Cordelia searched for words of comfort and found some— of a sort. "It is not you alone she has sought to slay, but all of us, even Quicksilver and Alain. She has even plotted to kill the King and Queen!"
"Do you not think I know?" Gregory's tone became utterly devoid of emotion. "If I had not known it before, I certainly do now, for I saw it in her mind when, in panic, I sought to discover if she lived. Therefore must I execute her."
"Execute!" Cordelia cried, appalled. Striking the woman down in self-defense she could have understood, but not this, not cold and emotionless killing! "Gregory, you must not!"
"Conspiring to regicide is a capital crime," the lifeless voice answered. "So is attempting to murder the heir apparent. Both are high treason—and I assure you, sister, that I have seen three successful murders in her memory, done for her own personal reasons, not for her Cause. The woman is a murderer, and the law demands that she die."
"Then leave it to the law! Leave it to a judge and a jury!"
"Wherefore?" Finally Gregory turned to her. His tears had dried and his eyes become like chips of ice. "I know her guilt from the evidence of my siblings. If more were needed, she stands convicted by her own memories."
"But. .. but you love her!"
"I do." The words seemed wrenched from his heart; then his tone deadened again. "It is wrong for me to let my own feelings sway me from the path of justice. I know her guilt; I must execute her." He turned back to the sleeping witch. "Best to stop dithering and be done with it. Logic forbids any other course." His gaze sharpened.
With a shock, Cordelia realized he had begun to concentrate on slowing Moraga's breathing. She seized his arm to distract him and cried, "Then a pox upon logic! Emotion, too, is a part of truth!"
"When that emotion is the product of scheming and manipulation?" Gregory shook his head. "There is no truth in that—and when you have done with emotion, what is left but logic?"
"Intuition!" Cordelia cried. "The back of the mind assembling a host of facts to present a thought that will then stand the test of reason—and my intuition tells me that this is wrong, that by slaying her you would do grave harm to yourself!"
Gregory's eyes lit with a furtive gleam of hope. "If to myself, then perhaps to others. I pray you, sweet sister, dredge those facts up from the back of your mind to the front. Tell them me, so that my logic may yield."
Cordelia breathed a massive sigh of relief, then realized that she was trembling. She hid it by clenching her fists and stiffening her body, summoning the self-possession she would need to persuade this gentle brother who had suddenly turned into a remorseless killer. Well, not remorseless, perhaps— indeed, he would feel remorse for the rest of his life. But he would nonetheless kill her.
She took a deep breath and said, "I am appalled that I should have need. You yourself, brother—have you no heart, no conscience that may tell you what mine do?''
"Aye, I have," he returned, "but if reason contradicts the impulse of conscience, I must choose the course of reason. Even now Conscience tells me not to strike a woman in cold blood, but Reason shows me that she merits death and, moreover, will find a way to strike at us again if I let her live."
"But you cannot know that!" Cordelia cried. "She might become sincerely penitent, might truly become your loyal friend!"
Gregory frowned at his big sister. "Do you truly think she does not merit death?"
Then he saw in her eyes that it was not what the woman deserved that concerned Cordelia, but her sudden fear of what her little brother had become. Gregory gazed at her, sadness weighing down his heart. "I am nothing more than I ever have been, sister," he said softly. "It is only this occasion that has made you see it."
The trembling took her again. "The Gregory I have known would always seek the course of mercy! Why death, Gregory? Why not some lesser punishment?" Then a happy thought struck her, and her hand tightened on his arm. "Would it not suffice for her to dwell forever in a prison from which she could not escape?"
"Aye, it would." Gregory gave her a sad smile. "But this is a woman of commanding presence, Cordelia, or she would never have risen to authority among her own band. Come, you know how intelligent and resourceful she is, and how unscrupulous. Do you truly think there is a jailer whom she could not bend to her will or a prison from which she could not escape?"
Cordelia stared at the ground, fists clenched, thinking frantically. Surely the woman was a snake and a backstabber, surely she deserved to suffer, but death? Surely not, surely it would be evil to deprive her of life, especially when she was so young, had so much of life left, so many joys to come....
Inspiration struck, and she smiled at her brother in triumph. "Aye, she could escape from any prison—save one in which she wished to stay."
Gregory stared. Then he frowned and said slowly, "She deserves to suffer for what she has done—but aye, I would be content if you could invent a prison that gave her so much joy that she wished to dwell there forever. How could you craft such a thing?"
"I cannot build a prison, but I can craft witch-moss," Cordelia said. "Let us find a huge mass of that fungus and fashion from it Moraga's ideal man."
Gregory frowned, searching her face, not understanding. Then comprehension dawned and his eyes widened. "Of course! If we search her mind to discover all she wants in a man, then make a construct that embodies those qualities, even all its contradictions and paradoxes, she might become so besotted with him that she would be content to stay with him all her days!"
"Even so," Cordelia said, beaming. "Of course, we would plant it in his mind to take her away to some hidden valley where they might celebrate their love forever..." She stopped at the twist of pain in her brother's face.
It smoothed instantly, though, and he said, "Continue. This scheme might march, and a human life is worth the trouble."
And the pain, Cordelia thought, and her heart flowed with love and pity for the lad. She did continue, though. "We would, of course, enclose that valley with an enchanted, invisible wall and ask the elves to set sentries about it night and day."
"In case she does discover her imprisonment? But if she does, elves or no elves, she will one day escape."
"I doubt that highly," said Cordelia, "but I doubt even more that she would ever realize that wall existed. If the construct were truly her ideal mate, she would never tire of her dalliance with him and would never wish to stray far from his side."
Hope warred with hurt in Gregory's heart. Reason told him that after the novelty of being in love wore off, Finister would take up where she had left off. He warned his sister, "Ideal or not, she would tire of him and manage to escape, though she might come back. What damage could she do while she were loose, Cordelia? Surely she would strive to achieve the anarchists' goals and, even more certainly, her own. She would continue to disturb the peace, seek to assassinate the monarch, slay people whenever they were in her way or could not be controlled, and generally wreak havoc."
Despite his words, though, Cordelia could see that hope drowned out reason, and the pain of seeing Finister with another man would be far less than living with the guilt of executing her. "There might be some way to purge her of those desires."
Hope ebbed; Gregory gave her a sad and weary smile. "How might we do that? We speak of impulses inculcated throughout childhood, perhaps even inborn, probably so deeply ingrained that she is not fully aware of them. How can we purge her of such as that?"
Grasping at straws, Cordelia protested, "There must be some way! If telepaths cannot do it, who could? It only remains to learn more of the workings of the mind!"