trial.

To Galen’s relief, Lestar wastes no time in doing so. “My friends, thank you for hearing my testimony today. I am honored to be a part of such a happy occasion. Happy because our lost Poseidon heir has returned to us. Many of you older ones are aware that I led the search party after the mine explosion all those seasons ago.” This incites nods from among the assembly. Both houses know the story; it’s one of the worst tragedies in the history of their kind. “You younger ones have heard the tale passed down through the generations. If you have, you would know that I was one of the last to give up hope of ever finding our princess alive. I searched many days after the last Tracker party was sent out.” Lestar turns to Nalia, an affectionate smile pursing his lips. “My friends, please believe when I say this one you call ‘newcomer’ is not new at all. I swear on the law and my ability as a Tracker, she is Nalia, heir of House Poseidon. I have known this one since the day she released from her mother’s belly. Please join me in welcoming her home.”

This coaxes a small cheer from some, but mostly a rash of disgruntled moans from the Loyals. Tandel is quick to quiet all, raising both palms toward the crowd.

After a few moments, silence reigns once more. Tandel places a hand on Lestar’s shoulder. “Thank you, Lestar, for your fine testimony. We will be happy to take this into consideration as well.”

At this, Antonis speaks up. The smirk has vanished from his face. “I wonder that we need to consider further, Tandel. Lestar has just identified my daughter and welcomed her home, as did Yudor upon her arrival. What more is there to say?”

If Galen thought the crowd was silent before, it’s speechless now, probably marveling at his mere presence. Antonis has kept himself hidden so many decades. Syrena from both houses seem captivated by his gravelly voice. Galen just hopes that their wonderment isn’t keeping them from listening to the king’s actual words or to his reasoning.

Tandel recovers with a smile. “Your Majesty, I think I speak for all in attendance when I say how thankful we are that you have honored us with your presence at this tribunal. I do see your point, Highness. But if we are to come to a thorough and satisfying agreement, would it not be wise to listen to all the testimony available to us now?”

Antonis rolls his eyes. “I well know the proper proceedings of a tribunal, Tandel. But she is my daughter. Who else would know her better than I? Why would I bother myself with honoring the Boundary with my presence if that were not the case?”

Galen can’t help but be amused by Tandel’s floundering under the scrutiny of the Poseidon king. He wonders if Antonis was always so blunt and impatient, or if he developed these savory characteristics while isolating himself in his Royal caverns. The king’s fit has Toraf grinning like a mischievous fingerling.

“If I may,” a voice calls from the crowd. A voice Galen is all-too familiar with. Jagen makes his way to the center stone, and turns to his section of Loyals. He smiles wide and bows before his traitorous followers. “If I may, friends, I would propose a very good reason why His Majesty would claim this stranger as his daughter.”

Jagen turns to Antonis, careful to keep the poison in his eyes from infecting his voice when he says, “I propose, friends, that King Antonis would rather claim this newcomer as his daughter and pretend to perpetuate his bloodlines than let his house become useless. You see, if my Paca possesses the Gift of Poseidon, as many of you have seen already, then what reason do we have for keeping the Royals in so lofty a position among us? King Antonis knows this. If a Common could possess the Gift, then why should we be under the vigilance of Royals, instead of perhaps a leader chosen from among us, one who is more fit to rule?”

Jagen turns to his followers, who cheer with almost violent enthusiasm. Galen feels a knot in his stomach tighten, a knot that grows bigger with each word that spews from Jagen’s mouth. Mostly because what he says is true—technically. But Galen wasn’t prepared for Jagen to be this blunt, to be this open with his endeavors. And he wasn’t prepared for the spirited acceptance of such treason.