The Queen's soldiers in the center of the hall were ready. She lifted a hand.
Up went the long, heavy sack.
Her claws flicked.
A blade flashed, slicing the ropes holding the sack together. Thick fabric fell to the ground. The nobles collectively gasped.
In the middle of the hall, as though a macabre ornament, dangled the bloody and mutilated body of the late Count Magdus.
She uttered a disappointed sigh. “Yes, I, too, was shocked to find my councilman at the head of the traitors, leading them with a sword in his hand! He refused to recognize my authority and commanded his militia to attack. The fight was chaotic. Histroops numbered five times my guards. I only regret that I could not determine his motives.”
The first scream from the hearth drowned out the nobles' uneasy murmurs.
“But I will. I will know why he turned against me. I will find all of his supporters. Trust is such a rare commodity, but you may trust that I will uncover the truth.”
Count Magdus had few friends, but he had been a councilor. Power cultivated allies. Most of his were also Lady Satryani's sycophants.
Slowly, the nobles began to clap. They loved the hearth, laughed at death, and gambled on pain and punishment. But only servants died. Occasionally, a baron’s son or a courtier who hardly ranked above a servant suffered an ill fate. Not a count. Not a councilor.
Applause built with laughter as one of the militia stumbled to his knees. The tension broke, and the nobles resumed their chatter. But sometimes, they stole glimpses at the hanging corpse and hesitated.
Chapter 42
Anais
A clerk’s office in the military wing had been converted into a holding cell. The dungeons were not appropriate for this prisoner despite being apparently correct for her Escort.
Her steward didn't see Pelios as a threat. An inconvenience, perhaps. Jerrl had requested his man be isolated within the military wing, Octavius had agreed, and that was that.
“The trance wore off a day after he was isolated,” Octavius reported. “Longer than Castien's after they made him a ‘key’, but shorter than his flight south. There's still so much we don't understand.”
Behind them walked Zara with two guards. She had been dejected and docile on the road from the village. Occasionally, she glanced at Castien with confusion, but she refused to answer any questions. She had only asked for her brother.
Castien had not wanted to use her trance words. Since they had other routes to explore first, the Queen didn't insist.
She entered the makeshift cell.
Pelios sat at a table set beneath a window. He startled at her appearance, his eyes widening as he took in the blood and dirt. “What happened? Is Zara– Is she alive?” His face paled, and he shut his mouth.
Rather than answer, Anais stepped aside.
Pelios burst out of his seat. “Zara!” Rushing to her side, he took her hand. “You're alright. Are you hurt? What's wrong?”
The young woman’s face flushed, and she pulled her hand back. Spinning to the Queen, she demanded, “Where is my brother? What have you done with him?”
Anais answered, “He is unharmed. We found the child in a locked closet at the village manor. He will be brought to you, but first, we need you to answer our questions.”
“I won't talk to you without seeing my brother! Alive. If he's dead, I… I'll never talk, no matter what you do to me.”
Pelios looked completely helpless as he stared at Zara.
Passing through the doorway, Castien spoke gently, “We haven't hurt him, I promise you. He's with the other children, and he's been treated well. We don't harm children.”
Satryani’s granddaughter came to mind.
The Nadraken woman eyed him with both distrust and discomfort, but also uncertainty.
Castien said quietly, “We can break the trance.”
