BRAITH
Braith stood at the end of a long row of cells. They had been emptied, most of them, but one remained occupied. The one nearest the door. The most torturous location—so close to freedom one might smell it, yet its prisoner remained just as caged as the others.
The queen nodded to Cameria beside her. “Give me a few moments, please, Cameria.”
Cameria curtsied. “As you wish, Your Majesty,” she said, then she slipped from the dark hallway.
Braith held a single candle close. It flickered at Cameria’s departure, threatening to blow out.
Braith shielded the flame and stepped forward. “Dray?”
The straw lining the floor of the cell stirred. “Don’t come too close.” His voice, but hoarser than it used to be.
Braith took another step forward. “Why not?”
“Because I look dreadful. I can’t bear you seeing me like this.”
“Honestly, Dray. Are you so vain?”
“I always have been. I don’t know why you should be surprised. But do you blame me for feeling out of sorts in here?” He stepped into Braith’s candlelight.
Braith gasped. Dray was cleaner than she’d expected. But ever so thin. Gaunt.
“Are they not feeding you?” she asked. “I have ordered humane treatment for all prisoners.”
“They are. They bring me soap to wash with and a cloth to clean my teeth. Your orders have been observed.” Dray leaned his head against the bars. “Why have you come, Braith?”
Braith did not answer. She regarded him through his cell bars.
“Braith?”
But she couldn’t seem to find the words. She looked down at the flickering flame. “I needed to see . . .”
“Me?” Dray frowned quizzically.
“I needed to see how you were. What you were like. When we last spoke—”
“I spilled my heart to you, and you told me I didn’t have one.”
Braith eyed him warily. “I think I told you it was made of stone, actually.”
“Close enough.”
“And?” Braith stepped closer so that the light might spill over Dray’s face. “I came to see what lives in your eyes now. Are you still made of stone? Has your time here changed you? Are you the same man who committed treason and regicide and used my father, a man of weak will and abominable character? Are you the same man who tried to steal me and the throne of Tir? Or are you someone else?”
Dray was quiet for a moment. “You came to see if I found that redemption we spoke of.” He smiled a little. “They are calling for my trial at last.”
“Yes.”
“And duty will demand you execute me.”
Braith’s tone sharpened. “I did not say that.”
“No, you did not. But do you think you’ll have a choice?”
“I don’t know.”
Dray nodded to the jewel-studded circle of gold once worn by Queen Frenhin, now resting atop Braith’s head. “That crown weighs on you. I’m not sure it suits.”
“The crown or the title?” Braith asked.
“Either.”
“Nor I.” Braith took another step toward Dray so that they were inches apart. “Dray, your crimes must be examined in the full light of the law.”
“Harsh light, that.”
“Yes. And yet we are all bound to it. Especially me.”
“Because you must prove to everyone—the peasantry, your council, the nobles, and most of all yourself—that you are not your father.”
Braith lowered her head again. “Perhaps. But also because it is right.”
Dray’s voice lost its sarcasm. “Release yourself from guilt, Braith. It is not because of your deeds that I find myself in this cell. Those crimes were mine, and I’m ready to answer for them. My soul is mine to trouble over.”
Braith’s eyes welled. “Yes.”
“Do what you must to secure your position, Braith.”
Braith’s hands trembled. “Very well, Dray.”
Then she slipped away from the bars. She hurried from the dungeon, and the flame of her candle snuffed to smoke.
Dray was right, of course. She must bring him to trial, and surely he would die for his crimes, as the law demanded. But his words haunted her. For they were the words of a man whose heart had perhaps changed—a man who cared for her peace of mind. A man who spared a second thought for his own soul.
And now she must sentence him to die.