Gail Martin - Dark Lady_s Chosen

"Unsuccessful, and unrepentant," Curane spat. "You'll never be half the king your brother was. You're weak like your father, and like Donelan. The divisionists were too stupid to know my men were behind them, using them to weaken Donelan until the Isencroft crown fell. With Jared's son on the Margolan throne, Margolan would have ruled Isencroft and soon, the Winter Kingdoms." He gave a cold smile. "Enjoy your trial. Crevan's betrayed both you and Donelan. He's carried out his orders by now. Your outland queen is dead, and with her, your heir." Although Tris had steeled himself to remain emotionless, Curane seemed to see what he wanted in Tris's eyes. "Let the plague run its course. It will make it all the easier for Trevath to pick up the pieces. My grandson is safe inside Trevath. Your heir is dead. I may not have lived to see my victory, but while you may have won this battle, I have won the war." Every fiber of Tris's being warred with his conscience. I want vengeance. I want to avenge Kiara, the baby, all the soldiers and villagers whose lives have been squandered. I want to make him pay for what he's done. I want to destroy him myself. Goddess help me! And if I do, I become what Lemuel was, a monster worse than anything he destroyed. I make a mockery of everything we've fought for. Forgive me, Kiara. I won't do that, even if I forfeit my right to avenge you.

Tris knew that Soterius and Fallon were watching him closely. He could see in their eyes

that they guessed at his struggle. Forcing down his emotions, Tris turned to the ghosts of

Tarq and the two mages. "Have you anything to say for yourselves?"

Tarq smirked as he glanced from Tris to Soterius. "My only regret is that I didn't have better aim."

The red-haired mage drew himself up to his full height. "I was privileged to serve my lord," he replied, meeting Tris's gaze. "And I served him to the best of my ability." The second mage did not look up, avoiding Tris's eyes with a sullen look. "I have no regrets. I serve the memory of King Jared, Margolan's rightful king."

Tris turned to the jury. "You've heard them speak for themselves. What is your ruling?"

Senne's eyes were hard. "Judgment."

Soterius looked at Tarq and Curane with loathing. "Judgment."

Fallon glanced at the remaining jurors, who slowly nodded. "We rule for judgment."

Tris found that he felt nothing as he looked back to the four condemned spirits. No triumph,

no vindication, not even satisfaction. Just an eerie coldness that seemed to permeate every

corner of his soul. "The jury has spoken. We give you over to the judgment of the Lady. May

you answer to Her for your crimes for eternity."

On the Plains of Spirit, Tris felt a shift that signaled the presence of the Goddess. His soul cringed as he recognized the Aspect that came for the condemned men. It was Nameless, the Formless One, a dark and faceless presence. Tris had no idea how much the living audience could sense, but the spirits in the audience fled before the Formless One as her bleak aura filled

the space. Tris held his ground, although everything in him wanted to flee. Nameless passed by him like a frigid wind, covering the four cringing spirits with her shroud-like wings. Tris could hear the screams of their spirits as Nameless drew them into the Void. Dirmed's spirit fell to his knees, sobbing and rocking. "You're not real," he murmured over and over, until the darkness that was Nameless began to draw off strips of soul that unwound like ghostly entrails until there was nothing left.

Cadoc screamed and tried to flee, but Tris's power held him in his place. Frozen with fear, the red-haired mage began to chant, calling on his magic and the names of the ancient gods to save him. Nameless's shadow passed through his ghost like obsidian slivers as he screamed and begged for mercy, his cries echoing until, like the tattered bits of his soul, his voice faded to nothing.

Tarq shrank back against the warding, screaming in terror. The darkness pulled at him from all directions, shredding his form as if he were being flayed, drawn and quartered. He shrieked until the tendrils of darkness had pulled his form limb from limb, leaving it until last to smash in his head as the whips of his soul dissipated.

Curane stood rigidly, his face betraying no emotion. He did not try to run, and he did not grovel. Eyes clear, chin lifted, Curane stared into the darkness, resolute. Only when the night swallowed him completely did a strangled scream escape the enveloping shadow. Abruptly, there was silence. Tris felt himself shaking as he carefully lowered the wardings. From the ashen faces and terrified looks of the jury and audience, he knew that, even though they lacked his power as a Summoner, they had sensed something of Nameless's terrible presence.

"Believe that you are fully avenged," Tris said quietly. He felt utterly spent, but he stayed on his feet and was steady enough to refuse Esme's help. Fallon, Esme and Soterius walked back with him to his tent. His control lasted until they were safely inside. Coalan moved silently to bring them each a warm mug of brandy. Tris sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands.

"How could I have been so blind? Curane's had a man at the very heart of things all this time. Crevan was Curane's man, and I left Kiara and the baby defenseless." The loss he felt was overwhelming, making it difficult to breathe.

"We're a long way from Shekerishet," Soterius said quietly. "Curane has no way to know that Crevan was successful. He knows even less what's going on in Isencroft. That's cause for hope."

Tris said nothing. Fallon laid a hand on his shoulder, and Tris felt her magic join with his, helping to bear the burden of his grief. Esme knelt next to him. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure you're as fully healed as possible so you can ride with the first light," she said quietly. "There's nothing left to do here that requires the king's presence. After Curane's confession, the men know what may be at stake at Shekerishet. No one will begrudge you your leave."

"Thank you," Tris said raggedly. He drew his sleeve across his eyes. "It's hardly the homecoming I envisioned." He dared not let himself think about what lay ahead if Curane was right. Donelan would be within his rights to declare war-assuming he's held his throne against the divisionists. Both our kingdoms will be destroyed if it comes to that. Margolan will be without a legitimate heir. And I-He could not bring himself to finish the sentence. Without Kiara, he would be forced into a political alliance just to secure the succession. That thought chilled him more than any fear for his own safety. I will have lost everything.

The steady pounding of hammers echoed within Carroway's tower cell. Below in the bailey, workmen built a gallows within sight of his window. After the first night, the mob had subsided, making him apprehensive about Guarov's next move. He did not have long to wait. Before the noon bells rang, the door to his cell opened. Harrtuck entered first, with a scowl that made his mood plain. Behind him was Lord Guarov. "M'lord," Carroway said cautiously. He glanced to Harrtuck for some kind of signal, but Harrtuck looked away.

"How do you like my new construction?" Guarov asked, watching Carroway closely. Carroway did his best to give away nothing in his expression. "It looks to be sturdy, m'lord." Guarov looked around. "I guess you're entitled to this chamber, as your family was noble, but if it were up to me, I'd have you in shackles in the lower level." "It isn't," Harrtuck growled.

Guarov ignored Harrtuck. "The queen has not yet awakened. As it stands, your treachery is a hanging offense. But if she and the heir die, the Council of Nobles will have no choice but to charge you with treason, conspiracy against the king and regicide." Guarov's dark eyes narrowed, and the muscles of his jaw tightened. "The penalty for which is to be hanged, drawn and quartered."