Already the Bertillian family banners lay in shreds on the floor. Fires roared in all eight of the hall's hearths. Thin-blooded lowlanders never could tolerate cold. Winter hadn't yet arrived, with its ice and snow, months spent cut off from the rest of the world, except via portals, for those powerful enough to manage.
Someone had cut off those escape routes.
“Gustaf Bertillian”—King Umbri omitted the title of “king”— “you are charged with treason, with plotting against your rightful ruler, among many other crimes. What say you for yourself?”
King Gustaf remained silent. No use denying common knowledge. He'd conspired to depose Umbri and rule Tirra Neu himself, killing anyone standing in the way. Wicked old goat.
“You say nothing. What of your children?” King Umbri waved his hand in the direction of the three young Bertillians. “Will you not speak on their behalf?”
Gustaf, like Nyanda herself, considered offspring a means to an end, a legacy. Would he cooperate with his conqueror to spare their lives or remain selfish to the end? If so, the Bertillian line ended here.
A pity. The Bertillian children were all so pretty. Gustaf would have soon bartered them off to gain allies, with Nyanda steering him toward what worked best for her. The crown-wearing walking dung heap refused to share his kingdom? There were other ways to gain power than become the arm ornament of Gustaf the Ill-mannered.
She searched the hall, sensing none of her followers. Of course not. They'd have been caught and stripped of their magic by now. Or escaped to save themselves. Of little matter. The faithful ranged throughout Tirra Neu, able practitioners of magic who recognized her strength.
They'd name her a martyr after this day.
King Umbri spoke again, booming voice filling the hall. “If you will not speak for your children, then I will. Your father, and your father's father, served Tirra Neu well, loyal to their responsibilities. In repayment for their lives, lost in defense of Tirra Neu, the name Bertillian will not be wiped from the realm.
“Your heir, Prince Radre, will rule in your stead, provided with my chosen counselors. Should he follow your treasonous example, he'll share your fate. However, if he restores honor to the Bertillian name, long may he rule.”
Ah, the prince got to live. Nyanda could work with the high king's generosity. With any luck, he'd unknowingly name some of Nyanda's devotees to the council.
King Umbri shifted his gaze from the oldest son to Princess Saris. “Your daughter is near the age for finding a bondmate, is she not? Therefore, as insurance against Prince Radre choosing the wrong path, Princess Saris will accompany me to Dhugach, where her bonding will be arranged.”
Prince Radre shot to his feet—the young idiot. “No. My sister is not a spoil of war, nor will you shame her.” No doubt Radre made plans for the girl to create an alliance of his own.
Standing near the throne, Prince Broen remained impassive. He briefly dropped his guard, studying the princess with a mixture of pity and admiration, before staring out at nothing again.
Interesting. The red-haired prince and white-haired princess? An intriguing match. Fire and ice.
King Umbri twisted his mouth, annoyance clear in the sidewise sweep of his eyes. “I have no desire to shame your sister.”
Saris stood, unbidden. “Your Majesty. I will gladly do your bidding, but please allow my younger brother to accompany me. Our mother died during his birth. He looks to me for guidance.”
King Umbri rubbed his chin, gaze riveted to the princess, who somehow managed not to flinch, though she bodily shielded her little brother from sight. Finally, Umbri spoke. “The princess will bring her ladies with her, a bit of home, and protection of her honor.” He shifted his gaze to the youngest child—or what he could see around Saris’s skirts.
The spare heir.
The child held tighter to Princess Saris. King Umbri said, voice softer, kinder than when he'd spoken to Prince Radre, “Prince Wycke. You are too young to understand today's proceedings and have my sympathies. You, too, shall be my ward and come with your sister to my court.”
He gave Prince Radre a scathing glower. “Should you prove an unsuitable ruler, your brother will be trained to replace you. Prove yourself suitable.”
At last, the king of all Tirra Neu turned to the side, gaze meeting Nyanda's. In better days, she'd have sucked his soul out through his eyes. Once before, she'd passed up the chance and learned from her mistake. Instead, she let her hatred seethe. Let him know the taste of her disdain.
“Lady Nyanda Gimitri, Sorceress of Myrgren. You stand accused of murder, necromancy, and willfully aiding a traitor. You've also used the powers given to you, not for the benefit of Tirra Neu’s citizens, but for personal gain.”
Necromancy, bah! Those mages weren't dead when she took their souls to add their magic to her own.
The arrogant high king waved a hand in her direction. “You do not need to plead. Your treachery is well known. For your crimes, you will forfeit your powers.” King Umbri murmured to one of his advisors. A death decree. Those who practiced sorcery could no more live without magic than air.
Nyanda fought a smile. If only the king knew the full extent of her crimes.
The guard on the left of the throne bent toward King Umbri’s ear, words too low for Nyanda to hear. The king's grave expression tightened; his full lips pulled into a frown. He nodded. “I understand you have a child, Lady Gimitri. Where is your son?”
Princess Saris spoke up. “He… he's dead, Your Majesty. Lady Gimitri killed him herself to keep him from being captured and put to death.” She stared down at the stone floor as she spoke.
Why the cunning little liar. She might make a suitable queen someday, after all. Nyanda hadn't even used the compulsion spell.
