Thomas had rehearsed a dozen answers on the ride to Oakhaven, and abandoned every one of them somewhere between the guildhall and this hall, and it was only now, with five lords waiting on his silence, that he understood which answer he actually intended to give.
"My lord justiciar, I will tell you honestly that there is an answer to your question, and that I have chosen, for three years now, never to give it to anyone beyond the handful of people I trust with my life." He let that settle before continuing, watching Corliss's flat composure sharpen with genuine interest rather than the offense Thomas had half feared. "I do not withhold it from pride, or from any wish to seem more mysterious than I am. I withhold it because I have watched, in this Kingdom, what happens to men suspected of consorting with powers the Church cannot account for. I watched a good man very nearly die believing he had touched the eye of the Adversary, simply for standing too close to something he didn't understand. I will not hand this court, or the Church that advises it, a story that could be twisted into exactly that same accusation against myself, my wife, and every soul in the town that has trusted me with their safety."
Lord Pevensey's face darkened. "You refuse to answer a direct question from the Crown's own appointed hearing."
"I refuse to answer it fully, my lord, and I ask this court's understanding as to why." Thomas kept his voice steady, though his pulse was hammering hard enough that he could feel it in his throat. "I will tell you what I am willing to swear to, under whatever oath this court considers binding. I am a Christian man, baptized, and I have never once practiced or countenanced sorcery, witchcraft, or any dealing with powers outside God's own creation. What knowledge I possess, I believe — as much as I am capable of believing anything about my own strange circumstance — to be a gift, however unearned, rather than a theft from anywhere it shouldn't have been taken. I have spent three years testing that belief against results rather than doctrine, and I have found nothing in the currency, the medicine, or the chemistry that has ever once required me to bend a knee to anything but hard work and careful observation."
Lady Ashcombe watched him with the same sharp, calculating attention she'd shown throughout the hearing, though something in her expression had shifted toward what Thomas read, cautiously, as respect. "You are asking this court to trust you without evidence, on a matter you yourself say you will not evidence."
"I am asking this court to judge me the way my lord justiciar already suggested judging me, my lady — by the fruits, not by a mystery I cannot safely share even with the people who love me best. My wife does not know the full answer to the question you've just asked. I have never told her, not because I don't trust her, but because I have watched what half-understood mysteries do to frightened people, and I would rather protect her from that danger than ease my own conscience by confessing it." He looked to Corliss directly. "I understand this may cost me whatever goodwill this hearing has built toward Argenton. I would rather lose that goodwill honestly than buy it with a story this court, or the Church behind it, might one day decide was heresy dressed in humble clothing."
The silence that followed was different from the one before — not the held breath of anticipation, but the uneasy quiet of five people weighing a refusal that had, paradoxically, told them more about the man's character than a full confession might have.
It was Corliss who finally spoke, his flat composure giving way, for the first time in the whole hearing, to something Thomas could only read as reluctant respect.
"You have just told this court, Lord Thomas, that you would rather be judged incomplete than judged dangerous, and that you trust neither this hearing nor the Church behind it to hear a stranger truth without reaching for a stake and a pyre." He said it without malice, simply stating the plain shape of what had passed between them. "I will tell you honestly that I cannot fault the caution, having sat in this hall long enough to have watched exactly that reflex fired at men who deserved it considerably less than you might. I will recommend to His Majesty that this court accept your sworn oath, and continue to judge Argenton, as before, by its works rather than by a mystery its founder has good reason to guard."
"Thank you, my lord justiciar."
"Do not thank me yet. I have granted you privacy, not certainty, and I suspect certainty is the thing half this hall will spend the coming years still hungering after." Corliss rose, the other four lords rising with him. "Go home to your valley, Lord Thomas, and to the wife you've just told an entire royal court you're protecting by your silence. I imagine, whatever else this hearing has settled, she'll be glad to hear that reasoning most of all."
Thomas stood alone in the vast stone hall afterward, his whole body loosening with a relief that felt, in its own way, as consequential as the confession he'd almost given — understanding that he had walked to the very edge of an irreversible mistake, and turned back from it, and that the valley waiting for him at the end of this long ride was safer for the silence he'd chosen to keep.