The Iyom's father also fell, his body trembling as fear began to settle; there was no coming back from this."Your Majesty—mercy—I was only—"
"Mercy?"The Igwe's voice snapped."You sold our children to barbarians to be worked to death in foreign lands, to be used in ways I will not name in this chamber.And you ask for mercy?"
He looked at the Valthorne delegation.Though Ragnar had not spoken a word, he had witnessed such a shameful thing.
"According to our laws," the Igwe began with a heavy heart.If not for the foreigners watching, he might have been more lenient, but he had to save face somehow."He will be sentenced to—"
"My Lord!"A woman rushed in, falling to the floor at the stairs to the throne.The elders exchange glances, muttering displeasures.Women were not allowed to sit in the council unless called.
The Igwe stared down at his wife; she was wearing a veil, as was proper, but it still displeased him greatly to see her.
The Iyom had come in without ceremony, without permission, and without the careful orchestration that usually preceded her appearances before court.She was still dressed for the evening—her robes immaculate, her veil perfectly placed—but her hands shook where they pressed against the floor, and that was the tell.The Iyom's hands never shook.
"My Lord."Her voice settled into precisely the register that had always worked on him.“My Lord, I beg you to hear me."
The chamber was very quiet.
"This man—" she lifted her head just enough to be heard clearly—"has been a servant of this house for thirty years.He has given his life to the Borjigin.Because of him you have a son."Her voice caught, perfectly timed."Somadina will one day sit on your throne and carry your name into history.Would you take his grandfather from him?Would you make him watch his family destroyed before his very eyes?"
The Iyom's father had not moved from his knees.He was watching his daughter the way a drowning man watched a dangling piece of rope.
The Igwe's expression shifted, softening around the eyes; he was struggling to separate the woman from the crime.His fingers had loosened on the armrest.
The Elder of Justice saw it.His jaw tightened.
A single breath of laughter came from the guest section.Laughter of grim amusement, loud enough that it sent a chill down everyone’s spine.
Every head turned.
Ragnar had not moved from his seat.His posture was unchanged, almost indolent, with knuckles holding up his head.But his eyes held an expression that made the nearest nobles shift instinctively away from him.
"Forgive me."He did not sound sorry."I was simply thinking if a woman's tears were sufficient to erase the sale of one’s own blood."He paused, as though genuinely considering the scales."What an efficient justice system."
The Igwe's hand retightened on the armrest.
He looked at his wife, still on the floor.He looked at the Elder of Justice, standing with a document in each hand.He looked at the nobles, the witnesses, and the guards at the door.
"Rise," the Igwe said to the Iyom.His voice had changed.The softness was gone.
She looked up at him, her legs weakening as she saw his face.For one, his eyes looked past her, not at her.
She had lost.
"The Great Khan is right; the evidence is clear."The Igwe straightened on his throne."By the law of the Borjigin, by Ani who forbade the selling of our blood, I sentence Tobechukwu Obiechina to death.To be carried out at dawn."
The Iyom's composure shattered.
She wailed, crawling to the throne.She grabbed the Igwe's robes as the guards moved towards her father."No—no, please, he is the only father I have, please, my Lord—"
The guards pulled her father upright.He didn't fight them.He knew his life would end by dawn.
And then the doors burst open.
A heaving guard, clearly having run from somewhere, stumbled into the chamber and looked around at the chaos.
The Igwe's head turned."What is it?"
The guard tried to speak but needed to catch his breath.
