King (5 page)

His third day of trial. Kien glanced around the huge circular chamber, found Selwin, and smiled. Selwin frowned. Poor man.

Kien settled into his designated chair, then glanced over his shoulder at his family. Father sat with Mother today. Ara Lantec, elegant as always in graceful robes, perfectly coifed dark hair, and lovely gray eyes, beamed at Kien. Beside her, Kien’s sister, Beka, settled herself. As elegant as Mother, but obviously pregnant, Beka threw Kien a sparkling smile. Kien grinned.

Until Father lifted a commanding eyebrow, silently reminding Kien to be dignified and serious. Father ought to be glad he could smile. Kien exhaled, seeking calm. “Infinite? Help me, please.”

The trial judge entered the chamber, imposing in his black robes, his lined face austere. Kien wondered if he himself would ever preside over a criminal court. Not likely after this trial.

At least this chair was cushioned. No doubt he would remain in this seat for most of the day. Attempting to look pleasant, Kien watched the lead prosecutor approach. The man cleared his throat and raised his rich voice until it seemed to rebound from the very crest of the magnificent dome above. “Kien Lantec, remember you are sworn to speak the truth.”

“Yes.” But don’t volunteer anything, Father’s advisors had cautioned—as if Kien knew nothing of the law.

The first few questions were mundane and expected.

“Kien Lantec, what office do you hold?”

“I am serving as a military judge-advocate under the command of General Rol.”

“What other duties have you undertaken for the Tracelands?”

“I served as ambassador to the country of Istgard and was
imprisoned there following the massacre at Ytar. I also fought as a volunteer in the battle of Ytar the next spring.”

Murmurs of surprise and agreement lifted from among the audience. As if the Tracelands had forgotten he’d been imprisoned and nearly died for his country. The lead prosecutor looked irritated. “Were you present at the fall of Parne?”

“Yes.”

“Did you indeed go into Parne under questionable circumstances as Commander Selwin testified?”

“Subordinate Commander Selwin forgot to mention that I entered Parne off duty, as a private citizen, to rescue Ela of Parne, whom I love.” There. Let his love for Ela be recorded forever in the Tracelands’ archives.

The prosecutor grimaced, then recovered. “You entered Parne knowing there was an order to execute any Parnians who resisted being removed from their city?”

“No.” As the prosecutor gaped in obvious protest, Kien raised his own voice. “Subordinate Commander Selwin misunderstood the order, though he personally heard the king speak it, as I did. The king’s orders were to kill anyone who lifted
weapon
s against allied soldiers. I, too, was uncomfortable with the order, given Parne’s circumstances.”

Beyond the prosecutor, Kien noticed Selwin’s pale fingers tapping restlessly against his black leggings. Nearby, the black-cloaked General Rol, Kien’s imposing silver-haired superior and mentor, was scowling at the man. Within those two answers, Selwin was revealed as, at best, untrustworthily forgetful. At worst a deliberate liar specializing in omissions. And in each question that followed, whenever Selwin’s testimony was mentioned, Kien solemnly repeated, “I regret that Subordinate Commander Selwin misunderstood.”

At last, the lead prosecutor dropped all mention of Selwin. “Did you, Kien Lantec, obey the king’s order, which was supposedly inspired by the Infinite?”

“I obeyed my own conscience and instincts, sir. While retrieving
Ela of Parne from a life-threatening situation, I defended myself against one man when he attacked me with a sword.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Yes, sir. I have the right to defend myself.”

“Are you a follower of the Infinite?”

“Yes.” The circular chamber buzzed with comments. Some of the onlookers sneered.

The prosecutor smiled, remarkably bland. “And do you believe the Infinite’s commands supersede any commands given by your own government?”

“A man must follow his conscience. If the Infinite’s commands override others, then I obey Him.”

“Interesting.” His manner was so overly pleasant that Kien longed to shake him. Then the prosecutor changed the subject. “Did you serve in any official capacity in Siphra?”

“Yes. Because of my experience as an ambassador to Istgard, I also represented the Tracelands as a special envoy in Siphra’s royal court last year.”

“Did you save King Akabe of Siphra’s life last year?”

“I did.” Kien tensed inwardly, almost hearing the next question before it was asked.

“Did the king reward you as thanks for saving his life?”

“Against my will, yes. He granted me property and a title while his wound was being stitched.” Indignant at the memory, Kien protested, “No government should work so quickly!”

Around him, the Tracelands’ government officials laughed and repeated his statement to each other. When the hilarity faded, the lead prosecutor raised his voice again. “What title did the king of Siphra bestow upon you?”

Allowing everyone to see his aggravation, Kien said, “Lord Aeyrievale.”

“And is this title permanent?”

“Though I’ve refused to act upon it, yes. Regrettably, the king’s bequest cannot be rescinded in Siphra, on pain of death. I planned
to destroy the document and run for my life, but the king’s men locked away the record before I could snatch it.”

“Indeed?” The lead prosecutor’s voice lifted above the crowd’s chuckles and murmurs. “Are you now considered a citizen of Siphra?”

“Akabe of Siphra termed it a joint citizenship—against my wishes. Yes.”

Mildly, the prosecutor asked, “As a citizen and a lord of Siphra, are you in a position to establish laws and wield power in that country?”

Bad question. Kien exhaled. “I have not exercised
any
authority in Siphra. And I’ve no intention of doing so.”

“But
might
you establish laws and wield power in Siphra, sir? Yes or no?”

Kien quieted inside. Why had the man phrased it that way? “Might you,” instead of “do you”? Answer. He must answer before being reprimanded. “It would be possible, yes.”

Though the questioning continued, Kien heard and responded in a daze. He knew what the prosecutor was planning. And what the now-frowning judge would be forced to decide. This would be no ordinary censure. Why couldn’t they simply cast him from the military, fine him, and send him to prison? He slid a glance toward his parents and sister. Mother smiled at him, all her love in that look. Kien almost winced.

His sentence would crush her.

 5 

I
n the seclusion of his royal study, Akabe inclined his head toward the austere Cyan Thaenfall, Lord of the Plidian Estates. Then he nodded to Lord Faine, who opened the leather pouch and displayed the contested ashes.

Controlling himself at the sight of those ashes and his own seared gold crest, Akabe kept his voice serene. Neutral. “My lord, owing to this rather dramatic display, I presume you wish to renegotiate. Why?”

Cyan Thaenfall’s smile did not brighten his cool brown eyes and stern voice. “I had forgotten a legal entanglement. Years ago, my youngest daughter’s dowry was attached to this land to provide for her future.”

“Then,” Akabe murmured, “we will pay her dowry upon the sale of the land to Siphra.”

Thaenfall didn’t look pleased as Akabe had hoped. “Sir. The land, not its proceeds, is the dowry.”

“Meaning?”

“My daughter will marry the purchaser of this land.”

An uncomfortable chill prickled Akabe’s arms beneath his fine tunic and cloak. Marry?

Lord Faine protested, “Thaenfall, your daughter cannot marry Siphra—which will purchase this land. Therefore you must name a sum.”

“Must?” The proud lord’s eyebrows lifted, almost regal. “Recite one law that prevents me from selling this land to whomever I choose, on my own terms.”

Before the two could argue further, and before his own misgivings interfered, Akabe snapped, “Thaenfall, state your terms—I’m sure you’ve decided them!”

The lord of the Plidian Estates stared at Akabe. “It seems I’ve heard the truth. You are a . . . plain-speaking man. Very well, sir. Marry my youngest daughter and I will sign a document giving you control of the lands—in addition to the payment we’d originally negotiated. Those are my terms.”

Marry his daughter. Akabe almost turned his back on the man. This known Atean. What were his ambitions? Merely to assure his daughter’s future? To ultimately seat a relative on Siphra’s throne? Or to further some Atean plot to disrupt the rebuilding of the temple?

Exhaling, Akabe said, “I will consult with my advisors and consider the matter. Until then, you and your family are welcome to stay in apartments within the palace as my guests.”

Inwardly, Akabe groaned. Infinite? If only You would advise me through Your prophets!

But Siphra’s lesser prophets had offered him no counsel from their Creator. As for Siphra’s preeminent prophet . . . no. Nothing would induce Akabe to ask Ela’s advice on marriage. His feelings were still too raw.

Well-enough. He was Siphra’s king.

He must make his own choice.

Enduring the fourth day of his trial, Kien clenched his hands into fists. Beside him, Alan mimicked his motion, then sat statue-still, staring at the judge, who sighed gustily, then read from the scroll, his tone sonorous and reluctant. “To the charges of corruption and subversion, this court must add an additional charge. An official question of the accused’s loyalty to the Tracelands.”

Alan threw a writing reed to the marble floor in mute protest. Whispers of confusion and indignation lifted among the onlookers. Kien heard his brother-in-law, Jon, growl. “Outrageous!”

Beyond the prosecutor, Cherne smiled. Gloating.
Laughing!
And why not?

What else could his or Father’s opponents do to him beyond what they now intended?

Short of the death penalty, nothing. What a mercy his mother hadn’t attended today. But Rade Lantec, his supporters, Kien’s brother-in-law, Jon, and General Rol offered Kien looks of encouragement. They hadn’t a clue. None!

While the judge pursed his lips and wrote notes, Kien muttered to Alan, “I’m doomed.”

“Perhaps the magistrate will be more lenient if we offer Akabe of Siphra’s formal plea.”

“He won’t be lenient. He can’t. And the representatives will ridicule the king’s plea. You know they will.”

“Kien, we must offer the plea. To ignore it would insult Siphra.”

“To offer it would provoke far worse insults to Siphra.”

“I disagree. Siphra is our ally.”

“Don’t present the letter!” Kien grabbed Alan’s heap of legal parchments to extricate the written plea. Where was it? “Nothing can be changed—it’s all formalities now, and the letter will only cause a rift between the Tracelands and Siphra.”

“Your opinion. Not mine.”

Kien flicked through page after crisp page of parchment. “You know, Alan, for being my legal advisor, you’re entirely too optimistic.”

“Someone has to be.” Reaching inside his formal black robe, Alan, the traitor, removed the document garnished with Akabe’s official red wax seal, marched to the magistrate’s table, and presented Akabe’s formal plea that Kien not be held liable for his title.

Crushing the urge to yell and throw things at Alan, Kien shoved aside the heap of documents. As Alan sat down again, Kien said,
“You’ve just disturbed relations between two countries. It would have been better to tell Siphra the letter couldn’t be presented!”

The judge skewed his mouth to one side of his face as he read the parchment. Finished, he hammered his mallet on the sound box. “I have here a formal plea for clemency on behalf of Kien Lantec . . . from Siphra and its king.”

The prosecutor stood. “Irrelevant, sir! Kings may bellow, but
laws
rule the Tracelands!”

Behind him, Cherne intoned, “Tracelanders do not bow to kings! The Lantecs have become Siphra’s puppets in the Tracelands—voices for a reckless king and his depraved country that feeds on the weak!”

“What?” Kien thumped his fist on the table before him. Even for an insult, that was foul.
And
being noted by the Tracelands’ scribes, hunched at their own table near the magistrate’s. “Sir, with respect, your deluded comments—when known—will cause an international uproar!”

Before Kien could continue, Rade Lantec leaped from his seat, motioning to his opponent. “This from you, Cherne, who accepts bribes from constituents! The Lantecs are never bought!”

A disharmony of hoots resounded from the anti-Lantec faction opposite Kien. They sounded like a barn full of owls. Kien started to stand. Alan shoved him down and stood instead. “With respect, sirs, we remind all in attendance that Siphra is our ally and—”

Cherne cut in, yelling, “Because of the Lantecs!
They
are why our country is bound to a despot king’s policies—held by the whims of his capricious Creator!”

Wonderful. Kien seethed. Wild-man Cherne was now howling down the Infinite. If Ela could hear the man, Cherne would become an oil spot on the marble. If only . . .

The judge rapped the mallet ferociously on its sounding box. “Enough!
Sit,
everyone.” Cherne, Rade, and Alan sat, all three glaring. The magistrate gathered his documents. “I’ve heard everything that’s needful.” He looked at Kien now. “Young man,
with your legal training, you know what I am forced to rule. By our laws, my hands are tied.”

Kien nodded.

Say it.

Obliterate Kien Lantec of the Tracelands.

The magistrate hesitated.

Clenching his hands on the table for support, Kien stood. “Sir, I await your verdict.”

At last, the magistrate’s voice boomed throughout the circular chamber. “Kien Lantec, all charges, save one, are dismissed. Regrettably, by your own admission, the question of loyalty is substantiated. No Tracelander can hold a position of power in another country, with the potential to create laws in that country and yet remain a Tracelander. Before I pronounce your sentence, which will become effective immediately, do you have anything to say?”

This was really happening. Throat tightening, Kien nodded and leaned on the table. Infinite! He needed to be composed now. No grieving and weeping like a child.

The silence lengthened as he summoned enough self-possession to speak.

Cherne finally yelled, “Lantec, if you’ve nothing to say—!”

Gouged by the taunt from his father’s foe—from the man who’d undoubtedly forced this entire legal proceeding into the Tracelands’ Grand Assembly to avenge some small political slight—Kien scowled at Cherne and his supporters. “Whatever you might think, sirs, this entire proceeding upholds my father’s reputation, because you had to attack
me
to wound him! The Lantecs are not bought! Ever!”

Sneering, Cherne started to his feet. Kien pounded the table, leaning forward, yelling, “Sit down, sir! You’ve had your say, and you’ve achieved your goal! Be a magnanimous victor—
if
you can! I am speaking now!”

Cherne’s face reddened. He sat. Perfect silence reigned in the Grand Assembly.

Willing his frantic heart rate to ease, Kien drew in a pained breath and continued. “Unlike most speeches given in this chamber, I’ll make mine brief. Because you could find no charge to bring against my father, you’ve attacked me. And you succeeded in bringing me down for my so-called crimes.” Would his heartbeat slow itself? He hoped so. He was trembling.

“To summarize . . . as a private citizen, I rescued the woman I love from a well in Parne. Yes,
after
the siege. Also, I saved a friend—who happens to be a king—from an assassin, and I was too well-honored by that friend despite my repeated attempts to reject his tribute. Most vital of all, I listened to my conscience and forced myself to be honest in evaluating my Creator’s existence.” Kien paused, deliberate. “The Infinite
lives
! I’ve witnessed His power. I’ve seen the words of His prophet fulfilled in the overthrows of kings, kingdoms, and His own beloved Parne. I will praise Him to my death! Those who sneer have not sincerely evaluated themselves or Him. Therefore, they mock in ignorance.”

Remarkably, Cherne and his cohorts remained quiet. Staring. “As for your contempt toward the king of Siphra, sirs . . . ” Kien straightened. “You are not in his place! You will never understand what Akabe of Siphra must endure. He is an honorable man, yet you scorn him, not knowing what he’s facing for the sake of his people.”

Cherne twitched, and one of the men beside him smirked. “So you say, my
lord
.”

The magistrate hammered on the sound box. “Silence, or I’ll have you thrown out!”

Kien eyed the man who’d smirked. “You called me ‘my lord’ as an insult. But you and your cronies are the ones who’ve made that word my reality! I did not ask for a Siphran title or wealth and lands for saving my friend’s life. I rejected the title—as I rejected Istgard’s crown last year! My father and mother raised me to love my country and to serve the Tracelands, and so I have. To serve has been my life! I’ve
never
sought power for myself.”
He wouldn’t mention Father. Rade Lantec’s ambition was too well known.

“But you, sirs, by trying to wreak havoc on my father to repay him for your political quarrels, have forced me to become a Siphran lord!” The thought choked him. Fighting the invisible cord burning and tightening around his throat, he rasped, “In conclusion . . . I have loved the Tracelands. I’ve been imprisoned and risked my life for the Tracelands. Now the Tracelands is about to repay me, thanks to you!”

Tears slid down his face now and dripped onto the table. Oh, perfect. Fine. He wouldn’t wipe them away. He turned to the magistrate and stood at attention. “Sir, I am finished.”