point, although Hainree’s own problems with the Regency Council focused on rather different concerns. However…
“I meant to ask you for your impression of this Empress Sharleyan,” he said, forcing himself to speak the hated name in an almost normal tone.
“I think she’s… impressive.” Grahsmahn leaned back in his chair, scratching the back of his neck, and shook his head slowly. “Somebody said she was beautiful, but me, I’m not so sure. She’s a handsome woman, I’ll give her that, but beautiful?” He shook his head again. “Too much nose, and those eyes of hers… Trust me, Bahrynd-she’s got a temper that would make a slash lizard run for cover!”
“So was she ranting and raving?” Hainree asked.
“No, no, she wasn’t.” Grahsmahn stopped scratching the back of his neck and looked up at Hainree, his eyes unfocused with memory. “In fact, that’s the reason she’s so impressive, if you ask me. It’s not natural for a young woman that age, and one who’s hated the House of Daykyn so long, to not lose her temper at a time like this. I mean, here she’s in a perfect position to hammer us after what those idiots tried to pull, and she’s cool as a cucumber. Not wishy-washy, don’t misunderstand me. I think she was madder than Shan-wei’s Hell at Craggy Hill, at least. But she didn’t scream, she didn’t shout, and she just ordered them beheaded. Didn’t have them tortured, didn’t send their family members after them on general principle, didn’t even have them hanged. Just a short, sharp appointment with an ax and it was all over.” He shook his head again. “I’ll be honest with you, Bahrynd, I can’t see the Old Prince letting them off that easy. I’d say she’s got a short way with people who cross her, but she’s not going out of her way to be any nastier about it than she has to.”
“You sound as if you actually admire her.” Hainree couldn’t quite keep the disapproval out of his voice, and Grahsmahn’s eyes refocused as the supervisor looked up at him.
“Didn’t say that,” he said a bit testily. “Mind you, I’m of the opinion we could do worse, if only her damned husband hadn’t had Prince Hektor murdered. For that matter, if young Daivyn were to come home-and assuming the Regency Council could keep his head on his shoulders when he did-I don’t think she’d go out of her way to be nasty to him, either. Not so long as he didn’t cross her, leastways.”
“Maybe.” Hainree shrugged. “And I’m no noble, or a member of Parliament, either. All the same, Master Grahsmahn, it seems to me that sooner or later there’d come a time when Prince Daivyn would have to ‘cross her’ if he was going to be true to Corisande. And from what you’re saying…”
He let his voice trail off, and Grahsmahn nodded unhappily.
“I’m inclined to think you’ve got a point,” he sighed. “Hopefully, though, it’s not anything that’s going to happen soon, and if I were young Daivyn, I’d be staying far, far away from Corisande until Mother Church gets done sorting out what’s going to happen with this Empire of Charis and Church of Charis.”
It was Hainree’s turn to nod, although he’d come to suspect Grahsmahn was at least mildly Reformist at heart himself. Perhaps that was why he wasn’t as outraged as Hainree at Sharleyan Ahrmahk’s presence here in Manchyr.
“You’re probably right,” he said. “Are you looking forward to tomorrow?”
“Not really.” Grahsmahn’s expression was troubled. “I mean, I know it’s an honor and everything, but I don’t really like watching men being sentenced to death. Langhorne knows they spent long enough on the trials. If they weren’t doing their best to be sure everything was done right and proper, they sure used up a lot of time doing something else! And I didn’t hear any of them yesterday claiming they hadn’t been given a fair trial, except maybe that sorry piece of shit Barcor. But I still don’t like watching. Funny thing is, I don’t think she likes being there any better than I do!” He gave a brief laugh. “I guess she’s got even less choice about it than I do, though.”
Hainree nodded again, though he doubted “Empress Sharleyan” was as bothered by all of this as Grahsmahn seemed to think. The supervisor really didn’t have a choice, though. He was one of the randomly selected city professionals who’d been chosen to witness what happened, and attendance wasn’t optional. Sharleyan and the Regency Council seemed determined to make certain there were plenty of eyes to see-and tongues to tell-what happened to whoever dared to raise his hand against their tyranny and treason.
“Well, Master Grahsmahn,” he said now, “it may be you won’t have to be there tomorrow after all. Things can change, you know.”
“I wish it would,” Grahsmahn said feelingly, pushing his chair back and starting around the end of his desk. “I’ve got enough other things I could be doing, and like I say, I don’t like watch-”
His eyes widened in stunned horror as Hainree’s right hand came up from his side and the short, keen-edged dagger drove home at the base of his throat. His voice died in a horrible gurgle and his hands reached up, clutching at Hainree’s wrist. But the strength was flowing out of him with the flood of his blood, and Hainree twisted the blade as he drew it sideways. The flood became a torrent, and he stepped back as Grahsmahn thudded to the office floor with his eyes already glazing.
“I’m sorry,” Hainree said. He knelt beside the body for a moment and signed Langhorne’s Scepter on the supervisor’s forehead. “You weren’t a perfect man, but you deserved better than this. I’m about God’s work, though, so perhaps He’ll forgive both of us.”
He patted Grahsmahn on the shoulder, then started going through the dead man’s pockets. He needed only a handful of minutes to find what he sought, and he stood once more. He gazed down at the body again briefly as he slipped the ornately engraved summons into his pocket, then turned and stepped out of the office and used the key he’d also taken from Grahsmahn to lock the office door before he started down the stairs. He went the back way, reasonably confident he wouldn’t be running into anyone this late. He’d managed to avoid most of the blood spray, anyway, and once he got out into the settling gloom the few drops he hadn’t been able to avoid shouldn’t be very noticeable.
If he was spotted before he got clear, or if someone should enter Grahsmahn’s office despite the locked door between now and morning, that would be the end of his plan, but he knew in his heart of hearts it wouldn’t happen. As he’d told Grahsmahn, he was about God’s work, and unlike mortal men, God did not suffer His work to go undone.
Sharleyan Ahrmahk sat once again on the dais in Princess Aleatha’s Ballroom. They’d gotten an earlier start today, and even less sunlight came in through the ballroom’s windows, so lamps had been lit in niches around the walls. Despite their brightly polished reflectors, they didn’t shed a great deal of light, so stands of candles had been placed at either end of the document table for Spynsair Ahrnahld and Father Neythan’s use. Once the sun finally cleared the roof of the palace wing shading the windows things should get better, she told herself, then nodded to Ahrnahld to strike the gong.
“Draw nigh and give ear!” the same chamberlain called as the musical note vibrated its way back into silence. “Give ear to the Crown’s justice!”
The double doors opened once more, and four men-or perhaps three men and a boy, since one of them was clearly not yet out of his teens-were ushered through it. One of the older men wore the subdued finery of a minor noble, or at least a man of substantial wealth. The second looked as if he was probably a reasonably well-off city merchant, and the third-the oldest of the group, with iron-gray hair and a spade beard-was clearly an artisan of some sort, possibly a blacksmith, from his weathered complexion and powerfully muscled arms. The youngest was very plainly clothed, but someone-his mother, perhaps-had seen to it that plain though his garments might be, they were scrupulously clean and neat.
She studied their expressions as the guards ushered them-firmly, but without brutality-to their place in front of the dais. Despite the dimness of the light, she could see them quite clearly, thanks to the multi-function contact lenses Merlin and Owl had provided her, and she recognized the apprehension in their faces only too plainly.
I don’t blame them for that in the least, she thought grimly. And I hadn’t realized how badly yesterday was going to depress me, either. I know it had to be done, and I knew it was going to be bad, but even so…
Her own expression was serene and calm with years of discipline and training, but behind that mask she saw again the previous day’s unending procession of convicted traitors. Craggy Hill and his companions had received the “honor” of appearing before her first, but twenty-seven more men and six women had followed them. Followed them not simply before Sharleyan’s dais, but to the executioner.
Thirty-nine human beings in a single day-the first day, she thought, trying not to dwell on how many days of this were yet to go. Not many compared to the number that get killed on even a small battlefield, I suppose. And
