When word of Madrot’s escape reached Ceryd’s ears, his countenance darkened with a grave and troubled shade. Though his counselors urged him to assert his lordship by dispatching a battalion in pursuit, he stayed his hand, knowing well that Madrot would be too far ahead to overtake and the mission futile. Instead, the young rex called his council unto an antechamber to deliberate the matter, for haste in wrath oft bringeth folly.

  Thegns and masters assembled, along with Gedain and Prince Cerenid and Kethu the Immigrant; and Ceryd bade his mother Fia attend likewise, for who would know the Reik of Dregrove’s mind better than his eldest daughter? They sat about a long oaken table whose tall-backed chairs groaned beneath the weight of age. It was eventide, and the crisp shadows cast by the fading Sol grew long upon the floor, imparting a somber pall to the chamber.

  Olian was first to speak, his outrage unbridled. He smote the table with his fists, crying, “Madrot must be seized and gelded, then hung! If they will not yield him, then I say war! Burn Dregrove to its foundations!”

  The reeve who had sent the warden-riders in pursuit voiced his grief at the loss of two brave men— servants of duty slain without glory. The third rider, though his arm was spared, would unlikely wield a sword with honor again. “Justice!” he demanded.

  “Set a bounty upon Madrot’s head. Greed will cause someone to bring him,” urged the Master of Coin.

  “Lay siege to their palisade,” added Menek, the captain of the guard. “They will turn him over in less than a fortnight.”

  “We should march on Dregrove at dawn!” thundered Gedain.

  Cerenid listened with rapt intensity, while his mother, Fia, hearing all this talk of bombing her home and hanging her brother, sat silent and unmoving, observing all with the cold, glass-eyed stillness of a raven perched upon a barren bough.

  When each councilor had shouted his demands, Ceryd turned to Kethu, who had been rubbing his chest and clearing his throat.

  “Are you unwell, steward?” the rex asked.

  “It is but indigestion, my lord,” Kethu answered faintly.

  “Then lend us your wisdom, if you are able.”

  Kethu stood, though unsteadily, and tried again to clear his throat. His coughing grew into a harsh fit before he regained his breath. He struggled through his first words.

  “My lord… this is indeed a grave predicament. A true test of kingship. The eyes of all the houses are upon you. And as the legends teach us:

  Justice lieth upon the edge of cruelty and weakness—"

  “Spare us your sermons, steward,” Olian shouted. But Ceryd's glare silenced him at once.

  Kethu continued, though his voice shook.

  “We have Neandilim spies in our lands now. Whether war cometh to us or we to it— come it shall. If strife arise between the houses, we cannot stand, and Bafomet will devour us one by one.

  “Another matter: the Reik of Dregrove is old and failing. It is said he cannot speak save through his daughter, Una. He will not linger long in this life, yet he hath but one male heir. I do not believe he will surrender Madrot to prison or hanging… or gelding, as Olian demands.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “But hear this: if Mendo dies before his son’s judgment, Madrot will become reik— and untouchable by law. After that, to make war on the Blodwins, we would surely prevail, but the cost in blood and treasure would be steep indeed.”

  “Is there no pathway to solve this puzzle, Kethu?” Ceryd asked.

  Kethu pondered, clutching his robe as though steadying his spirit. “Perhaps… perhaps a tribunal.”

  “No!” Olian barked.

  “A magistrate from each of the five high houses,” Kethu pressed on. “Let them convene at a neutral site— perhaps in Fywold— to weigh Madrot’s guilt.”

  “Never, my Rex!” Olian snapped. “We must strike while we—”

  But mid-sentence, Kethu gasped sharply and toppled forward. His brow struck the table’s edge before he collapsed to the floor. Cerenid leapt to his side while the others crowded round. The prince pressed a cloth to the gash on the steward’s forehead.

  “Does he live, brother?” asked Ceryd, his voice thin with dread.

  “He breathes,” Cerenid replied, eyes shimmering with tears.

  “Carry him to the physician at once,” Ceryd ordered. “Go— all of you. Leave me.” Cerenid and the council bore Kethu from the chamber. When they were gone, only Ceryd and his mother remained; she had not risen from her seat, nor had her expression changed.

  “I am unsure of the path, Mother,” Ceryd confessed.

  Fia at last spoke. “It is true— your grandfather is frail. Una has written to me that he will soon be dead, and my Madrot will be reik.”

  “Then I must act swiftly.”

  “Yes,” she answered. “But not recklessly. My father may be old, but he is not a fool. He will have laid a trap— and not where you would expect to find it. You must not forget his enmity: your father humiliated him; he stole his daughter; and now Cleon’s house seeks to humble him again from beyond the grave. My father’s life has narrowed unto this single point. He lives now only to taste his revenge.”

  “But I am his grandson,” Ceryd murmured.

  “Aye, but Madrot is his son.”

  “…And also your brother.”

  Fia’s eyes narrowed. “Brother in name only. I never knew him.”

  “I cannot permit a rapist and murderer to go free. I would lose all honor in the eyes of the people.”

  “Aye, you must act,” Fia replied coldly. “But he who buildeth his honour upon the reverence of the people buildeth on mud.”

  “Now you sound like Kethu,” Ceryd muttered.

  Fia remained expressionless, unblinking.

  “I say this: make a demand for a tribunal. But have them find Madrot innocent. I will see to it my father agrees. Then my father will die in peace knowing Madrot will be reik.”

  “And Olian? Will he not poison my well after?”

  “Marry his daughter,” Fia replied coldly. “Let her be queen. She is beautiful and dull— a perfect queen. Olian will be appeased.”

  “And Gedain?”

  “You know Gedain is rotten. He is no friend to you. If he remains, then Avarlon will fall to him and you will be disgraced. Charge him with some offense and have him dishonored. Better yet— let him be found drowned or kicked in the head by a mule. That is how your father would have handled it.”

  Ceryd dismissed her last suggestion with a roll of his eyes. Then paced the length of the chamber, the hem of his cloak brushing against the cold stone. He halted at the narrow window that faced east, where the pallor of twilight smoldered with thickening clouds. For a long moment he watched the darkening horizon, as though it might offer counsel where men could not.

  At length he turned and spoke, his voice scarcely above a breath. “Mother… did you love my father?”

  For the first time that eve, the glassy steadiness in her eyes softened, and she seemed to look not at Ceryd, but through him— into some far and haunted memory.

  “Cleon was a cruel man,” she said at last, in a low voice, immutable like a slow-rolling millstone. “A ruthless man… violent, unyielding. He never questioned himself, nor did he express a regret.” She paused, her fingers tightening upon the arm of her chair. “And yet—” Her breath caught, as though the words resisted being spoken. “At times, aye, I did love him. But only when he was gone.”