The lords looked embarrassed at this testimony, and the prosecutor moved quickly to his closing flourish. To gasps of shock and disbelief, he entered into evidence signed confessions from the would-be usurper, the Earl of Gault, and his chief counselor. The documents detailed the sorcerer’s plot to murder the king and his young daughter, Princess Roxanne, to put the Earl of Gault on the throne as a vassal of the Priest-King of Kerotea. The prosecutor proposed that I be made to verify the handwriting, as the earl was my own cousin, and I was intimately acquainted with the accused.
It made no difference to claim the confessions were worthless when extracted by torture. King Evard permitted no torture, therefore, no torture was done. To allow the confessed traitors to speak before the court would only give them leave to denounce our king and give scandal to the good people of Leire.
I could not listen to these last absurdities. I fixed my eyes on Karon’s back, blocking out every other voice, every other sound and face, the better to hear him and concentrate only on his words. I could want no better counsel, he said. I wish — He began coughing again and could not continue.
Less than an hour after the prosecutor’s impassioned call for the final obliteration of the great heresy of sorcery, the Council of Lords filed back into the Hall of Judgment from the adjoining chamber where they had completed their deliberations. A red-faced Lord Hessia’s lips were a thin line. Lord Dumont fixed his eyes on the ancient candlebeam above the witness box, the fifty thick candles lit by the servants and the beam raised against the early darkness. Just past the doorway through which they had returned, Darzid leaned against a pillar with easy grace, detached amusement flickering in his dark eyes. And so was my last spark of hope extinguished.
Things do not look promising, my love , I thought.
It will be well, whatever they say. I’m ready for it to be over. After another dreadful bout of coughing, Karon sagged against the wooden rail of the prisoner’s dock. To make him stand up again his guards prodded him with spears until fresh bloodstains appeared on his filthy tunic. For the first time that day, I averted my eyes.
They said guilty, of course, but I had not prepared myself for the deadly precision of the words.
The sorcerer is to be taken to the command of Montevial at dawn on the first day of the week, there to be exhibited on public display. On that same day at one hour past midday he is to be set afire until the stain of his existence is removed from the paths of human history. His name is never again to be spoken in any of the Four Realms and is to be erased from any document or record in which it is written. He is to be forgotten as if he had never been.
Every possession of the sorcerer is to be destroyed by fire, including his place of residence, the furnishings and accouterments thereof, whether such possession is the rightful property of the sorcerer or the marriage portion or personal belonging of his wife, and any other object determined by the prosecutor or the priests to be polluted by his touch, especially any article of jewelry or stonework, or any artifact of writing, as sorcerers are known to store up wickedness in such things.
Because of the generous recommendation of His Most Gracious Majesty at the petition of her family, the sorcerer’s wife is judged to be a wayward and deluded woman, rather than a conspirator. She will remain in the custody of the Crown until such time as she has done public penance according to the law. At that time she will be remanded to the physical and moral discipline of Tomas, Duke of Comigor, who will maintain sole sovereignty over her life, residence, property, and issue. She will remain on the life parole of His Majesty, King Evard, all rights of birth, rank, and grant to be removed from her until His Majesty may see fit to restore them.
Any person who has been judged by the Lord High Prosecutor to have condoned, had knowledge of, consented to, or failed to report any act of sorcery by this condemned prisoner is likewise judged guilty at this hour, and is to receive the maximum penalty of the law without further trial. Any other person who has, in any wise, been associated with the sorcerer, whether as servant, employee, or acquaintance, is required to report to a priest for purification within seven days’ time. Failure to comply with this order will result in a charge of conspiracy to acts of sorcery, and punishment will be meted out accordingly without need for further trial. Thus speaks the law of Leire. All everlasting glory to Evard King!
“Without trial?” I leaped to my feet, the bleak brutality of the judgment destroying my composure. Karon’s case was unsalvageable, but Martin, Julia, Tanager, and Tennice would not even be heard. “You can’t do that! Lord Hessia… Lord Dumont…” I was shouting to be heard above the pandemonium. “To execute any Leiran without trial is a violation…” But no one of them would look at me, and a guard blocked my way lest I try to get any closer. “Karon, save them,” I cried. How could he let them die?
But he could not have heard me. A troop of guards had dragged him from the dock by the chain around his neck. The shouting ruffians gathered outside the door battered him with fists and cudgels, pelted him with stones and refuse. The guards neither protected him from the blows nor shielded him from the spitting vehemence of the good people of Leire who laughed and jeered at his painful stumbling.
It was midweek. Four days. At least it would not be a long wait.
Martin and the others were executed that night. Karon was riven with grief. I had to listen to them die, Seri, one after the other. I’ve tried… since they were taken, I’ve tried to help… to comfort them… but at the end…
“Don’t speak of it, if you don’t want to. Just tell me how I can help you.” I sat on my bed unmoving, staring dry-eyed at the coarse sheets as the weak daylight faded. I could not grieve. I had nothing left.
The only help is knowing that your brother will protect you and Connor. My blood and flesh grew hot with his outrage. What kind of man is your brother? How can he let them do these things to you like public penance? Oh, Seri, it is so hard… Never had I known Karon so angry.
“The penance is nothing,” I said, numbly, trying to ignore the fear that suddenly came tumbling over me like an icy waterfall. “As for the rest—whatever comes—I will survive it all. I swear to you I will.” The Council’s proclamation echoed in my ears. My brother was to have sole right of sovereignty over her life, residence, property, and issue… Issue. My children.
In the next days, Karon was abandoned in his darkness and pain. I believed they gave him only enough sustenance to keep him alive until the day of execution. I prayed he would die before it, and in the same thought I would will time itself to stand still.
Lost in pain and sickness, his mind began to wander, but I could always bring him back by directing my thoughts to him. Often he would speak of the word and the images he believed were buried in him. The images come clearer, the less there is of me. There is a bridge suspended over the chasm, and I see figures passing over it, some anxious or frightened, some joyful and full of wonder, some lost, looking for their way. The bridge is so fragile… made of ice, I think, for it’s so cold… but glorious light… I think it sings.
My blood burns, Seri. I feel such urgency. With everything that’s happened, our closeness in these days —such a joy that has been —and all the rest of it, good and bad together, I’ve stored up so much power that I feel as if I might burst with it. Do you understand, love? Tell me that you understand why I can’t…
“Of course I understand. You told me long ago how it would be.”