The room was tense, everyone within stretched nearly to
the point of breaking. Seven exceptionally well dressed women and two men sat
around the large, ornate wooden table in the centre of the room and one more
man stood at the end closest to the door. The nine leaders of the New World and
Pret Deavos, Captain of the Guard to the Central Dominion. At that moment, the
grey-haired Lady Reyleere of the Far South had her jaw set resolutely against
the verbal onslaught of Pret’s own employer, Lady Ashen.
“I’m not entirely aware of how
you can be surprised, Lady Reyleere.” Lady Ashen was a heavyset woman whose
chin shook when she pounded the table with her fist. “It is no secret that you
have long since sought a position in the Central Dominion.”
“I do not deny that; the Far
South is a small territory, and I have many daughters who are more than capable
of ruling it. But to accuse me of assassination?” Lady Reyleere made a cutting
motion with her frail hands. “You go too far.”
Lady Cail of the Florant
rested her slender chin on her delicate fingers. “Pardon, Lady Reyleere, but I
believe Lady Ashen only accused you of hiring
an assassin, not of performing the act yourself. I doubt any of us assembled
believe that you would have the strength for such a task—physical or mental.”
“I am more than strong enough
to maintain control of my dominion, something not all of us can claim.” Lady
Reyleere retorted.
Lady Cail’s face flushed a
bright red, but before she could defend herself Lord Kophan spoke up. “Enough
with this. We are here to discuss justice and the future of the New World, not
fling accusations as children do snowballs.”
The eight other leaders had
the sense to look suitably abashed. Lord Kophan may have been a man, but he had
ruled the Darklands for thirty years, the closest dominion to the Rift. Anyone
who had survived such a time in close proximity to the Taint deserved respect.
“The future indeed.” Lady
Ashen spoke first, as was her right as Host of the assembly. “I do not need to
tell you all the importance of the Duchess in the Central Dominion. The loss of
her cunning and intellect will be sorely felt in the coming years. She was a
wise adviser and a loyal friend, and I intend to find whoever hired her
assassin and ensure they face justice.”
“Do you expect our help?” Lady
Tillen of the Plains asked, her lower jaw jutting forward arrogantly. “After
accusing us of employing the assassin ourselves? You have always tested the
line of respect, Lady Ashen, but this time you go too far.”
“We are only just recovering
from the Fracture, Ladies and Lord.” Lord Weidan simpered. “We are close to
reuniting the dominions. We of the Dominions must work together; let us not
devolve into opposing territories again. Perhaps we should ask the man who
chose not to stop the assassin when he had the chance?”
Lady Reyleere barked a laugh.
“A man cautioning against conflict? I never thought I would see the day. Still,
you raise a fine point.” She turned to Pret. “Tell us again, Captain. Why did
you not apprehend the assassin?”
Pret Deavos ground his teeth.
The implication was unfair, but he could not deny the request of a Lady. “The
assassin had Tainted my second, Marc. I was forced to decide between preventing
a potential outbreak and—”
“And your duty to protect the
Duchess?” Lady Tillen interrupted.
Silently seething, Pret was
forced to nod in agreement.
“It seems to me, Lady Ashen,
that your problem may lie closer to your heart than you think.” Lady Reyleere
mused. “And yet you accuse us instead. Perhaps Captain Deavos bears closer
inspection?”
“The Captain has served me
faithfully for years!” Lady Ashen growled. “I will not have you deflecting the
matter.”
“If you cannot bear to
consider that your own people could be at fault, how can you trust any of us?”
Lord Kophan asked. “Any information we give you could simply be covering our
tracks.”
“If you wish for my dominion’s
aid, you must first send your Captain away for good.” Lady Tillen demanded.
“You cannot expect me to do
this!” Lady Ashen protested.
“My terms are the same.” Lady Cail nodded,
followed by a general murmur of agreement from around the table. Pret felt
sweat bead on the back of his neck.
Lady Ashen shook her head
vigorously. “I refuse. He has done nothing to deserve this.”
“Then I must retract my
dominion from the treaty.” Lady Wicten spoke up.
Lord Weidan let out a cry.
“Lady Wicten, you cannot! The New World cannot sustain itself unless we all
reunite.”
“I second Lady Wicten’s
sentiment.” The corners of Lady Reyleere’s mouth turned up ever so slightly.
“Either the Captain goes, or I do.”
“I—I can’t…” Lady Ashen had turned
the colour of her namesake, showing weakness for the first time that night.
“Then I suppose the treaty is
off.” Lady Cail drummed her delicate fingers on the table. “And let it be known
that it was Lady Ashen who prevented We of the Dominions from getting back
together.”
“I will send him away!” Lady
Ashen burst out. “He will be sent from the Central Dominion for the duration of
the investigation, and should he be found at fault he will be formally
discharged from service.”
A pregnant silence followed,
finally broken by Lady Tillen. “I find this acceptable. Talk to your people,
have them talk to my people, and we shall arrange suitable terms.”
Lord Wicten’s sigh of relief
was barely audible under the assorted agreements of the remaining Ladies. Pret
released a breath he could not remember holding, feeling his undershirt grip
his back, now slick with sweat.
The assembly ended shortly
thereafter, leaving the Lady of the Central Dominion alone in the room with her
Captain of the Guard.
“I am sorry, Captain.” Lady
Ashen sighed.”
“I am sworn to serve you,
Lady, and you are sworn to serve the people. Do no apologise for doing that
which is best for the New World.”
“You have a house in the
Florant, I believe?” Lady Ashen enquired.
Pret nodded. “I can make my
own way there, Lady, you need not trouble yourself.”
“Thank you, Captain. I will
send you the rest of the details after Lady Tillen and I have negotiated them.”
Pret bowed, recognising the
dismissal. His walk back to his quarters was filled not with thoughts of the
Florant, however, but the elusive assassin, the Lady in gold.
