The Lost War by Karl Gallagher (novel24 .txt) 📗

the helms. A few fled in shame. Others burst into apologies or explanations for their recent actions. Sharpquill said only, “That explains the confusion I’ve been feeling.”

The angriest was Lady Stitches, Queen Camellia’s chief lady-in-waiting. After taking off the helm she shouted into Camellia’s face, “You did that to me? After all I’ve done for you, all the sacrifices I’ve made, you made me a puppet? How could you?”

“Please. You’re no better than the others,” said Camellia. She turned her back.

Lady Stitches’ belt held everything needed to swiftly repair damaged garb. The scissors were sharp and needle-pointed. Stitches shoved them into Camellia’s neck. The queen collapsed soundlessly.

Guards knocked Stitches to the ground. She didn’t resist.

“Chiurgeon!” called Sharpquill. Panicked courtiers flocked around the queen’s body.

“I’m here, dammit. Let me through!”

“Make way for Lady Burnout,” ordered the Autocrat.

The chiurgeon’s examination was brief. “Went in between the second and third cervical vertebrae. Not a damn thing I could do for her, even if we were in my ER.” She looked up to see Estoc standing over her. “I’m sorry.”

She backed away to let the king embrace his wife’s body.

***

“All rise for His Majesty King Estoc.” The herald had managed to not say “Their Majesties” this time. The king sat in his throne, nervously glancing at the empty one still next to his. He waved everyone to their seats.

“Does Your Majesty wish to—”

“Just get on with it.”

The herald turned toward the populace. “Let the prisoner be brought forth!”

Four guards came in surrounding Lady Stitches.

Autocrat Sharpquill stepped forward. “Lady Stitches, you are charged with the intentional murder of Queen Camellia. How do you plead?”

The accused flashed a smile across the populace. “I will not plead with you. You are no judge, no prosecutor. There’s no police here. None of you have any right to put me on trial. As for my actions, I acted to defend myself from an attack worse than murder. I protected all of you as well. You should be thanking me, not imprisoning me.” She raised her chin and stared directly at the Autocrat as she finished her speech.

People in the crowd murmured to each other as he weighed his answer. “I have no nation’s laws to enforce. I don’t know how to run a criminal trial. I don’t know how dangerous Queen Camellia was. I don’t know how self-defense counts with magic. I don’t know where justice lies in this case.” He paused. The nobles and populace sat silently.

“You have certainly proved yourself unworthy of the titles you hold. Therefore you are stripped of your court barony, your grant of arms, and your award of arms.” He waved to the guards surrounding her. One pulled the circlet off her head, the other cut the cord of an elaborate medallion dangling from her neck.

Lady Stitches smirked victoriously. “So you don’t dare give me any real punishment. You admit I was right.”

Master Sharpquill’s face went red. “I do know that I’m tired of listening to your self-serving rationalizations.”

He took three steps toward Stitches. “I sentence you to have your tongue cut out!”

A gasp went through the crowd. Stitches backed away, pressing her body against the guards behind her. King Estoc sat bolt upright on his throne. King Ironhelm leaned toward his queen as she whispered in his ear.

The guard who’d cut off the medallion let it fall to the grass. He swept the dagger he’d cut it with behind him to hide it, then tried to shove it back in the sheath, fumbling and letting it fall. He set his foot over it.

The Autocrat continued, “Sentence suspended on good behavior. If you hurt anyone, steal anything, say anything that pisses me off, then—” His hand reached for her face. The thumb and index finger snapped shut before her mouth.

Stitches cringed, both hands over her mouth.

Autocrat Sharpquill turned and walked back to the thrones. Over his shoulder he said, “The prisoner is dismissed.”

The guards stepped back. Stitches fled. The populace parted before her. She disappeared behind a tent.

Sharpquill looked at the herald and snapped his fingers. The functionary cried, “Are there any with business before this court?” A flyer went “cough-cough-cough” in a tree.

The herald turned toward the Autocrat. “Um, does he . . .”

Master Sharpquill glanced at King Estoc.

The shock on the king’s face had been replaced with fury.

“His Majesty has nothing to say.”

The herald bellowed, “This court is closed. All subjects are free to go about their business.” The populace fled. Estoc kept glaring at the Autocrat. The subject glared in return. Ironhelm grabbed Estoc’s shoulder and whispered in his ear. They left, surrounded by courtiers.

Sharpquill looked around. Only the minions charged with cleaning up were left. “Don’t let me get in your way, lads.” They watched silently as he walked away.

***

King Ironhelm steered Estoc toward the ‘visiting royals’ pavilion. The younger man was in too much shock to resist. Ironhelm just had to overcome his inertia.

Queen Dahlia took Estoc’s other arm. She gently said, “Wait a moment, Your Majesty. Then we can talk.”

Lady Cinnamon, their chief lady in waiting, held the tent flap open for them. As the kings and queen went in Ironhelm looked over his shoulder at Lord Joyeuse. “See to it we’re not disturbed.”

“Aye, sire,” answered the squire. He blocked the trailing courtiers from following.

Estoc fell into the folding chair he was steered to. His mouth worked but he still couldn’t talk.

Lady Cinnamon pointed at a drawer as she glanced at the queen. Dahlia nodded to her lady in waiting. Cinnamon took out a quarter-full bottle of rum, poured a shot, and brought it to Estoc.

The young king swallowed half, coughed, and choked down the rest. “God. Did you see that? Did that really happen?”

Ironhelm said, “Sharpquill ordered Stitches’ tongue cut out. He’s