"The bailiff said treason."
"Ah. Yes, I'd say it was quite likely."
"Damn it, Thero, show some sense!"
Micum growled, catching at Alec's arm as the boy went pale. "Steady now, there's no use thinking like that. Nysander would never allow it."
"I doubt Nysander could interfere," Thero countered, oblivious to Alec's distress. "The Red Tower is protected by magic as well as bars; Nysander and I did some work in there ourselves. Not only that, but given Nysander's close association with Seregil, he can't afford any suggestion of interference with the law."
"What are we going to do?" asked Alec.
"We're going to sit here and wait for Nysander, as ordered," Micum said calmly. Giving Thero a dark look, he added, "Meanwhile, there's no use wasting time in idle speculation."
Nysander felt a certain relief when the royal messenger led him to the Queen's private audience chamber rather than the Great Hall. There had always been little need for ceremony between them; he had known Idrilain since infancy, and though he had always afforded her the respect due her station, their ties of mutual affection generally allowed them to drop formality in private. Something in her cool greeting, however, conveyed a warning.
Even in her evening robe, greying hair free over her shoulders, Idrilain looked like the warrior she was.
Joining her at the small wine table, Nysander did his best to mask his rising uneasiness. Neither spoke until they had saluted each other with their wine cups and taken the ritual sip, signifying their pledge to speak honestly.
"You have arrested Seregil," Nysander said, getting directly to the point. "On what charge?"
"Treason."
The wizard's heart sank; somehow, their enemies had outflanked them. He must proceed with caution and respect. "Upon what evidence is he being charged?"
"Lord Barien received this earlier today." Idrilain pushed a rolled document across to him.
He recognized the opening lines; it was based on one of the half-finished letters Seregil had sold to Ghemella. Like the last, it had every mark of being authentic except its contents. Handwriting, signature, ink-all were consistent.
"It appears genuine, I admit," Nysander said at last. "And yet I do not believe that it was composed by Seregil. May I inquire as to your opinion?"
"My opinion is irrelevant. It's my duty to deal in facts," she replied. "So far no evidence of tampering, magical or otherwise, has been discovered on that parchment."
"And yet you must have doubts or I would not be sitting here with you now," Nysander suggested gently.
The regal mask slipped just a bit at that. "I don't know Seregil well, Nysander, but I know you. I know
that you've been worthy of my trust, and that of the three queens before me. It's difficult for me to believe that anyone you hold in such esteem could be a traitor. If you know anything about this, you'd better tell me now."
Nysander drew the forged letter he'd intercepted from his coat and handed it to her. "I came into possession of this a week ago. Believe me when I tell you that I would have spoken to you at once if I had the slightest doubt as to Seregil's innocence. The initial content is based on a letter Seregil did in fact write, but the damning lines were added by the forger. I have spoken with Seregil about it and have every reason to believe that he speaks the truth."
Idrilain's face darkened again as she compared the two letters. "I don't understand. If these are false, then they're masterpieces of forgery. Who would go to such lengths to discredit a person of such small importance? Forgive the bluntness of an old soldier, Nysander, but aside from his friendship with you and my children, what is Seregil but an exiled wastrel noble with a bit of trader's sense? He has no power at my court, no influence."
"True. Which leaves nothing of significance except his rather tenuous connection to you, or perhaps even to me. And who but the Lerans would find this of value?"
"The Lerans?" Idrilain said derisively. "A bunch of narrow-minded malcontents mouthing the empty threats even their great— grandparents didn't believe! By the Four, Nysander, the Lerans have been nothing more than a political bugbear since the time of Elani the Fair."
"So it is generally believed, my lady. Yet you must remember that I was a boy at the wedding of your ancestor and namesake, Idrilain the First, when she took the Aurлnfaie, Corruth, as her consort.
"Seven generations later, who but a handful of old wizards recall the shouts of anger outside the temple during the ceremony? Yet I tell you, my Queen, that at this moment I hear them as clearly as I did then. "A Skalan lord for the Skalan people!" they screamed as the Queen's Horse rode out with swords and clubs. And it was not only the rabble who protested, but nobles, as well, who felt their honor usurped by foreign blood. I saw these same nobles stand by Queen Lera through her oppressive reign. I watched the public protests when her half sister Corrathesthera took the throne after Lera's death."
"And yet my ancestor Corruthesthera reigned unchallenged by any revolution, and her descendants after her."
"And two of those queens died under questionable circumstances."
"Rumors! Elani died in the Great Plague, and Klia was poisoned by Plenimaran assassins."
"So history has decided, my Queen. Yet there was talk to the contrary at the time."
"Nothing was proven in either case. And without proof to the contrary, you're left standing on smoke," Idrilain asserted stubbornly. "Which brings us back to Seregil. Perhaps it would be to the Lerans' advantage to embarrass me through him. Sakor knows, I can't afford division among my own people with the threat of war hanging over us. Still, you realize that by giving me this second letter, you have doubly damned him unless you can produce proof that they're not genuine?"
"I do," replied Nysander. "And I give it to you as a pledge of my good faith, knowing I must prove him innocent or watch a man I love as my own son executed in the most horrible fashion. You have him in custody. Word will spread, just as the Lerans intend. All I ask of you is time to produce proof of his
innocence."
Pressing her palms together, Idrilain rested her forehead against her fingertips. "I can afford no show of leniency. Barien is planning to pursue the matter personally."
"And his loyalty to you is unclouded by any regard for Seregil?"
"Precisely."
Nysander hesitated an instant, then reached across the table and clasped her hands in his. "Grant me two days, Idrilain, I beseech you. Tell Barien whatever you wish, but give me time to save a man more loyal and valuable than you know."
Astonishment dawned on Idrilain's face as the implication struck home. "Seregil, a Watcher? Sakor's Flame, can I be that blind?"
"He is a master of his craft, my dear,"
Nysander said rather sadly. "Regardless of what I would have wished for him, Illior has set him a path all his own. With your permission, I would prefer to say no more, except that I gladly stake my own honor on his loyalty to Skala and to you."
Idrilain shook her head doubtfully. "I hope you never have cause to regret those words, my friend. He was a traitor once; we both know that. What you've just told me-that could be a double-edged thing."
"I stand by him, nonetheless."
"Very well, then. Two days. But I can't give you any longer, and your evidence must be irrefutable! I don't suppose I need to warn you that any interference in the due process of the law would be most unwise?"
Nysander rose and bowed deeply. "I understand perfectly, my lady."
Riding at once to the Cockerel, Nysander made no effort to hide his concern from the others waiting there.