“Don’t be a fool,” he sneered. “And don’t think we’re fools, either! You’re talking to four of the Kingdom’s six ranking dukes! We failed, and of course there’ll be consequences. But not even Sharleyan—not even Cayleb of Charis—is stupid enough to think they could execute all of us without bringing the entire rest of the nobility down around their ears!”
“I beg to differ, Your Grace. I very much doubt the other peers will be particularly fond of self-serving traitors who attempted to provoke outright civil war. You might want to consider that the first and fourth ranking dukes of this Kingdom live in Tayt and Eastshare. Neither of them will raise a hand in your defense. Nor, I venture to suggest, will anyone else, when the full scale of your treason is revealed.”
“Full scale?” Lantern Walk jeered. “You actually think you can convince the House of Lords of all these ridiculous charges? Where’s your proof? And don’t tell me about ‘eyewitness testimony’ from our ‘fellow conspirators’! Everyone knows what can be coerced or tortured out of someone accused of this sort of crime!”
“Unfortunately for you, Your Grace, we don’t need eyewitness testimony.” Stoneheart smiled thinly. “We’ll be presenting quite a lot of it, but we don’t need it, because we have your correspondence—all of it. We have complete copies of your secret files, and we can demonstrate every step of your communications chains. We know which days Father Sedryk carried letters to Lady Swayle, what day one of Rock Coast’s messenger wyverns arrived in your wyvern cot. We have the names of your couriers, copies of the written promises you made to Master Clyntahn and the other guilds, and every bit of Lady Swayle’s correspondence with Colonel Ainsail. We have the serial numbers of the stolen weapons that were diverted to your purposes, and we know when and where you recruited your armsmen in violation of King Sailys’ Edict. Trust me, Your Grace—we have more than enough evidence to prove our case against you five times over.”
Even Lantern Walk had paled at that devastating catalog, but he shook himself and glared at Stoneheart.
“Prove it and be damned!” he snapped. “You may be able to threaten the others into tearful confessions to escape the noose, but Sharleyan knows the entire Kingdom will go up in flame if she executes this many peers!”
“Indeed?” Stoneheart cocked his head, then opened the folder on the table before him and extracted several sheets of paper.
“This is a letter from Her Majesty to her Council. In case you’re interested, the date is February ninth. Allow me to share a short passage from it.
“‘My Lords, it has come to Our attention through the service of Our loyal servants and, particularly, through the offices of Our especial servant, Seijin Merlin, and his companions that certain nobles of Our Realm of Chisholm have once more set their hands to the commission of foulest treason. We append in a separate letter the names of twenty-seven peers, major and minor, who have signified to one another their willingness to raise armed insurrection against Our Crown and Our subjects.’”
An invisible fist punched Rebkah in the belly. If that letter truly had been written in February, and if it really had been accompanied by that list of names, then Sharleyan had known—known for months—exactly what the conspirators were doing … and who they were.
“‘These traitors,’” Stoneheart continued, “‘have expressed to one another their readiness to murder those loyal to Our throne, be they noble or common, and to overthrow the rights and prerogatives Our Crown has most solemnly vouchsafed to Our loyal House of Commons. They have chosen to do this at a time when Our Empire is locked in life or death struggle with the very embodiment of evil, a struggle in which thousands of Our subjects have already died and in which thousands more will die before the victory is won. It was Our hope, when last treason reared its head, that a few salutary executions might teach Our great nobles the lesson of Our unwillingness to tolerate such blatantly criminal acts. Clearly, they have not done so, and it is Our firm purpose to finally and forever break the cycle of rebellion and treason among Our nobility. More, it is Our intention that this time, not only they but all Our subjects, will learn that the law applies to all. That those proven and adjudged guilty will pay the full penalty set forth by law, regardless of state or birth. Their lives and their lands are forfeit by their own actions, and We will have the head of every individual who has personally set his or her hand to this enterprise. Those of noble birth will be first attainted of their treason, and their titles will escheat to the Crown to be held in trust by Us until they be bestowed upon those worthy of such honor. There will be no exceptions, no exemptions, because of high birth. It is Our hope that this time others will learn from example so that We need never again root out rebellion, treason, and betrayal among those who have sworn their most solemn fealty “of heart, will, body, and sword” upon their immortal souls and the Holy Writ.’”
He laid the letter back on the table in a ringing, stunned silence. Then he leaned back and looked into the shocked eyes of a slack-jawed Lantern Walk.
“Is there any part of Her Majesty’s letter you failed to understand, Your Grace?”
* * *
Zhasyn Seafarer, who dared not use his own name or even whisper the words “Rock Coast,” crouched over the small fire, stirring a battered, blackened pot of pork and dried beans. It was a far cry from the palatial life of the Duke of Rock Coast, and his jaw tightened as he thought about the disaster which had engulfed all he’d ever held dear.
He looked up to watch Sedryk Mahrtynsyn tend to their horses, if one could call such miserable beasts horses. Rock Coast would have sent them straight to the knackers if they’d been found in his stables, but he supposed it was better than walking … and certainly no one would ever suspect that the rider of such a wretched excuse for a mount might be a duke of the realm.
Mahrtynsyn no longer wore his cassock, his priest’s cap, or his ring of office. Instead, he was as roughly dressed as Rock Coast himself, and they were free and alive—so far, at least—only because the priest had planned for all eventualities. The sorry horses and the farmer’s clothing had been tucked away in a barn on the outskirts of Rock Coast Keep long before the galleons loaded with Charisian Marines sailed into Rock Coast Sound behind HMS Carmyn.
The priest finished with the horses, settled onto a rock on the far side of the fire, and started getting out their battered Army-style mess kits.
“I should’ve stayed,” Rock Coast growled, glaring down into the pot. “I should’ve taken personal command of the water batteries and damned well shown them how a Duke of Rock Coast dies!”
Mahrtynsyn managed not to roll his eyes, but it was difficult. The duke had been carrying on about what he should have done almost from the moment the sound of the ironclad’s guns had faded in the distance behind them. He’d evinced no desire to die gloriously when Carmyn’s captain called his bluff and opened fire on the waterfront batteries, however. Still, he was a duke, and a Chisholmian duke, at that. That made him a very valuable piece—a duke of the realm driven from heretic Chisholm for his steadfast faith in Mother Church and his noble defiance of the apostate rulers who’d led so many millions of their subjects into the very shadow of Shan-wei’s wings. The Inquisition could do quite a lot with a hero like that … assuming Mahrtynsyn could get him to safety. And since he had to get himself to safety, anyway.…