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“They’ll think I intend to give him claim on Eyne,” she said coldly. “He will think he’s being rewarded.”
“If you send him away but not me, he’ll go home to Oissos, and he’ll probably be as upset and angry to be sent away as I would be. His family is wealthy—they might be offended to be snubbed, and if they have connections . . . it could damage our relationship with Oissos. You . . .” He winced. “You have to keep both of us near you.”
“I don’t want to see either of your faces right now,” she spat. “Men! Fools and idiots!”
“I’m sorry.”
“And what’syourpunishment?”
“I’ll pay for all the funerals. I’ll send the consolement purses, both to the fallen guard and to the injured ones. I’ll . . . apologize to Siranos.”
“And that’s supposed to convince me that you’ve learned anything?” she said. “What about your punishment for mistrusting me, for keeping things from me, for yourownpart in weakening the family?”
He cringed. “Is thereanypunishment that could fit those crimes without injuring us further?”
They were both silent for a long time. He dropped his eyes to the floor; he could almost feel her anger, barely banked, still burning at the edges of him. At length, she stalked over to the gold-inlaid divan and sat. “Come here.” She gestured to the floor at her feet. “There is another matter.”
He obeyed, sitting near her. Another time, she would have given him one of the cushions, and he might have lounged comfortably against the side of the throne. Another time, she might have invited him to sit beside her. A knot of dread twisted through his already soured stomach. “What other matter?”
“Tadek.”
His blood went cold. “You were right. Anything he did was under my orders,” he blurted. “I take responsibility for that too.”
“Did you tell him to meddle with the kahyalar? Did you tell him to raise support for you?”
“No. No, of course not, he—he was just overenthusiastic. I wasn’t clear about what I was asking of him, and . . . It’s my fault. It is.” When someone pledged you their service, when they showed that they really were quite serious about their willingness to lay their life down for yours, that required a certain amount of care in return. Tadek had tried, genuinely, to protect him. Kadou was bound by oath and by honor to do the same. “What’s going to happen to him?”
“Court-martial,” Zeliha said. All the fiery anger had run out of her voice—now she just sounded tired. “There will have to be an inquest.”
Kadou’s breath caught.
“There’s not much of a choice,” she continued. “Depending on the outcome . . . The best he can hope for, the absolute,absolutebest, is a dismissal without dishonor. More likely,withdishonor. Even more likely is imprisonment—he’s been a kahya of the core-guard. He has certainly been privy to secrets we wouldn’t want wandering out in the general population. And at worst? If things go poorly and he speaks unwisely, or if we uncover anything uglier . . . execution.”
Kadou closed his eyes. “Majesty. Sister. Please, I’ll take any punishment you give me, and I’ll do it gracefully and honorably, but . . .” He swallowed, and shifted onto his knees facing Zeliha and into more formal speech. He bent to press his forehead to the floor in abject supplication, as he had to the goddess in her temple the night Eyne was born. “Please, Majesty, please allow me to beg mercy on his behalf. He was acting under my command, with only the information I gave him, and I believe with all my heart that he thought he was acting in accordance with the oaths he swore as a kahya.”
“Kadou,” Zeliha said, pained and regretful as if she were about to explain to him that his request was impossible.
“Majesty,” he choked. Now he had to frame it thus: as a boon he begged of hissovereignrather than his sister. “Please.”
“Sit up, Your Highness,” she said softly, and with a pang in his heart, he knew she understood. He obeyed, keeping his eyes downcast. His hands trembled and he clenched them on his knees.
“Majesty, there is precedent,” he said, speaking quickly. “In the hundred and seventeenth year of the Ahak dynasty, one of the provincial governors—” His voice cracked and he almost expected her to interrupt, to be dry at him for citing their tutors’ lessons at her, but she said nothing, only let him collect himself and speak again: “One of the provincial governors heard that several of his subordinates had plotted to steal grain from the sultan’s tax caravan, but that they had been apprehended. He begged the sultan to lay their lives in his hands. Sultan Tamas granted his request, and the criminals were moved to reform themselves and served faithfully for many years after . . .” He trailed off.
She didn’t say anything for a long time. “You would have me lay Tadek’s life in your hands?”
“He doesn’t deserve to die for this, Your Majesty. The responsibility is mine,” he whispered. “Please.”
“If I grant your request, he will be dismissed from the kahyalar corps. He will be yours entirely, your sworn armsman. He will be paid, clothed, boarded, and fed from your household’s coffers, and he will enjoy none of the benefits of his former station.”
“Understood,” Kadou said quietly. He’d asked for Tadek’s life laid in his hands—he hadn’t expected it to be weightless.
“Kadou,” Zeliha said again, in an entirely different tone. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“He was a fool. He will continue being a fool.”
“I can’t abandon him,” he said more firmly. “I won’t. If things had been different, then we’d be calling him a hero now.”
