The Shattered Crown

FORTY-ONE

It seemed with every report from the front the news became ever more dire. The numbers of men lost, the increasing need for reinforcements, requests for supplies they simply didn’t have, the villages burned, the townsfolk raped and murdered. The trail from Dreldun to the gates of Steelhaven would be thick with graves, yet the sacrifices made by the soldiers of the Free States might still all be in vain.

Janessa felt wretched. Felt that every man that was killed, every person that starved or died of cold or perished from infection was a result of her failure to make a deal with the Bankers League. And every passing day she knew the chances of her being able to ensure her city’s survival were slipping through her fingers.

Of course preparations had been made. Garret and Odaka had done much, their military experience invaluable to the city’s defence. They had tried to recruit fighting men from the teeming mass of refugees, but seemed to find only frail old men or keen but inexperienced boys. Odaka himself had told her that these would be the first to die once the Khurtas laid siege to the city walls. Janessa wanted to tell these inadequate recruits that they should return to their families, but how could she? The city needed all the defenders it could get. It would be lost without sacrifice.

Fodder, Marshal Farren had called them. Janessa could not bring herself to think of them like that. She could only think of them as old men and boys who were marked to die. Die because she had failed to make a deal with Azai Dravos to save her city.

Lamenting on it would do her little good, though, Janessa knew that. She had to move on. It was what her father would have done. In fact, King Cael would have proudly mounted Dravos’ head on a pike for all to see — a warning to any others who might try to betray the Mastragalls. Janessa would never have gone so far, but after what Dravos had done she was sorely tempted.

But Dravos was gone and the business of state demanded her full energy.

Despite the vital importance of most of her business in court, the throne room was largely vacant. Chancellor Durket and her Sentinels stood close by, but most of her court had taken their leave. Marshal Farren and General Hawke had made their way back to the front, and Hawke had only gone reluctantly. Baroness Isabelle Magrida and her son still lurked within the palace but rarely deigned to come to the throne room. The lack of attendance was something of a relief.

It was with some regret then, that after all her business was done, she saw Seneschal Rogan make his way to the throne. The man moved like a snake, seeming to slide across the floor, his feet hidden beneath the hem of his drab robe.

‘Majesty,’ he said, dropping to his knees. ‘I have come with matters that require your attention. It concerns an execution.’

Janessa felt the weight on her shoulders increase. With all she had to deal with and the threat to the lives of her people, were they now killing their own?

‘Traitors to the Crown, Seneschal?’ she replied. ‘Has your Inquisition uncovered some plot?’

‘In a manner of speaking, Majesty. And I thought the guilty parties in this case would interest you.’

‘Why is that?’

Rogan smiled. ‘Because they are foreign spies, Majesty. They are enemies of the Free States. Zatani from the southern continent of Equ’un.’

Janessa thought back to the awkward dinner in which Rogan and Odaka had quarrelled. The last she had heard the Zatani were being held in cells.

‘These men have been condemned to death?’

‘Regrettably so, Majesty. It became obvious these savages had only mayhem in mind. They are most likely agents of the Elharim warlord.’

‘Most likely, Seneschal? You mean you’re not sure? You mean these Zatani have been condemned on a guess?’

‘Absolutely not, Majesty.’ Rogan held up his hands, and Janessa was surprised at just how sincere he looked. ‘Their guilt is beyond doubt. Three mercenary companies have had to bury their brothers as testament to the fact.’

‘So they are condemned, Seneschal. How does this concern me?’

‘The Zatani were in thrall to the Aeslanti, back when your father fought those beasts at Bakhaus Gate. Many say these savage tribesmen bear the blood of the Aeslanti in their veins. Bakhaus Gate was King Cael’s last great victory. Surely this could be seen as a sign — that the execution of the Zatani is an omen of your victory to come.’

This was tenuous at best. Janessa could hardly see the relevance.

‘Omens are no use to me, Seneschal. It’s men and resources I need.’

‘Of course. But morale on the streets is low. A public display, a reminder of old victories, might be just what the citizenry needs before it faces the Khurtas.’

Janessa had not even thought of such a thing. That her people might need to have their morale bolstered in such a way. But then who would think an execution might raise the spirits? That people could watch gleefully as someone was killed before their eyes — even if it were an enemy of the city?

What was it Odaka once said? That as the queen of this realm you must weigh every outcome, consider every option.

If this was what it would take to give her people the strength to defeat their enemy then she would sanction it. If these foreigners had come here to do harm to her city and its people, they had to die.

If only Odaka were with her now, he would know what to do. He had been a warrior of Equ’un after all, though obviously not a Zatani. They were of a rival tribe, savages, barely human if rumours were true. But was it not time for Janessa to make her own choices? She could not rely on Odaka to provide solutions to every difficult decision.

‘Very well, Seneschal,’ said Janessa, though the words almost stuck in her throat. ‘You may have your execution.’

‘Thank you, Majesty. You will of course be attending?’

Attend a public execution? The thought turned Janessa’s stomach.

‘I will not, Seneschal. I have more pressing matters.’

‘But there are considerations of protocol. And it would do the city good to see you there … for morale, of course.’

In the absence of Odaka, only Chancellor Durket was by her side. As much as she was loath to do so, Janessa now turned to him.

‘Considerations of protocol?’

Durket looked at her, blankly at first. Ever since she had been attacked by Azai Dravos, Durket had wandered the corridors of Skyhelm in a daze.

‘Er … yes, Majesty. Monarchs are obliged to attend the executions of traitors and rival heads of state.’

‘Then it seems I have little choice,’ she said, taking no relish in the prospect. ‘I trust you can make the arrangements, Seneschal?’

Rogan bowed and gave her a look that suggested the arrangements were more than likely already made.

Before he could make his fawning pleasantries and leave, marching figures entered the throne room. They were surrounded by four Sentinels, but this wasn’t a close guard keeping a vigilant watch lest they try to harm the queen. This was a loose honour guard — one reserved for visiting dignitaries.

The Sentinels stopped, allowing the two figures to approach the throne. Kaira took a protective step forward, but Janessa held up a hand to stop her drawing her weapon.

An old woman halted in front of the throne. Though it was obvious she was well past her middle years, her age was impossible to guess. While her topknot of hair was silver, her eyes were sharply piercing. Her robe hung from her thin frame like a cloak from a hook and Janessa could see it was badly stained.

Next to her was a youth, who shuffled up beside the woman as though she might protect him from the gathered knights.

The old woman carefully took to her knee, the boy quickly doing the same.

‘Majesty,’ she said. ‘I am Magistra Gelredida. I bring warning of a plot against your life.’

Seneschal Rogan took a step forward. ‘Come now, Magistra. We all know the queen’s life is in constant danger. I can assure you she is quite safe under our care.’

Janessa was about to tell Rogan to be silent — who was he to make such a presumption? — but it seemed the Magistra had even less time for his interruptions.

She stood up, regarding Rogan with a withering look. To Janessa’s surprise, the Seneschal of the Inquisition took a step back and held his peace.

‘This is no ordinary plot,’ the woman continued. ‘It is one that goes to the very bowels of the Tower of Magisters. One that your personal guard may not be able to protect you from.’

Kaira moved in close to Janessa. ‘If this is true, then attending a public execution would be madness, Majesty.’

Janessa nodded, a little relieved that she had a legitimate excuse to not attend.

‘Public or not,’ said Gelredida. ‘Something dark is coming and there’s every chance sorcery will be involved. Something only I will be able to protect you from.’

‘If I may,’ ventured Rogan. ‘If something is coming, perhaps we should try to draw it out — rather than just delay the threat. A public execution it is known you will attend would be the perfect trap. We could make it a smaller affair than normal, set it within an environment we could control. The Magistra here could be in attendance to protect you.’

This was madness. Her life had already been threatened more than once in the palace. To now expose herself and her unborn child to catch some secret killer was the height of folly.

‘Seneschal Rogan,’ she said. ‘I think it’s clear-’

‘No, he might be right,’ said the Magistra. Even though Janessa had become unaccustomed to being interrupted these last weeks, she still thought little of the breach in manners. It was clear this woman was not to be silenced by anyone. ‘A small public venue would provide the perfect opportunity for us to catch the assassin in the act.’

There was silence. Kaira was shaking her head, and it was clear she thought this madness, but something about the Magistra elicited Janessa’s absolute trust.

‘Very well,’ Janessa agreed. ‘We should endeavour to capture this assassin. With members of the Caste attending, I assume there can be little danger?’

She asked that question not just for her. In recent days she had endangered the life of her child, and there was no way she wanted to repeat that. If, as was rumoured, assassins were even now plotting her death she had to face them on her own terms, it was the only way.

Magistra Gelredida cocked her head. ‘There is always danger, Majesty. But your safety will be paramount. Trust me on that.’

Without asking permission, the old woman turned and made her way from the throne room.

As she watched the old woman leave, Janessa wondered just how much trust she had left.