Could he warn Karos Invictad in time? Not likely. Well, the Master of the Patriotists was a capable man. With more than just two incompetent, pathetic bodyguards. Perfunctory notes to their widows: Your husbands failed in their responsibilities. No death-pensions will be forthcoming.
Leave the family residences of the Palace Guard immediately-barring your eldest child who is now Indebted to the estate of the Chancellor.
He despised incompetence-and to be made to suffer its consequences… well, someone paid. Always. Two children, then, yes. Hopefully boys. And now he would need two new bodyguards. From among the married guard, of course. Someone to pay the debt should they fail me.
His broken fingers were growing numb, although a heavy ache throbbed in his wrist and forearm now.
The Chancellor set off for the residence of his private healer.
Her nightgown half torn, Nisall was pushed into a win-dowless room that was lit by a single candle positioned on a small table in the centre. The chill, damp air stank of old fear and human waste. Shivering from the night’s march through the streets, she stood unmoving for a moment, seeking to wrap the gauze-thin material closer about herself.
Two young innocent women were dead. Butchered like criminals. And Tissin is next-as close to a mother as I have ever had. She has done nothing-no, stop that. None of us have. But that doesn’t matter-I cannot think otherwise. 1 cannot pretend that anything 1 say will make a difference, will in any way change my fate. No, this is a death sentence. For me. For Tissin.
The Emperor would not hear of this. She was certain of that. Triban Gnol would announce that she was missing from the palace. That she had fled-just one more betrayal. Rhulad would flinch back in his throne, seeming to shrink in upon himself, as the Chancellor carefully, remorselessly fed the Emperor’s many insecurities, then stood back to observe how his poisoned words stole the life from Rhulad’s tortured eyes.
We cannot win against this. They are too clever, too ruthless. Their only desire is to destroy Rhulad-his mind-to leave him gibbering, beset by unseen terrors, unable to do anything, unwilling to see anyone. Anyone who might help him.
Errant save him-
The door was thrown open, swinging to slam hard against the wall, where old cracks showed that this violent announcement was part of the pattern. But she had noted those, and so did not start at the cracking crunch, but merely turned to face her tormentor.
None other than Karos Invictad himself. A swirl of crimson silks, onyx rings on his fingers, the sceptre of his office held in one hand and resting between right shoulder and clavicle. A look of faint dismay in the mundane features. ‘Dearest woman,’ he said in his high voice, ‘let us be quick about this, so that I can be merciful. I’ve no wish to damage you, lovely as you are. Thus, a signed statement outlining your treason against the empire, then a quick, private execution. Your handmaiden has already complied, and has been mercifully decapitated.’
Oh, well done, Tissin. Yet she herself struggled, seeking similar courage-to accept things as they were, to recognize that no other recourse was possible. ‘Decapitation is not damage?’
An empty smile. ‘The damage I was referring to, of course, concerned wresting from you your confession. Some advice: compose your features in the moment before the blade descends. It is an unfortunate fact that the head lives on a few moments after it has been severed from the neck. A few blinks, a roll or two of the eyes, and, if one is not… mindful, a rash of unpleasant expressions. Alas, your handmaiden was disinclined to heed such advice, too busy as she was with a pointless tirade of curses.’
‘Pray the Errant heard her,’ Nisall said. Her heart was thudding hard against her ribs.
‘Oh, she did not curse me in the Errant’s name, sweet whore. No, instead she revealed a faith long believed to be extinct. Did you know her ancestry was Shake? By the Holds, I cannot even recall the name of the god she uttered.’ He shrugged and smiled his empty smile once more. ‘No matter. Indeed, even had she called upon the Errant, I would have no cause to panic. Coddled as you are-or, rather, were-in the palace, you are probably unaware that the handful of temples in the city purportedly sanctified in the Errant’s name are in truth private and wholly secular-businesses, in fact, profiting from the ignorance of citizens. Their priests and priestesses are actors one and all. I sometimes wonder if Ezgara Diskanar even knew-he seemed oddly devoted to the Errant.’ He paused, then sighed. The sceptre began tapping in place. ‘You seek to delay the inevitable. Understandable, but I have no wish to remain here all night. I am sleepy and desire to retire at the earliest opportunity. You look chilled, Nisall. And this is a dreadful room, after all. Let us return to my office. I have a spare robe that is proof against any draught. And writing materials at hand.’ He gestured with the sceptre and turned about.
The door opened and Nisall saw two guards in the corridor.
Numbed, she followed Karos Invictad.
Up a flight of stairs, down a passageway, then into the man’s office. As promised, Karos Invictad found a cloak and set it carefully on Nisall’s shoulders.
She drew it tight.
He waved her to a chair in front of the huge desk, where waited a sheet of vellum, a horsehair brush and a pot of squid ink. Slightly off to one side of the ink pot was a small, strange box, opened at the top. Unable to help herself, Nisall leaned over for a look.
‘That is none of your concern.’ The words were a pitch higher than usual and she glanced over to see the man scowling.
‘You have a pet insect,’ Nisall said, wondering at the flush of colour in Karos Invictad’s face.
‘Hardly. As I said, not your concern.’
‘Do you seek a confession from it as well? You will have to decapitate it twice. With a very small blade.’
‘Are you amusing yourself, woman? Sit down.’
Shrugging, she did as he commanded. Stared down at the blank vellum, then reached over and collected the brush. Her hand trembled. ‘What is it you wish me to confess?’
‘You need not be specific. You, Nisall, admit to conspir-ing against the Emperor and the empire. You state this freely and with sound mind, and submit to the fate awaiting all traitors.’
She dipped the brush into the ink and began writing.
‘I am relieved you are taking this so well,’ Karos Invictad said.
‘My concern is not for me,’ she said as she completed the terse statement and signed it with a flourish that did not quite succeed in hiding the shakiness of her hand. ‘It is for Rhulad.’
‘He will spare you nothing but venom, Nisall.’
‘Again,’ she said, leaning back in the chair. ‘I do not care for myself.’
‘Your sympathy is admirable-’
‘It extends to you, Karos Invictad.’
He reached out and collected the vellum, waved it in the air to dry the ink. ‘Me? Woman, you insult me-’
‘Not intended. But when the Emperor learns that you executed the woman who carried his heir, well, Master of the Patriotists or not…’
The vellum dropped from the man’s fingers. The sceptre ceased its contented tapping. Then, a rasp: ‘You lie. Easily proved-’
‘Indeed. Call in a healer. Presumably you have at least one in attendance, lest the executioner be Stung by a sliver-or, more likely, a burst blister, busy as he is.’
‘When we discover your ruse, Nisall, well, the notion of mercy is dispensed with, regardless of this signed confession.’ He leaned over and collected the vellum. Then scowled. ‘You used too much ink-it has run and is now illegible.’
‘Most missives I pen are with stylus and wax,’ she said.
He slapped the sheet back down in front of her, the reverse side up. ‘Again. I will be back in a moment-with the healer.’