The King's Justice (23 page)

“But first—” Her gaze dropped to the floor, where Opalt Intrix's supply of
chrism
rested. “First I must test my own lineage.”

Ere I could attempt to dissuade her, she stooped to claim the pouch.

In truth, I was not certain that I wished to dissuade her. Much depended on her blood—much more than on my own gifts.

For a few heartbeats, she merely held the pouch, gauging its weight of import in her hand. Then she did as her mother and I had done, dipping one finger inward to transport a few tawny grains to her tongue.

Her quick moue of disgust supplied her answer while I strove to draw breath. With some difficulty, she swallowed. When she spoke, her parched tone was underscored with bitterness. A dark scowl distorted her brow as she passed the
chrism
to me as though the pouch itself had become repugnant to her.

“It appears that my father's blood will win no allegiance to my cause.”

Defying the Articles of Coronation, Inimica Phlegathon deVry had slept with a man ungifted—had slept with him until her womb quickened, and then had commanded his death to mask her disobedience.

I felt the blow that Excrucia had received. I could not deflect it. Its force was too great. My Queen spoke of
trust
when in effect she had betrayed her daughter from birth. Now I feared that Excrucia would believe that she must hide her face wherever she went.

Like a man compelled, I took my friend in my arms and held her until the first impact of her dismay had faded.

Thereafter I brought a stool near and urged her to sit. Seating myself, I shifted my own stool so that my hands might
touch her if my heart could not. “Excrucia,” I said softly, a wan effort to appear soothing, “you have suffered a hurtful loss, and a worse disappointment. Your distress is plain. Let us speak of other matters for a time. Perhaps they will serve to ease a portion of your pain.”

She did not meet my gaze. Rather she studied her hands in her lap, where they gripped and twisted each other as though they were writhing. After a moment, however, she replied with a slight nod.

“May I assume,” I began, “that you have spoken with your mother, as you proposed? Must I assume that you were given no satisfactory account of her dealings?”

To my relief, my query provoked anger when I had feared a further dismay. “Satisfactory?” she returned like a woman with gall in her mouth. “I was given no account at all. Our exchanges did not extend to the subject of spies. They proceeded no farther than the question of provoked discontent and attempted murder. Speaking sweetly—sweetly!—she assured me that such matters need not concern me. Unaided, I would grasp them all too readily when I became Indemnie's Queen. For the present—she
said
this to me, Mayhew!—she preferred that I remain a girl, innocent of trouble. Then I was dismissed. And from that day to this, I was made a prisoner in my home, my every step guarded, my every deed watched, my every word overheard. And all no doubt reported to my loving mother.

“I cannot describe my delight when Vail informed me that
he would contrive a visit here. I have been
stifled
, Mayhew. I felt an urgent desire to speak with you. Yet more than that, I burned to draw a breath which served no purposes but my own.

“And now I learn that my presence here was
arranged
. Even with you, I serve no purposes but my mother's.”

She was my Queen's daughter and heir. Her bitterness ran deep. Clearly she had no use for her mother's assertion of trust.

And I felt as she did. The betrayal of Excrucia's birth cast a pall over her life. It might well bring about its premature end. For her sake, however, I assumed a contrary stance.

“Perhaps,” I ventured hesitantly, “you would do well to view the conditions imposed upon you in another light. Imagine, as I must, that your mother has spoken no honest word to you except that her trust is absolute. Should that avowal be truth, it alters the meaning of her conduct.

“The attempts upon your life justify your comparative imprisonment. And her refusal to include you in her counsels may be explained by a desire to spare you the taint of participation—of implied consent—in her ploys and false dealing. If she does not relieve you of trouble, or indeed of peril, she
does
relieve you of complicity.

“Events may prove her refusal no small gift.”

Though Excrucia did not lift her head, I pursued my theme.

“As for her involvement in Opalt Intrix's coming, and her own arrival, they may be seen as mitigated both by her consent to your presence and by her subsequent unwillingness to acknowledge it. Her policy in this has enabled all that you have
discovered here—indeed, all that you may yet discover. At the same time, she denies that you play any part in her machinations. She will not reveal that you have heard her. The alchemist cannot, for your identity was well concealed. And Slew and Vail will say no word to contravene her wishes.”

I saw tears fall to mark my companion's hands with woe. To my mind, the drops were liquid jewels, as honest as sapphires and rubies, yet as eloquent as sobs. Nevertheless I did not pause.

“Excrucia, hear me. It is conceivable—is it not?—that your mother seeks to provide for you a singular freedom. Can you not hope that she desires you to determine your own course—and your own loyalties—independent of her policies, which she deems the necessary consequence of her willfulness with your father? If by her conniving she gains naught else to Indemnie's benefit, the ruse of your innocence may do much to preserve you.”

To answer her mute weeping, I insisted, “If what I say defies credence, allow me to disclose what I have learned since our last meeting. Perhaps it will sway you to reconsider your mother's conduct.”

Still she did not raise her gaze to mine. Shrouded by her tresses, she inquired, forlorn as a wail, “Do you serve her still?”

Feigning assurance, I replied, “I do. When you have heard my tale, you will understand my resolve to do what I must for my Queen.”

I feared Excrucia's silence. In her own fashion—a form entirely unlike her mother's—she shared Her Majesty's power to damn me, in my own sight if not in the realm's. I could not
conceive how I might endure my life without Excrucia's friendship. Without her aid and support as well as her quick mind. It was fortunate for me, therefore, that she did not hold me long in suspense.

“Speak then, Mayhew,” she answered, a low breath of sound. “There is no one else to whom I can turn for comprehension or kindness.”

Altogether she filled me with a wish to shed my own tears. However, I perceived clearly enough that this moment was not an occasion to indulge my personal distress. In the past, she had blessed me with her courage. Now she required a comparable benison from me.

“While you have been imprisoned,” I began, “I have not. I have witnessed—and indeed have been told—much that has shaken my understanding to its foundations.”

With such concision and accuracy as I could muster, I described my Queen's audience with Baron Indolent, excluding nothing. Certainly I did not neglect to mention her belief that he had incited both Jakob Plinth and Glare Estobate to raise armies. I related my own efforts to confront my Queen—my efforts and their outcome. I explained the Domicile's preparations for war—which in turn explained the increased urgency with which Excrucia had been guarded. And when I had said so much, I endeavored to outline my own conclusions, both those of which I was certain and those that were simple conjecture.

Throughout my exposition, my companion did not speak. However, her head lifted slowly, and when her gaze found my
face her eyes were free of tears. As I fell silent, she struggled to find words for her incredulity.

In a tone trenchant enough to draw blood, she demanded, “She goads the realm to civil war because she calls such conflict
preferable
? She believes one form of warfare or another inevitable because we
prosper
? She believes Indemnie doomed by no greater threat than
prosperity
?”

I felt as Excrucia did. Though I now grasped the isle's plight as my Queen viewed it, I could not conceive that no other answer than war existed. Nonetheless I continued to defend her.

“There is also the peril from the east that I have descried. Your mother's dealings strive to counter both hazards. A realm prepared for civil war may suffice to counter a sea-borne foe.”

I did not repeat my earlier assertion that Inimica Phlegathon deVry reasoned as she did because I had forewarned her, that all of her policies were derived from my auguries. Excrucia had countered my claim during our previous exchanges. Nevertheless I knew that the courses which my Queen had chosen rested entirely on my service to her. When the bloodshed began, the fault would be mine.

Yet how else could I have performed my duty? I had exercised my gift honestly. And I had tested and tested and yet again tested my scrying, hoping thereby to discover some misjudgment in myself, some error of interpretation which might undermine the import of my counsels. My blood was not pure. Surely therefore my gift was likewise tainted. Still my mistake—if mistake there was—had eluded me.

Having found none, I had now no other path than perseverance.

For a time, my companion regarded me with a gravid admixture of scorn, disbelief, and bewilderment. Yet she remained her mother's daughter, incisive of mind and prepared for hazard. When at last she spoke, her words conceded much.

“I will consider the dangers of prosperity. And I will measure my mother by the forces arrayed against her as well as by her role in inciting those forces. While I do so, do you require further aid? I can accomplish little, guarded as I am, yet I will attempt whatever you ask of me.”

Grateful that she did not altogether spurn me, and thus compelled to truthfulness, I replied, “At present, Excrucia, I have no needs that you do not meet. My fears concerning my Queen and Indemnie are many, yet my greatest fear is that I have sacrificed your friendship.”

She made a dismissive gesture, her mouth twisting as though I had uttered foolishness. “Then you need fear nothing. My mother speaks of
trust
to no apparent purpose. I am not her. My trust in
you
is absolute.”

At first, I stared at her openly, scarce able to credit my hearing. Almost at once, however, my gaze fell to the floor in relief and shame. “You humble me,” I answered like a man broken. Her mother's voice was in my mind.
Then I will demand more of you
.
Much more when the time requires it
. “Indeed, you terrify me, though such is not your intent. If I do not fail your trust, a
day will come—or so I fear—when I will feel driven to ask far more of you than you have yet given.”

There she rose to her feet as though her sufferance were at an end. In a tone once again arid and distant, she informed me, “Should that day come, I will confront it forearmed by your concern.”

Briefly she rested a hand like a pardon on my shoulder. Then she turned to the door.

Her departure left a hollowness that resembled expended weeping in my chest. My Queen had said,
Will you defy me in this?
And I had dared to reply,
I will
. Still Excrucia had declared her trust absolute. Her plight was as lonely as mine, and as fraught. Yet my life had been spared, though with the promise of future demands beyond my strength.
Her
life held no prospect of a comparable forbearance.

Therefore I shunned tears and self-sorrow. I banished cowardice from my heart. In the name of Excrucia's trust, if not of Inimica Phlegathon deVry's, I flung myself into motion.

Much had been altered within me, as it had within my only friend, and conceivably within the breast and purposes of my Queen. Grim with haste, I sought some sign that might betoken other alterations.

I was my sovereign's Hieronomer, was I not? What other service remained for me to perform?

From the chamber where my supply of chickens, piglets, lambs, and other such small beasts were kept cooped and
ready—a supply regularly replenished by one of the Domicile's lesser servants—I selected a bristling rooster at random. Holding its wings pinned, I bore it to the nearest of my sacrificial worktables. There I wrung the rooster's neck, taking care only to spill no drop of blood. Deft with long practice, I plucked feathers enough to expose the flesh from gullet to tail. Then I dropped the still-warm corpse to the table. Rather than arrange it for my convenience, I briefly busied myself selecting and sharpening a suitable blade.

When I returned to the table, I did not hesitate. Glancing at my victim only long enough to ensure that I did not slice my hand, I turned my head away. Deliberately negligent, I made one untidy slash to open the whole of the body.

Such negligence was vital to hieromancy, as it was to other arts of augury. Its purpose was to foil the augur's natural impulse to impose an artificial and therefore misleading interpretation upon the scrying—the impulse, that is, to obtain a desired result rather than an honest one.

Having performed my cut, however, I did not immediately turn to consider my sacrifice—to examine the splash and texture of its fluids, the condition of its organs, the twisting of its entrails, and so forth. For a time, I found myself transfixed by my hand.

I could not release my blade. Whether by some form of cramping, or by some unfamiliar effect of the blood which had drenched my hand to the wrist—or perhaps by simple dread—I had lost command of my fingers. They would not unclose.
Some moments passed as I stared at my hand as though it had performed an action personally abhorrent.

I did not understand.

Nonetheless paralysis was as distasteful as bloodshed. Suddenly vexed, I stabbed the blade into my table with force sufficient to break my grasp. Then, unwilling to consider the import of my unaccustomed helplessness, I turned at once to regard my handiwork.