My squire, my young man, the brave warrior.

They were dead. All of them.

Crude stitches lashed together the gashes of flesh at their throats. They’d been drained of blood, and their skin was as white as their tunics. Mouths gaped open grotesquely, lips curled back, and their eyes had rolled to the backs of their heads showing only the whites. Corpses dressed up and propped up like macabre dolls; parodies of what these men had once been.

It took several moments for the enormity of it all to sink in. At first everyone was too stunned, then wailing exploded in the chamber as the assembled recognized loved ones and friends among Arcosia’s Lions. Brothers, fathers, sons, and husbands.

I have never known better men, especially Renald. Merciful in battle, loyal to the core. They had sworn their hearts and lives to Arcosia. Not to this.

Even as the whole of my body numbed in shock, Alessandros walked among the corpses, gazing fondly at them, putting his hand on a shoulder here, gripping an arm there. He made the sacrifice, he explained, for the good of Mornhavonia. It had been the choice of the soldiers to willingly give up their lives thus, to strengthen the Black Star. They were now renowned martyrs, he said, and should be praised.

The hall smelled of bitter sickness and there was much weeping, but many seemed to want to believe Alessandros, as though it would soothe their pain. I did not believe him. I could not.

Later on, he called me to his apartments and confided that the Lions never knew what was coming, that they’d been brought before him one at a time, and he slaughtered them systematically like a line of cattle. The words tumbled shakily from his mouth, and his foot twitched in nervous fashion.

He was confessing to me, as though I were a priest, to alleviate the burden of his sins. I think more that he wanted to justify his actions.

“I am god, after all,” he said, “and it is my right to give or take life.”

All I had seen was the taking, but I said nothing. He watched me carefully for my reaction.

After some moments I ventured, “You sent me away on that campaign so I wouldn’t know.”

“My dear, dear Hadriax, you comprehend me all too well. I couldn’t take the chance you’d talk me out of it. I know how much you loved Renald, and the esteem you held for him. I am sorry for your loss, for he was a good young man, but it was necessary.”

I could only swallow hard and will my tears to stay back.

“Think of it!” Alessandros said. “With the sacrifice of the Lions, the Black Star is stronger than ever. It now embodies their strength of heart, fighting spirit, and strategic skill. All of them live on in the Star. With it we will conquer the New Lands, and then take our war to the Empire itself. The Emperor will pay for abandoning us.”

I wanted to kill him right there. I wanted to wrap my fingers about his throat and choke the life out of him. My fingers opened and closed even as the rage fired up in my heart. But I knew I could not do it. He had been using so much etherea and he was protected by the Black Star. He could not die by such ordinary means.

I could bear no more and so left. I now know, after this latest atrocity, that my alliance with the Green Riders is inevitable; that my pact with Lil Ambriodhe is sealed. Alessandros’ betrayal has brought me to this.

May it bring him to his death.

THE KING’S DECISION

They were doomed.

Three of Laren’s Riders would never return to Sacor City, and others were badly injured. Dale, with her grave wounds, remained in Woodhaven where she could receive care without being moved more than necessary.

Alton stayed in Woodhaven, too, to discuss matters with his father, and then he’d return to the wall to see what more he could learn from it, and to investigate the unusual properties of Haethen Toundrel. His wounds appeared more psychic than physical. He would not talk to Karigan, would not even look at her. Some breach greater than the one in the wall divided them, and both Laren and Karigan were at a loss to explain the cause.

And now, after all their trials and losses, their sacrifices in service to their king and country, that same king was about to doom the country by splitting it asunder, by alienating the one lord-governor he needed most on his side.

All the lord-governors, except Lord D’Yer, ringed the long table in the council chamber. Most were attended by an aide of some sort. Lord D’Ivary, though not technically a prisoner, was closely watched by guards.

The lords Adolind, Mirwell, Penburn, and Wayman were there, as well as L’Petrie, Oldbury, and Steward-Governor Leonar Hillander, Zachary’s cousin. Representing Lord D’Yer was his own steward, Aldeon Mize. One side of the table was occupied by the eastern lords as a block, as if to separate themselves from all others, just as they were geographically separated from the rest of Sacoridia.

They were proud and independent in spirit, attributes that lent them an air of superiority, and allowed them to survive isolation and the harsh conditions of sea and mountain.

In their isolation, they had almost become a law unto themselves, but through the strong leadership of Lord Coutre, they managed to retain loyalty to the crown. Singly, they were formidable. As a group, their support or lack thereof could make or break a monarch’s rule.

Arey, Bairdly, Coutre.

All three watched Zachary expectantly. Lord Coutre, bent and elderly, his face beaten by sun and sea, was nevertheless a commanding figure with his heavy white brows and unsettling scowl.

Laren knew about Lord Coutre’s ultimatum. Zachary must agree to marry his daughter, Lady Estora, or lose the support of the east. Though it made all the sense in the world that Zachary marry Estora, the coercion infuriated him, and he refused to give Lord Coutre the satisfaction of an answer.