In the Wake of the Ruined (The Siren Mage, #2)(71)
She glared at me with the same ire and judgment she’d offered me when we’d been in that foul pool chamber.
What would you do to keep your power? What would you do, Theodore Ariti, the good and noble God-king of Varya?
I almost answered her now, as my anger flickered through me like flames. I knew with a certainty that I would do all manner of awful things to keep my crown and the power it afforded me. Keeping it was the only way I could keep Imogen and Varya safe against men like Eftan.
It was then that Eftan appeared from the passageway beside my stateroom.
He was flanked by two armored soldiers who supported his wobbling gait with a firm grip on each arm. He looked a decade older than when I’d last seen him, his full cheeks gaunt and deeply lined. They moved slowly across the deck, and as they approached Imogen, Eftan pulled awkwardly on the soldiers’ hold. He could hardly stand unassisted, but he managed to throw an annihilating sneer at her before spitting on the deck at her feet.
Imogen didn’t flinch. My hand twitched for a sword, but the soldiers jerked him toward me before I had a chance to find one.
Eftan inclined his chin, that previous sneer wiped clean of his haggard face.
“Chancellor.” I eyed him with a hard look. “You’ve confessed to your crimes.”
“I have.” Eftan’s normally robust voice was threaded. “And as for the attempt on Queen Imogen’s life, I did it proudly. In service of the realm.”
Those flames within me surged and would not be banked. “The realm you wish to destroy?”
Eftan tipped his head to the side, just barely, as if we had a mere difference in opinion over the sanctity of the islands’ rights and Varya’s law. He gave a brief grin and spoke in the familiar tone he’d used when I’d been young. “I never thought we would find ourselves here, Theo boy.”
It was another ploy, another manipulation, and it worked. I felt the swift urge to obey, to have him praise my diligence and capability. I shoved it down. “Commander Mela, will you read the chancellor’s list of crimes aloud?”
Lachlan did, begrudgingly. “For crimes of manipulation, murder, domination, conspiracy, treachery, and regicide, Theodore Ariti, King of Varya, has commanded the execution of Eftan Zervas, Chancellor of Varya.” Lachlan cleared his throat. “The accused may speak his last words.”
Cast in the hoary light, Eftan looked serene, composed, save for the bright red flush upon his full cheeks. It seemed a hardship, but he managed to make his tired voice sound as it had always been—clear, not too loud, and entirely captivating.
“I will not deny my aforementioned crimes, nor will I seek forgiveness for them,” he said. “However, I refuse to let my service to the kingdom of Varya be summed up in a list of only my perceived failings. I have been proud to serve two courageous kings. Men—Gods—who did not shy away from their duties, but rather, with my assistance, faced them. To that end, I have a final request, for if all the wrong I have done must be acknowledged, so too must all the good.”
I felt the turn coming, the request for a pardon or an eased sentence. I nodded.
“I request that I be executed by my king.” He lifted his chin. “For my unwavering service.”
Imogen must have seen my body tighten. Her voice was a tense admonition. “Theo—”
I cut her off with the shake of my head. From a young age, Eftan had taught me how to hold duty in my fist and wield it like a honed, flashing blade. I wouldn’t stop now.
The captain’s face was somber as she offered me the sword from her belt. The weapon was heavy enough to do the job. I recalled the feeling of heaving a sword for an execution readily enough. The force needed. The focus, the aim.
It was what all rulers were taught to do: offer a noble death. A quick and clean one. I’d trained since I was a boy of nine in the yard with Lachlan and other soldiers of the guard. The only time I’d had to carry out an execution was in my first year as king. He’d been a young soldier, about the same age as I’d been. He’d gotten so drunk that he’d brawled his barrack mate to death in the night, and it had been Eftan who had counseled me toward execution. A swift, severe punishment would keep the guard in line. I’d swung true then. I’d not slept for a week afterward and drunk more wine than the man I’d killed had.
I adjusted my slick hold on the hilt, and a smug sort of satisfaction crumpled Eftan’s chin.
“Kneel.”
“Your Majesty.” My attention snapped to Imogen. Seawater still ran down her body, pooling at her feet. Her narrowed eyes were like bits of gold. “A piece of you will regret it.” She swallowed uncomfortably—everyone watched her, rapt. “For the rest of your life, I expect.”
She did not offer direction, but knowledge. I saw in her face what she did not say—that her father’s death would stay with her. Her mother’s too. Every necessary, complicated decision would leave its mark, and I had to decide if I wished to bear it.
Eftan watched me acutely.
I lifted the sword and scraped my thumb across its keen edge. Then I lowered it. “From this day forth, Eftan Zervas of Varya will live a proscribed criminal to the realm.” I paused to watch the way his eyes changed, the way his shoulders slumped. “It will be known that he valued domination over service. That he employed every malicious tactic that he could to maintain his role, and he will pay for his misdeeds for the rest of his life on the island prison of Mav Petra, off the coast of Seraf.” I met Imogen’s gaze. “If their queen will have him.”