Chương 26

Aemalia sat patiently before the throne, waiting for the spirit of Tal to return to his body. Living, he had been a handsome young man, she thought. The body had not changed since it had been drowned, years ago, by the priests of Vorulsht in Zozheim. Hubris, she thought. The downfall of empires. She wondered, as she often did, who he had been when he'd been alive. Who had been murdered to create Tal. A commoner, of course.

Likely nobody of significant importance, given that they hadn't been able to escape the tithe. The Zozheim empire had been less fair about their form of the lottery than Tal-sha-shenk was about its. They had accepted bribes, excluded nobles and merchants and the upper class. They had raided the slums and the outlying villages for their sacrifices. Tal-sha-shenk distributed the risk evenly. Which is why she was in court today. Tal was guarded by three Inalten body guards.

There had been a fourth, but an hour ago some idiot had shot Tal's body with a poisoned crossbow bolt. That guard had chased the sniper down and hadn't returned. The interrogators would be living, she knew. She pitied the assassin. She didn't want to know the details. But she knew the details. The method of torture they would use. And the way it would end. Giving up the information would not be the end for the assassin. No, the torture would go on until his body gave out.

The assassin would not be part of the undead army, because his body would not be in any state to serve. And the same would be true for the conspirators who had put the crossbow in his hands. The bolt was still pinning Tal to the throne. Nobody had moved to take it out. The bodyguards wouldn't let anyone close. The crowd was gathering to see if he would stir on schedule She looked at the clock. She knew that the hopes of most of those gathered were pointless. The audience would proceed as scheduled.

And she was right. When the minute hand struck the designated time, Tal's eyes lit up violet, his brand flashed, and he lifted his head. Then he looked down at the crossbow bolt.

"What is this?" he asked.

"My Lord. Someone attempted to assassinate you while you were elsewhere," one of the sycophants explained.

"The assassin is being interrogated now."

"Curious. Ensure the conspiracy is dealt with the same as all of the previous assassination attempts," Tal said in the same monotone that he said most things.

"We shall get to the bottom of the conspiracy," the sycophant assured him.

"The investigators will not rest until—""I do not care, this conspiracy to kill me does not bear my interest or attention. What has changed since I sat down?" The sycophant blinked, then looked around, then pulled out a scroll.

"You have thirty-six petitioners today, My Lord. Some of them have traveled hundreds of miles to make their petition. Others have paid exorbitant fees to get on the schedule. I—""You have been accepting bribes to allow petitioners?" Tal asked.

"Fees, not bribes, My Lord," the sycophant assured him.

"The funds go to the state, not my pocket. I value my breath too much to take my last one quite yet."

"There shall be an investigation into the validity of that claim. What is the fee for attendance?"

"There is a one silver application fee to get on the waiting list," the man said calmly, although he was beginning to sweat a little and he adjusted his collar.

"To skip the waiting list and appear immediately, there is no set fee, but rather the applicant pays as they are able. The average payment is ten gold."

"That seems excessive," said the undead monarch.

"Few can afford to pay that. And those that can afford to pay that price can likely afford more."

"I, the line must be drawn somewhere, my lord."

"You said there is no set fee for skipping the line, only an average. Let us change that, then. The set fee is twenty-percent of the applicant's total possessions. They may skip the line immediately, but their assets will be assessed after the audience. This edict is retroactive." The sycophant paled. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

"Yes, My Lord," he said. The accountants would be busy, Aemalia thought. She knew some few of those who had skipped the line. They could, indeed, afford to have paid more. Much, much more. Tal had just bankrupted seven or eight noble houses, she was certain. And likely destroyed a number of merchant's businesses. Telling him this news would be met with complete indifference. He had made the edict retroactive. He knew what he was doing.

"Very well. Let us hear the petitions. Since we have established that there is a procedure to skip the line, then let us begin with those who have paid to go first," the lich said calmly.

"Ah, ah, yes," the sycophant said. He called out a name, and it was not the name that was at the top of the schedule. Aemalia wondered if he had just saved his life or ended it.

"That is not the name that was scheduled to go first," Tal said.

"Explain."

"Your advisers decided the order of the petitions, My Lord," the sycophant explained. A truth and half a lie, Aemalia knew. It was he who had the final say.

"We judged who had the most urgent needs for your attention. The other matters were more urgent, but they were on the waiting list. Today is the day they were scheduled, and—""If they were urgent, why were they left on the waiting list?" Tal asked.

"My advisers do not review the queue? Should they not have moved the urgent requests to the top?"

"Ah, well, they, they do, My Lord," the sycophant said.

"There are discussions, and the applicants make their arguments to intermediaries." Aemalia sighed.

"I wish to examine this process," Tal said. The sycophant was a dead man, she thought. And he knew it. She'd known that the man had been profiting from his position beyond his salary, and she'd known how. But she hadn't been willing to stake her life on the accusation. Not when she didn't know enough of the details to make the case. Her work with Tal was too important to risk herself. Tal would understand. She was not his minister of administrative justice.

His minister of administrative justice stepped forward, saluted with a fist to his chest, and vowed to investigate the procedure thoroughly. He vowed to schedule his initial report within a week, with further findings to follow as the investigation proceeded.

"Very well," Tal said.

"Let us begin with the petitions." A small family of nobles, dressed in the latest fashion, stepped forward. A very frightened girl, her father, and her uncle. They bowed and curtsied, and then launched their plea.

"My Lord Tal," the father said.

"I wish for you to make an exception for my niece. She drew yellow in the lottery, but I have paid for a volunteer to take her place. If—""No," Tal said.

"But drown them both." The room went silent.

"My Lord," the sycophant said.

"Who are we to execute?"

"The girl who drew yellow, and the volunteer who offered to take her place for money. I am assuming it was for her family? They shall get their money, and they will lose their child, and the next lottery shall have one less required body," the lich said patiently.

"Is that the extent of the petition?" The girl broke out into tears, collapsing on the floor. An Inalten guard walked forward to pick her up, slinging her over his shoulder as he carried her out of the room.

"This petition was a matter of life and death," Tal said, turning to the sycophant.

"Two lives and two deaths, exactly. How many other life and death matters are their on the list that were ahead of them?"

"Ah, well, um, ah," the sycophant began to hesitate. Tal called a name. The first name that was scheduled to speak. A very, very frightened farmer stepped forward.

"State your petition," Tal said patiently.

"My lord," the farmer said.

"I wanted to petition you for an undead laborer. My, my son you see, he lost his arm last year and he can't—""Granted," Tal said.

"I shall 'take it on faith' that you can estimate the amount of labor you require for your farm and that you have asked no more than what you require." The violet eyed young man on the throne turned to the sycophant majordomo who had organized the list.

"Why was this minor matter at the front of the list when there were matters of life and death to be addressed?"

"He—he was in queue," the sycophant said.

"He has been in attendance for the last three court sessions to make this plea. His name was passed over for a matter of more importance. We put him first to clear the queue."

"I see," the undying lord said. Then, by magic, the sycophant erupted into flame. The man screamed as his body was turned to ash, and soon only his skeleton remained.

"Why did I do that?" Tal asked rhetorically. The room was silent. Until Aemalia stepped forward.

"My Lord, I hazard a guess. I ask that if I am wrong you correct me."

"Proceed."

"You appointed that man to manage the order of petitions. While you did not take issue with petitioners paying a fee to move their plea to the front of the queue, you did take issue with the deceased man's handling of your time. The noble family which came to you to plea for their daughters life was misguided, but ultimately sympathetic. They have lost the fee they shall pay to make the petition and their daughter, and I pray that you do not punish them further for their petition.

"The farmer made a simple petition which could have been handled by any number of your subordinates. That his request was not handled by your subordinates and made it to your ears showed that your ministers have been mishandling your time." Aemalia swallowed.

"Am I close?" Tal examined her.

"Yes. That is a satisfactory answer. Do you take issue with my judgment, Aemalia? I shall not punish you if you do."

"It is consistent with the other decisions you have made in the past, Lord Tal," she said.

"Whether it is just, I cannot say. It is not how I would rule. But consistency on policy is an important matter in ruling a nation. Had you spared the noble girl, then you would have encouraged others to do the same as this family has done to get out of their civic duty, and you would have created a market for people to coerce desperate young people into volunteering to take the place of others in the lottery."

"Yes." Tal smiled. It was not a smile that reached the eye, and she knew he was not pleased. He was displaying pleasure for her sake, and the crowd. But that smile was terrible and frightening.

"Why are you in court today, My Lady?"

"The Count Du Localcian begged me to plead for his daughter's life," Aemalia answered.

"Did he bribe you?"

"He attempted to. I turned the money down."

"And you are in court."

"Yes."

"To plead for the girl I just ordered drowned?"

"No. The opposite," she said.

"I see." Tal's eyes left hers, and he stood for the first time. He pulled the crossbow bolt out of his chest, dropped it, and then walked over to sycophant's papers had fallen. He picked them up, then returned to the throne.

"Since I have not yet appointed the majordomo's replacement, I will proceed with the order as it was scheduled for today," he said. Then he called a name. Aemalia did not stay to hear the petition. She had seen all she cared to see.