The Tyrant's Law(135)

“Lord Ternigan? Lord Mecilli? Will you please stand here before me?”

Mecilli stepped forward, and then a heartbeat later, Ternigan followed his lead. Geder nodded and drew the letters from his wallet. Mecilli looked at the pages with curiosity, but Ternigan blanched.

“These little missives,” Geder said, “came into my possession. They purport to be correspondence between the two of you. Mecilli, take this.”

Mecilli accepted the page and read it slowly. After a few moments, his eyebrows rose and his face grew pale and waxen. Behind him, near the farther wall of the tent, Basrahip made his way through the press of men to take a position where Geder could see him.

“Lord Mecilli?” Geder said, letting the syllables roll gently through his mouth, willing himself back to the feelings of anger and righteousness that he’d let slip. “Do you recognize this letter?”

“No, Lord Regent. I have never seen this before.”

The tent was silent for a long moment, and then, to Geder’s surprise and horror, Basrahip nodded. Mecilli was speaking the truth.

“You didn’t write this?”

“No.”

Geder felt a lump growing in his throat. He’d pulled them halfway across the country for almost weeks for nothing. It had been a hoax. They would all go back to Antea with stories of how someone had made a joke of Geder Palliako.

“Did you write something similar to it?”

“No.”

“Are you part of a conspiracy against me?”

“I am not.”

With every reply, Mecilli’s voice grew calmer, firmer, and more certain. And at the tent’s rear wall, Basrahip certified each of them true. The goddess held her hand over Mecilli’s head and exonerated him. The press of bodies and the thickness of twice-breathed air called forth sweat and a lightheadedness that felt like being sick. He’d been tricked. He’d been made fun of. All of the signs and signals between the men had been figments of his fevered imagination. Somewhere, the true author of the letters was laughing.

With a sense of dread, he held out the letter that pretended to come from Ternigan.

“Lord Ternigan, did you write this letter?”

“No, Lord Regent,” Ternigan said, his voice calm and vaguely pitying.

Basrahip shook his head. No. That was not true. Geder took in a deep breath of air and let it out slowly. The anger felt like relief. Like being saved.

“Say that again,” Geder said. “Tell me that you didn’t write that letter.”

Ternigan’s eyes fluttered and he glanced at Mecilli.

“I misspoke, Lord Regent. I did write that letter, but not for the reasons it might seem. My intention was to discover whether any such conspiracy actually existed.”

Basrahip scowled, and Geder understood the problem.

“One question at time, Lord Marshal. Did you write this letter?”

“I did.”

“Did you write it in hopes of taking the regency for yourself.”

“No,” Ternigan said. “Never that.”

The faintest ghost of a smile touched the corners of Basrahip’s mouth. He shook his head. No, that was not true. Geder’s anger came back in its full glory now. He smiled.

“Lord Ternigan? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No.”

“Do you think you can lie to me?”

“I would never lie to you,” Ternigan said, and tried to take a step back, but Daskellin and one of the guardsmen were already in the space. Ternigan turned, looking for a path through the men to the door. Or a wall that could be pushed through. Escape.

“Have you called me a buffoon, my lord?”

“No!” Ternigan cried, but it was beyond all doubt. Geder spat on Ternigan’s feet. Here was the great Lord Ternigan, war hero of Antea, cowering like a child before his angry father. Here was the man who’d thought Geder was laughable and small and stupid enough that he could wrest the throne from him. That the instigator had falsely claimed to be Mecilli didn’t signify. Geder knew the truth of the betrayal from Ternigan’s own living voice. That was more than enough.

“Lord Ternigan,” Geder said. “I am removing you from your position as Lord Marshal of Antea.”

“Y-yes, my lord. As you wish it.”

“Yes,” Geder said. “As I wish it. Lord Daskellin? Are you involved in a conspiracy against me?”

“No, my lord.” It was true.

“My lord Flor? Are you?”

“No.” True.

“Lord Emming? Are you involved in a conspiracy against me?”

“I am not.” True.

Geder cracked his knuckles.

“My lords, I hereby name Lord Ternigan traitor against the Severed Throne and against my person as Lord Regent.”