Tyrant's Throne (Greatcoats #4)

Nehra was apparently tiring of my belligerence. ‘Were you a murderer, Falcio, on those occasions when the verdict you rendered was death to those who had committed the most heinous of crimes?’

I bristled at the comparison. ‘When a magistrate sentences a man to death it’s because there’s no other choice, and because the law demands it. That’s why only Greatcoats have the authority to issue verdicts of . . .’

All of a sudden the point of Nehra’s question became clear. ‘You’ve got to be kidding!’

Apparently, she wasn’t. ‘When the Order of the Dashini was first formed, it executed only those warrants passed to them by the Trattari – by the First Cantor, in fact.’

‘That’s a damned lie! If I have to sentence a man to death I bloody well hold the blade myself! I don’t send some assassin out to—’

She cut me off, raising her voice for the first time. ‘And what about those occasions when the wealth and influence put a guilty person beyond the reach of even your vaunted Greatcoats? What do you do then, First Cantor?’

Nothing. That was the honest answer. Some people are simply too rich and powerful to kill, so we did nothing – but I wasn’t about to admit that to Nehra.

‘We would go to the King,’ I said at last.

Brasti snorted. ‘Yeah, and then Paelis would ask us if we thought executing a Viscount was worth starting a civil war.’

‘It was not the King’s decision to make,’ Nehra countered. ‘For the law to be just, it must be independent, and some questions of law have such far-ranging consequences that only the chief magistrate of the country may render the verdict.’

Brasti elbowed me. ‘She means you, in case you’re wondering.’

‘And just what question of law have you brought to me, Nehra?’ A terrible thought took shape in my mind, one that I would have believed impossible only hours before. ‘Have you brought me here to rule on whether we should assassinate the King in cold blood?’ I stared at each of them in turn. ‘Have you all lost your minds?’

‘Forgive me,’ Sir Elizar said, ‘but isn’t that exactly what you set out to do?’

‘You think I want some legal justification for what I . . . ?’ My voice broke, and I took in long, slow breaths, hoping to steady myself, failing miserably. For all my petulance and outrage, I was like a child trying desperately not to cry, only to realise it was inevitable. ‘I tried to commit murder . . . I abandoned everything the King ever taught me! I was willing to do anything to get to Trin, even if that meant murdering a fifteen-year-old boy.’ I looked over at Kest. ‘Even if it meant killing my best friend.’

‘Aline had just died. You weren’t in control of yourself,’ Kest said, then, almost glibly, he added, ‘Besides, you only beat me with a lucky shot. Next time you do something that stupid I’m going to bash you senseless with my shield.’

The light-hearted words were an invitation to share a moment’s laughter together, the opening of a door – but one I wasn’t ready to walk through. ‘If Ethalia hadn’t been there . . .’ My gaze went to her, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet her eyes. ‘If you hadn’t stopped me . . .’

She came to me then. ‘I did nothing, Falcio, save to make you choose.’ She reached out a hand and placed it gently on my cheek. ‘You stopped yourself. Even there, in that awful place where she . . .’ She stopped, then said, ‘Aline would have been so proud of you.’

The forgiveness and compassion in her words were meant as a kindness, but they struck me like an arrow in the centre of the chest, shattering what fragile armour still held me together. ‘I miss her, Ethalia – I miss her so much . . .’ A pain that had been building inside me minute by minute since the moment of Aline’s death radiated out to every part of my being. ‘Gods take me, Ethalia, the King meant for me to protect her and I failed – how am I supposed to go on with this inside me?’

She held onto me, the strength of her arms the only thing keeping me from falling to the floor, and I felt her breath on my neck, heard the warm notes of her voice as she began to speak, but whatever comfort she was about to offer was cut off by Nehra.

‘By doing your job, First Cantor,’ the Bardatti said.

‘Give him time to mourn,’ Ethalia implored her.

‘No. Forgive me, Sancti.’ Nehra’s eyes met mine. ‘And forgive me, Falcio. I know this grief is more than you deserve to endure, but endure it you must.’

‘He’s not ready for this, damn it,’ Kest said, moving to stand between us.

‘You can protect him from me all you want,’ Nehra said to him, ‘but not from his duty. The Dukes have seceded and Tristia is on the brink of a war that will assure its total destruction. You have all seen the state of Tristia’s “army”, huddling in threadbare tents outside this broken castle. When news spreads, even those few will refuse to fight.’

‘Then let the new King deal with it,’ Darriana suggested, for once taking my side. ‘Or Trin. She broke the damned country – let her fix it.’

‘She can’t, and we all know that.’ Nehra cautiously pushed past Kest to stand before me. ‘Filian knows it too, Falcio. He’s going to come to you soon because he needs us – the Greatcoats, the Bardatti, and all the rest of the Orders. Even as few as we are, we’re the only ones left the people of this country still respect. Filian will need you to help rally them to his cause.’

‘And we’re supposed to decide the fate of the country?’ Brasti asked.

‘No, you fool,’ she replied, impatiently. ‘We cannot – it is not our verdict to render!’ She reached out and grabbed me roughly by the shoulders. ‘The country has failed, Falcio – it’s failed in every way imaginable. No one is even sure if Tristia is a nation anymore. That’s why we brought you here. Before the Dal Verteri can fight a war, we need a verdict.’

I stared back at her for a long time, partly because it took me time to make sense of her words and partly because I wasn’t at all sure I wanted the responsibility she was putting on me.

‘You are the First Cantor, after all,’ Darriana said with a smirk.

The words practically sticking in my throat, I whispered, ‘You want me to put Tristia itself on trial. You want me to decide if my country deserves to fall.’





CHAPTER SIXTY


The Trial of Tristia


King Paelis once goaded me into a night-long legal debate about the limits of royal prerogative. For each supposed ‘privilege’ – from no taxes to outright murder – he would find some ancient law that could, in theory, justify the action. He kept pushing me, for hours on end, until finally our quarrel ended with me shouting at him, ‘Because I’d fucking bring down your country if you tried it – that’s why!’