Nyphron smirked as the two approached the bar. “I didn’t say leaders; I said superiors.”
The Karol was excellently suited for grievance hearing. Located in the base of the Kype, the chamber was off-limits to most of the inhabitants of Alon Rhist, and as such, it sustained an air of mystery and awe. The room was also small enough to be intimate, but divided to maintain a judicial separation. There were no windows and only the two doors, one for the petitioner and one for the judges, making the proceedings appropriately private. In some ways, the Karol reminded Persephone of the lodge in Dahl Rhen, but this was far more formal and ominous. She especially bemoaned the lack of windows. This time of year the doors of the lodge would have been thrown open to let the spring light and air in. Instead, she was trapped in a dim cave of flickering flame, listening to complaints about her leadership and being forced to disappoint nearly everyone.
“We have spent…” Petragar began in the Fhrey language, then faltered. He looked to Vertumus, who whispered in his ear. “We have spent more than eight months incarcerated. I am a ranking member of the Fhrey, and as such, I demand our immediate release.”
Throughout this demand Petragar never once looked at Persephone. His attention was focused on Nyphron.
And while it didn’t please her, it didn’t surprise Persephone when Nyphron responded on her behalf.
“You’re responsible for sending a troop of Grenmorian killers to murder me,” Nyphron said. “You’re lucky to be alive. Thank Ferrol you were born Fhrey.”
“A civilization’s worth can be measured by its treatment of prisoners,” Vertumus said to Persephone; then he, too, directed his comments to Nyphron. “Returning us to the fane would be the first step in changing minds.”
“We don’t need to change minds,” Nyphron said. “You had your chance to listen to fair debate. Now it’s our turn to repay the kindness.”
“Nothing can be gained by keeping us here,” Petragar said. “If anything, we are a drain on your resources.”
“Good point.” Nyphron turned to Persephone. “I agree with Petragar. You should authorize their execution immediately. No sense wasting good porridge on the likes of them.”
The two looked at Persephone in wide-eyed horror.
She had never ordered the death of anyone before, and the idea made her nauseous. She could do it; Reglan had. But it was never easy, and rarely sensible. A clan needed all hands working together to survive. Execution was a last resort when all else failed, but there were times when it was necessary. This wasn’t one of those times.
“Escort them across the Grandford Bridge,” she ordered, still speaking in Fhrey. “Give them food and water in the necessary quantity for a journey to Erivan, then let them go.”
Smiles brightened the faces of both prisoners as the guards hauled them out.
“You’re being foolish,” Nyphron said quietly, switching back to Rhunic, “and also weak. Weakness is no way to run a territory.”
“I’m not running a territory. I’m leading a war.”
“All the more reason. You need to be more decisive, less accommodating.”
“You may feel comfortable kicking your feet up in your home, but I have not forgotten that I am living in the house of my enemy. They watch us. You don’t notice, but the Fhrey in the city stare at us with loathing. Padera cooks my food because the Fhrey chefs refuse. Roan and her smiths are struggling to produce weapons and armor working in Alon Rhist’s smithy, but your metalworkers refuse to help. They don’t know how to make iron and refuse to learn from a Rhune. It’s as if those Fhrey who chose to stay did it in expectation of our failure. They’re waiting for us to give up and go home so they can scrub the smell of us off their floors and return to their old lives.”
“What does that have to do with—”
“To date, only Shegon and Gryndal have died at the hands of Rhunes, and no Fhrey has been killed while I’ve been the keenig. The Fhrey are watching. If I execute two high-ranking Fhrey, if they witness two of their own being murdered by humans, their tolerance may well fade. I already have one war on order. I don’t need another conflict inside the walls of my fortress.”
“Power is kept with fear, not compassion. Fear of the fane united the Rhunes and made you the keenig. Fear of the keenig will keep your people and mine united when they no longer fear the fane.”
“I don’t want my people to fear me. They shouldn’t have to fear anyone. That’s the whole point.”
“A fine ideal, which you should repeat in public every chance you get.”