by A. M. Manay
Sitting before the three judges, Daved looked even younger than his twelve years, for which Hatch was grateful. It added to the child’s air of innocence, and Hatch would take any advantage he could get in his effort to spare the boy from his elder brothers’ fate.
The gallery was packed with courtiers, many of them women with time on their hands now that the queen was no longer in residence. He noted that Shiloh was not among them. He supposed she wasn’t ghoulish enough to enjoy such a display. He hoped her absence was not a sign of continued ill health. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the proceedings below.
“Are you personally aware of any communications between your father and any foreign power?” Lord Rockmore asked.
“Yes, my lord. I was present when my lord father received a long letter from the Patriarch last summer,” Daved answered softly. Murmurs bubbled through the crowd.
“And the content of this letter?” Rockmore asked, though of course, Hatch had already presented the document.
“It promised certain rewards to be delivered when Princess Esta ascended the throne and restored the Patriarch’s position and properties here in Bryn,” the boy replied. “It also advised that the late Dowager Duchess of Estany was prepared to broker a marriage between her daughter, Princess Esta, and my eldest brother Bren, who had just been widowed.”
Rockmore pounded his gavel as the murmurs grew louder.
“Were you present for any discussions related to fomenting rebellion within the realm?” Rockmore asked when silence fell.
“Yes, my lord,” Daved replied. “I overheard a conversation about what regions would be most susceptible to attacks, as well as areas where support for his grace, King Rischar, are weakest.”
“Were you present for any conversations on the topic of the king’s religious reforms and his position as head of the church in Bryn?”
“Yes, my lord,” Daved testified. “My father bemoaned the changes and continued to pray for the Patriarch’s restoration. He also plotted to divert tithes from the crown in order to send the funds to the Patriarch.”
As the crowd’s muttering rose in volume, Rockmore conferred with his fellow jurists.
“Thank you, Lord Daved. Your loyalty to king and country is commendable. As there are no charges pending against you, you are released from custody and may resume your place as a student of the Royal Academy and as a servant to the crown. We will now take a one hour recess,” the chief judge declared.
Daved stood, bewildered, obviously at a total loss about where to go or what to do. Hatch hurried downstairs and caught the poor boy wandering aimlessly in the corridor.
“My lord, I have had all your personal effects sent to your former apartments in the Blue Tower,” Hatch told him. “Perhaps you might want to spend some time with your friends in the garden, try to get reoriented.”
Daved laughed bitterly. “I no longer have friends, just as I no longer have family. Do you suppose anyone will ever trust me again? I just sharpened the blade for my own brothers. I am forever tainted by their betrayals and by my own. The only person in this place who does not despise me is Shiloh Teethborn.”
“There we, perhaps, have something in common, my lord. The king is most pleased with your honesty. You will have his gratitude and that of his children, I assure you. I am most sorry for your distress, my lord. I know you have no reason to trust me, but I promise you that I have done my utmost to keep your head off the block. I do not enjoy seeing the innocent suffer, and I do my dirty work solely to preserve the peace. I beg of you, do not waste your reprieve. Best of luck to you, my lord,” Hatch concluded with a bow.
Silas could feel Daved’s gaze upon his back as he strode away, sharp as a knife.
***
Shiloh sat at a table in the library, surrounded by piles of books. She had a list of make-up assignments from Master Jonn two pages long. He had tried to excuse her from them, but she had insisted on knowing everything he had covered with Penn and Hana in her absence. She had managed to cross off three items since dinner, but her energy was flagging. The last thing she needed was to wind up back in the infirmary, so she reluctantly set aside her pen. At least she no longer had to waste her afternoons awkwardly playing lawn tennis and watching other people do needlepoint.
“You know anything about alchemy? Because I am way behind,” came Daved’s unexpected voice from behind her.
She turned around and leapt out of her seat. Before she thought better of it, she threw her arms around him. “Oh, my lord, you’re free!” she exclaimed when she took a hasty step back to restore propriety.
He smiled thinly and looked down at his boots. “I suppose so. At least someone is happy to see me.”
She gestured toward a chair, and they sat down together. “Your part is done, then?”
He nodded. “Except for watching the execution,” he replied with a sigh. “I’m to go back to tutorial tomorrow. I just met with Master Markas. He was kind.”
“He usually is,” Shiloh replied.
“It’s the other young lords who will treat me badly,” Daved surmised. “The old ones are cynical enough to understand, having lived through the war.”
“Very likely,” she replied, “Though Lord Kepler may sympathize more than you expect. Rumor has it that the king expects him to be the chief judge at the queen’s trial for treason, if it comes to that. He’ll have to put his old sweetheart’s head on the block to prove his loyalty.”
“Sometimes I really hate this place,” Daved confessed softly. “I wish I could go to a little castle in the Wood and worry about farm yields and road construction and laying in preserves for the winter. But I don’t even know if I still have any land to my name. And they’ll never let me be out of Hatch’s sight for long.”
“The simple life does sound appealing,” Shiloh allowed. “I’m told that Hatch is trying to preserve your inheritance, or part of it.”
“And what will I owe him for that kindness, I wonder?”
“I don’t know,” Shiloh acknowledged, thinking of her own debt to the man. “I don’t know.”
***
It was to be an ugly execution, Hatch feared, but he knew it could have been so much worse. Daved and Bren’s cooperation had bought the three elder Jennin sons quick, if undignified, deaths. Stripped of their titles, the three young men did not any longer qualify for the blade, but Hatch had managed to dissuade the king from insisting on having them disemboweled and set alight.
It was to be the noose for the traitors. Hatch had ordered the men to build the scaffold high enough that the fall would snap their necks cleanly. He had no desire to watch them twitch for half an hour. Hatch had heard that some of the young men of the court intended to file by the executed men while they still dangled, to spit upon the bodies in a demonstration of loyalty to the crown. He could find no argument to raise against their plan.
Afterwards, the bodies were to be brought to the City’s largest square to be mocked by the people and pecked at by birds. The grocers were going to make a killing selling rotten fruit, Hatch suspected.
Young Daved, now Lord Redwood, looked better than Hatch had feared. The boy had started to put a little weight back on, and his ordeal seemed to have made a man of him in spirit if not in body. His eyes were dry, his back straight, his shoulders square. Shiloh stood beside him.
Kind but unwise, Silas thought, for her to demonstrate her friendship publicly. But if it keeps Daved upright to have her nearby, I can hardly judge either of them ill.
The executioner brought out the condemned. The three brothers did not raise their eyes to the crowd but walked to their deaths with bowed heads. Thin and bearded after many weeks in the High Tower, they were almost unrecognizable. The crowd howled at them, every man determined to make an obvious display of his condemnation.
Only Bren availed himself of the opportunity to share his final words. He knelt before the king and confessed his guilt, then thanked the king
for his mercy. Rischar glowered as the condemned man spoke, but finally offered Bren a regal nod when he decided that his enemy’s remorse was suitably genuine and abject.
Silas wondered if Zina would get any such sign of forgiveness from the king when it was her turn to show remorse. Though, to be honest, it’s hard to believe she would be capable of such an act of contrition.
The queen’s trial was set to begin in mere days. He expected that in a fortnight, there would be another execution to arrange. He hoped, as he always did when attending such a final punishment, that it would be the last he would ever have to orchestrate. As always, he feared such a hope was futile.
They’re going to start calling him a killer of queens, Hatch thought, studying his king’s face as the trapdoors opened and the traitors fell. Oh, who am I kidding?
They’ll blame it all on me instead.
***
“His grace wants me to do what, now?” Shiloh asked, wondering if she had misheard the man.
“He wants you to be one of the ladies attending Zina as she awaits execution,” Hatch repeated patiently.
“Honestly?” Shiloh asked, still disbelieving. She had avoided the trial, though she had not been able to escape the gossip, and Lord Kepler’s morose face had told the tale of each day’s events eloquently enough. An entire week the king’s men had spent at trial, digging the queen’s grave, piling one vile accusation atop another until they had buried her alive.
Hatch sighed heavily. “He wants people he trusts in the rooms with her, in case she says anything either useful or problematic. And to make sure she doesn't try to kill herself to avoid the spectacle of execution. He doesn't trust most of her women. Neither do I. But we both trust you.”
“For how long?” Shiloh asked grimly.
“Just a few days. We aren't going to draw out the unpleasantness,” Hatch promised. “They’ve already begun building the scaffold.”
She nodded her reluctant acceptance of the assignment. “Who else will be there?”
“A couple of old ladies. Her sister, perhaps. That's it.”
“Do you think she really committed adultery?” Shiloh asked.
Gravely, Hatch replied, “No good can come of asking such a question.”
***
Zina laughed bitterly when Shiloh appeared at the door to the royal apartments in the High Tower. Built in case the palace ever came under siege, they had never been used before. A hodgepodge of old furniture had been thrown about in a half-hearted attempt to make the rooms temporarily habitable. A disintegrating religious tapestry was the sole effort at decoration.
“Of course he sends you. A final insult,” the ousted queen proclaimed. Shiloh wasn't certain if Zina attributed the malice to the king or to Hatch.
“I am sorry you feel that way, my lady,” Shiloh replied evenly. “I assure you that it is not a duty I relish.”
At last, Zina stepped aside and allowed Shiloh to enter. She wore a simple gown of white, the color of mourning. It fit her poorly; she had lost weight. Two sharp-eyed widows sat on a bench next to a prayer altar. There was no sign of Gwin.
A stack of spiritual tomes sat on a table. The window overlooked the courtyard where men hammered at the scaffold upon which the queen was to perish. It was all enough to make Shiloh feel a little sorry for the woman.
While the sun was high, Zina paced. She seemed to be waiting for something. Perhaps some last ditch effort at reconciliation or negotiation, or a response to a plea for mercy—Shiloh was uncertain for what Zina stood vigil. The moment a somber Hatch appeared in the doorway, however, Shiloh was certain the gambit had failed, whatever it had been.
The queen knew, too. Her knees buckled, and Shiloh barely managed to catch Zina before she hit the stone floor.
“I am sorry, my lady. I tried,” Hatch told her. “Truly, I did.”
“Burn in hell,” Zina spat.
“Very likely,” Hatch agreed, then walked away, the door slamming loudly behind him.
Shiloh helped Zina to her feet and into an adjoining bedchamber, assuming the proud woman would not want to show emotion in front of her minders. Zina shook Shiloh off as quickly as she could manage.
“Do you wish to be alone, my lady? Or would you prefer company?” Shiloh asked gently.
“I wrote my sister not to come attend me,” Zina replied obliquely. “I feared her getting caught up in my downfall, like our brother did. Better she live on her farm like a peasant than die like a princess.”
“I am sorry, my lady,” Shiloh replied, sincerely touched that Zina had tried to protect the sister she had often tormented.
Zina wheeled on her. “Not likely, with your little mouse of a friend angling for my throne,” she retorted.
“Penn has never angled for anything in her life. I don't expect you to understand that, my lady,” Shiloh replied, her voice cold.
“That makes it even worse. Ambition, pride—those I could respect,” Zina declared.
“As, indeed, I suppose you should,” Shiloh replied, “for they have killed you. Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?”
“Get out,” Zina snarled.
“As you wish, my lady.”
***
Shiloh heard Zina weeping in the night, even over the snores of the two old women. Of course, they had all refused to share a bed with her, so Shiloh had her own. She thought of Hatch, comforting her through the vent between their rooms in that monastery.
I thought I was alone then. I wasn’t half as alone as Zina is now.
With a sigh, Shiloh rose from her bed and slipped into the former queen's chamber. Without a word, she laid her hand on the woman’s shoulder, expecting it to be slapped away. Evidently, Zina was distressed enough to accept kindness from any quarter, as she allowed it to remain. Eventually, the poor woman cried herself into a fitful slumber, and Shiloh returned to her own cold bed.
The following day was the longest of Shiloh’s life. Bearing witness to a cruel woman’s last hours before a final comeuppance she might not deserve was enough to test any decent person’s spirit. Shiloh spent a great deal of the vigil in silent prayer, Edmun’s beads in hand.
At one point, Zina emerged from her silent panic enough to notice Shiloh’s devotions. “You really believe all of that nonsense, don't you?”
Shiloh nodded. “I find the Six Lords a great source of comfort,” she replied.
“Do you ever pray for me?” the condemned woman asked.
“Only every day,” Shiloh replied. For an instant, Zina’s mask of scorn fell away, but she replaced it just as quickly.
“You are an idiot,” Zina proclaimed.
Those were the last words Zina, Queen of Bryn, spoke to Shiloh Teethborn.
***
Just after the bells of morning prayer died away, a priest arrived, and the women were dismissed. Zina would have to face her final hour without their company, which Shiloh imagined might be a relief of sorts. Gods knew that if she were in the same position, Zina would be about the last person she'd want to witness that agony.
As Shiloh waited with the crowd in the great courtyard, she caught sight of a somber Gwin standing among the lesser nobility. A necessary display of loyalty, Shiloh supposed it might be, or perhaps a silent declaration of love for a sister who had expressed her own love but little. Their brother, Shiloh knew, would soon be on the block himself, unless the king insisted on a more gruesome punishment.
Zina did not tremble as she approached the block. No tears filled her eyes. The only sign of emotion was a bit of color in her cheeks. Shiloh wondered if Brother Charls had given her some potion to help her get through the ordeal with dignity intact. Of course, if there ever were a woman proud enough and strong enough to face her own execution without betraying her fear, it was Zina.
The king sat stone-faced in his high-backed throne. He did not even look at the woman who had shared his bed for more than five years, who had borne him a daughter, a woman
who might well be innocent of all the accusations that had been hurled against her.
For the first time, Shiloh understood in her bones why her mother had refused to give up her fight. She knew now that Rischar was not a man worthy of his kingdom. He demanded loyalty but gave none in return. Shiloh buried the treasonous thought deep enough that she hoped none could ever find it.
It was over in an instant. The ax fell. Zina’s head dropped. The king was a widower once again. Shiloh caught sight of Penn, standing by her lord uncle, with tears in her eyes for her rival.
Not a widower for long, I expect, Shiloh thought darkly. Please, she begged the Gods. Please.
Don't let him hurt my friend.
Chapter 19
Someone Had to Do It
“You insist on keeping this baby? Raising it?” Edmun asked. He had sat in silence for a full five minutes upon realizing what had transpired.
Poll nodded.
“You’re out of your mind. It won’t make it to a year old,” the priest declared. “It would be kinder to snap its neck.”
“Say that ag’in, and I’ll snap yers instead,” Poll replied. He pulled away some of the swaddling. “It’s a girl.”
“What about Keegan? Does he know he has a child?” Edmun demanded.
“No,” Silas replied. “The queen told me that’s why she sent him away to fight in the Southlands, so he wouldn’t notice the pregnancy. So he wouldn’t know that their baby was doomed to be hexborn because of the curses they’d cast together in battle. And she killed Vivi so that poor girl couldn’t tell anyone that the queen had given birth to a hexborn child.”