Sasha

With Koenyg at my right hand, I shall follow it.'

Sasha stared at him, mouth open in disbelief. Suddenly, the temple air seemed cold. A flash of memory struck her… Krystoff's chambers, filled with morning light from the windows. He had promised her a horse ride, and she'd burst in without knocking as the servants had learned to, and sent a half-naked lady-in-waiting scurrying for the covers. Krystoff, topless and muscular, had leaped from the bed and ushered her into the adjoining room. Sasha recalled his replies to her confusion, the winsome, faintly exasperated smile at her questions that told her she'd stumbled onto some peculiarly adult thing and was out of her depth. And she recalled the gold Verenthane star against his bare chest.

And she stared, now, at the chain and star upon the pedestal. It had been his. She'd rarely seen him wear it. He'd always worn the little bracelet of beads that she'd made for him, in one of the few craft lessons she'd ever paid attention to. And he'd always worn the stylised belt-knife that a visiting serrin, a friend of Kessligh's from Petrodor, had once presented him with. But rarely the Verenthane star, except on formal occasions. Or, perhaps, when bedding Verenthane maidens who needed convincing that the sin would not send them straight to the fires of Loth.

Looking at her father, Sasha felt an emotion beyond her immediate shock, or her more familiar anger. It was pity. Torvaal had lost an heir. He grieved for the loss in the terms of what it had cost him, as a father, as a king, and as a servant of the gods. He recalled Krystoff by this symbol, and placed it in such a position of prominence within the greatest temple in Lenayin. He prayed before it every day, seeking penance for perceived sins.

And yet, this symbol was not Krystoff. Not truly. Not according to one who had known him as she had. The star, to Krystoff, had been like all the formal clothes he had disliked wearing, or all the painfully self-important people he was obliged to greet, and be nice to, whilst muttering rude things about them when none save his delighted little sister could hear. It was pomp and ceremony, and badges of office, all the things that Krystoff had either despised, or found tiresome at best. If one had wished a more fitting tribute to Krystoff, one might have inaugurated a lagand festival in his name… or an annual dance, where dashing young men might pursue the pretty, available girls with a gleam in their eye. This star upon the pedestal was merely a father's projection of his own beliefs and desires.

Sasha's eyes prickled. For a father to grieve for his son was sad. For that father to do so without ever truly knowing who his son had been was tragic.

'And so Lenayin shall be torn to pieces,' she said tightly, 'because the king has lost his nerve.'

A dark fire lit in Torvaal's eyes. Fearsome, in a way that another man's anger might not have affected her. Whether that was because he was her king, or her father, she could not guess. 'The gods have entrusted in me a great responsibility, daughter,' he said coldly. 'As king I represent their will upon this land. Your insults cause me little care, for I am humble. Yet to insult the gods' will is sacrilege. I shall not allow it, and if you think the gods' justice shall be less for one of my own flesh and blood, you shall be sadly mistaken.'

From the far end of the temple, there came voices and the approach of heavy footsteps. Soldiers, Sasha knew without looking. Her time had run out. Politeness had not worked. Pleading had not. And her fury was escaping its bounds.

'You hide behind your gods like a coward behind his shield,' Sasha snarled. Torvaal's eyes snapped wide, as if he'd been physically struck. 'The responsibility is yours, father! You were chosen! You are the heir to the legacy of great-grandfather Soros! You cannot merely abdicate from your true beliefs when your conviction fails and your grief grows too strong! You fear committing a crime against the gods, well I'll show you a crime-you know this is wrong, you know what the outcome shall be, and still you do nothing!'

Torvaal seemed to tremble. She'd never seen him so angry. For a moment, she thought he might strike her… or try to. Then he turned and strode about the altar's far side to meet the guardsmen who approached down the aisle. Sasha followed him, clutching Daryd, who was staring up at her, and at the approaching soldiers, in increasing alarm.

'Take custody of the boy,' Torvaal told the first soldier who arrived. 'Treat him well. Take him to Prince Koenyg, and be discreet.'

The soldier and his partner advanced, at least ten more in their wake. The senior of the two was Goeren-yai. 'You stop right there or by the Synnich I'll make you regret it,' Sasha snarled. The man stopped, frozen in his tracks. His junior, although Verenthane by appearance, seemed greatly unnerved by his senior's reaction and also halted, a hand on his sword hilt.

Torvaal rounded on her in fury. 'How dare you speak that name in this place!' he demanded, his voice trembling.

'Why?' Sasha demanded. 'It is a name known to fully half of your people, and probably more! Your people, Father! Why are their names and words unfit for speech in the halls of Lenay power?'

'You presume to speak of things about which you have no comprehension!'

'I comprehend that you are the leader of your people! I comprehend that the Goeren-yai desire leadership! And what do you give them? An army of Hadryn fanatics to slaughter their kin and lay waste to the most admired, most loved soul of their ancient beliefs! As well rip out their heart and stamp on it! You proclaim to be the leader of all the Lenay people? Well lead!'

'Neis, Sashandra!' It was Daryd, tugging urgently on her arm. His eyes, pleading up at her, were full of fear. 'Neis! Neis!' That word was common enough in the northern tongues. He had wanted her to win her father over, not to declare war on him. He turned to stare up at the stunned, motionless soldiers. At the king, churning with silent rage. He ran toward the king, a guardsman quickly leaping between, but Daryd threw himself onto his knees and pressed his forehead to the stones. He spoke no words, perhaps knowing by now their futility. There was only his one, last gesture. Total obeisance. Total desperation.

Torvaal edged the guardsman aside and stared down at the boy huddled at his feet. Emotions battled within his dark eyes. More emotion than Sasha could recall seeing from him in her entire life. For a moment, she thought he might speak to the boy. Might kneel down and raise him to his feet, in a kindly gesture.

'Take him,' the king said instead, quietly. 'Be gentle.' The guardsman knelt and raised Daryd to his feet. The boy turned to Sasha before he could be led away. Sasha saw tears in his eyes.

'Rysha,' he begged her. 'Rysha.' Sasha nodded, helplessly. Her right hand itched for the sword on her shoulder, but that would do no good here. She stood where she was and watched as a pair of guardsmen escorted the Udalyn lad up the temple aisle, toward the doors.

'You,' Torvaal said darkly to Sasha, 'are confined to quarters. The NasiKeth shall be without a representative this first day of Rathynal. Be thankful that your punishment is so light.'

Sasha regarded him coldly for a moment. Then she bowed, lingeringly, with something less than polite intent. 'My father's mercy is renowned throughout the land,' she said icily. She stalked off, a guardsman joining her on each arm. 'Don't bother,' she told them. 'I'm quite sure I know the way.'

'What?' roared Lord Krayliss. 'You think to bring this charge against me now, and call it justice!'

He rose to his feet, a hand to the hilt of his sword. About the circle of lords others also rose, officers and soldiers interposing, sword hands at the ready. At Damon's side, Myklas also made to rise, but Damon restrained him with a hand, and gave him a warning look. Koenyg stood before the king's throne imposing in his cloak of royal black. Behind, and up the length of the great hall, nobles and soldiers from each of Lenayin's eleven provinces also rose, smelling a fight.

'Lord Krayliss,' Koenyg announced coldly, his voice loud enough that all could hear. 'You were brought to Baen-Tar by Prince Damon on the understanding that you were placing yourself within the protection of the king's law! Your violations of the king's law are profound for all to see. You do not deny that you slew Great Lord Rashyd Telgar of Hadryn. The king deems it fit for you to be judged before a council of lords this Rathynal, as the king wishes the people of Lenayin to observe the justice of all Lenayin, and not merely the justice of its king. Do you wish to object to the king's law, and would you also reject its protections from the rightful revenge of the new Great Lord Usyn?'

'Object?' Lord Krayliss bellowed. 'I agreed to be judged by your Verenthane law on the condition of the presence of Sashandra Lenayin! And now you wish to conduct this justice without her presence?'

At Koenyg's back, King Torvaal sat upon his throne and watched, his eyes impassive.

'The Lady Sashandra has acted against the express wishes of the king,' Koenyg replied, 'and has consorted with troublemakers. She forfeits her right to be present at the first day of Rathynal as the Nasi-Keth's representative.'