‘And how have you helped me make that decision?’
She turned back to me, not smiling this time; there was neither delight nor deceit in her gaze. ‘You know that it is in Filian’s nature to be a good King, and that the law demands his coronation, yet you fear that my influence will – to your way of thinking – corrupt him.’
‘Succinct, but it hardly leads to a decision.’
‘It is simple, Falcio. The daring idealist you once were can’t help but believe Filian’s intrinsic decency would win out. The bitter cynic swayed by Ossia’s cold logic no longer trusts in such things.’
I considered that for a moment, then said, ‘If you’re counting on my idealism to sway me to your side, your Grace—’
‘Trin,’ she said.
‘Excuse me?’
She looked up and our eyes met across the bars separating us. ‘You never call me by my name, Falcio, did you know that? In all our encounters, only once have you called me Trin.’
Oddly, I remembered the occasion: it had been at the Ducal palace of Rijou when I still believed her to be Valiana’s shy and innocent handmaiden who I’d offended by refusing her invitation to wander the halls with her.
‘Would you call me by my name now?’ she asked.
‘Why does it matter?’
Her shoulders rose and fell in a barely perceptible shrug. ‘Because I liked the way you said it that night in Rijou, because, for reasons I will never understand, such things as words and names mean a great deal to you.’
‘Trin,’ I said, as much to prove she was wrong as out of any courtesy.
She smiled, just a little. It seemed genuine. ‘Thank you, Falcio.’ She drew a key from a thin silver chain around her neck and unlocked my cell door.
‘I haven’t agreed to rule in the country’s favour, your Grace.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why are you unlocking my door?’
‘Because whatever your decision, I am done with this game of ours.’ She turned and started to walk away, but then she stopped. ‘I’m sorry I laughed when Aline died. I know that must have hurt you.’
The words were genuine, sincere, but Trin was in the shadows, facing away from me, so I couldn’t make out the expression on her face.
‘Then why did you?’ Despite all my efforts not to show weakness, a racking sob escaped my lips. ‘Aline was bright and brilliant and decent – she ran to save Filian’s life at the cost of her own. How could you laugh?’
She remained silent for a moment longer, then said, ‘Because it was funny.’
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
The Verdict
You would think, given my propensity for delirium and hallucination, that I would have been visited that night by a host of Gods or Saints, dead Kings or dead wives, all assaulting me with acerbic remarks before gifting me with their enigmatic guidance. No one came – possibly because the dead rarely appear when you actually want them too, or maybe because they likely knew that this was a question beyond the legal reckoning of any magistrate.
I wondered if Morn, having so effectively predicted and manipulated events thus far, had known I’d wind up in this position. He must be laughing himself silly right about now.
You almost have to pity him, I could imagine him telling the other Greatcoats. Falcio’s become so accustomed to following a dead man’s dream that now he’s awake, he finds himself utterly lost.
Somehow it wasn’t surprising that even in my imagination Morn was an arrogant bastard. I just wished he wasn’t right.
Every day since the King had died, I’d fought and bled in a desperate bid to bring about his vision for the country – at least, what I understood of it. I’d searched far and wide for his so-called Charoites, and when I found Aline, I’d become convinced he’d meant me to put her on the throne – only to discover there was a second living heir. I’d risked my life – and those of so many others – to save the Dukes from assassination and the country from falling into civil war, only to now have those same Dukes carve up the country for themselves. And if that wasn’t enough, Kest, Brasti, Valiana, Aline – we’d all had to face the wrath of a God to defend the rule of law. Now it turned out the greatest threat to King Paelis’ plan – the one thing I couldn’t defeat – was his own loyal Order of travelling magistrates. It was the Greatcoats who would finally kill the King’s mad, hopeful dream.
And what did he expect me to do about it?
I could really use a sign right about now, you skinny bastard.
I rose from the cot, pushed open the door to my cell and walked unhurriedly down the hall.
Dezerick saw me coming. ‘Taking your leave of us, are you?’
I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. ‘Are you planning to stop me?’
‘Nope. Don’t think I could if I wanted, which I don’t, and anyway, the Royal Consort left word that you were free to go.’
‘Thanks.’
He started following me down the corridor. ‘So, what do you plan to do now?’ he asked.
‘Don’t know,’ I replied. ‘Probably go for a walk and start swimming when I hit water. Actually, I’m a fairly rubbish swimmer, so I might need a boat.’
‘Ah, well, this might help with that.’
I turned to see what he was holding, but his fingers were closed over his palm. ‘I want you to know that I got this fair and square. Perfectly legitimate bribe.’
‘So noted.’
‘It’s just that . . . my daughter, she recognised what it was and wouldn’t stop shouting at me until I promised to give it to you, then my missus got in on the act and pretty soon I was outnumbered.’
‘What are you holding, Dezerick?’
He opened his hand and held it out to me. There on his callused palm sat a single gold coin with the seal of the Greatcoats impressed on its surface. ‘Someone bribed you with a juror’s coin?’
He nodded. ‘Reckon so. My little girl certainly thinks that’s what it is.’
I took the coin. It was old, the symbols worn. Beneath the rubbed crown were the distinctive markings of the particular Greatcoat who’d given out the coin. They were my marks.
‘Who gave this to you?’ I asked.
He jerked a thumb up towards one of the windows near the ceiling. ‘One of them conscripts, well, a volunteer, actually.’ He chuckled. ‘Who in all the hells is crazy enough to volunteer for military service? And now of all times, eh?’
I rolled the coin over in my hand. Each minting had been slightly different; this one had to be at least fifteen years old. A coin like this could feed a family for a year. To keep one unspent for so long? ‘Dezerick, can you take me to the person who gave you this?’
The guard shook his head. ‘Din’t see ’em. It was dark and I was paying more attention to the coin than the person offering it to me.’
‘What did they ask for?’