“I’d be hard-pressed to forget that,” Kristos replied tersely. “But we built an army of Reformists, not just Red Caps. Most of them aren’t going to take kindly to—what, Niko? You want to slaughter everyone with a noble bloodline in the country?”
Niko clamped his jaw shut but stared at Kristos, his answer clear.
“I’m not going to institute some sort of purge, a slaughter. That’s not what this army fought for.”
“Then what are you going to do?” Niko demanded.
“We’re going to let the elected council do its job,” Theodor said, his tone confidently deployed to end the argument.
“You!” Niko snorted. “You don’t have anything to say here. You don’t have a role in this play any longer. Take your princely costume and get the hell off the stage.”
“He’s wearing the same thing I am, Otni. And he absolutely does have a role here,” Kristos shouted. “He led this army as much as I did, and he’s not any less entitled to his place here than you are.”
“That,” Niko said, ice in his eyes, “is a matter of opinion.”
“There’s a more pressing concern, anyway.” I spoke softly, but it echoed in the silent room. “We’re holding the leadership of the Royalist army prisoner. Per the terms of surrender. Merhaven, Pommerly, several other nobles in the highest roles of leadership. And the king.”
“What of the queen? And their children?” Niko shot back.
“Most of their children are Reformists,” Kristos replied. “Their youngest son is but a child, too young to be held accountable. He and his mother are in hiding, probably in Serafe somewhere. I’m inclined to pretend we don’t even know that and let them escape. We are holding Lady Apollonia.”
Theodor’s mouth was a taut line, and he gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles. “I believe,” he said carefully, “that it would be right for the elected representatives to decide their fate.”
“There ought to be a well-documented trial conducted as tightly within your legal framework as possible.” Sianh hadn’t said a word as we’d quarreled, but now that a clear direction was reached, he added his guidance. “This is the beginning. It must be clean.”
“Clean.” Niko snorted. “Nothing about this has been clean, Serafan.”
“I know much of war. I know it is not clean. But you, as governors, must be.”
“Governors. I rather like that title,” Kristos said.
“Don’t get too attached,” I said. “The council will be deciding how long you’re keeping it.”
“And,” Niko said with his cockeyed grin, “how long the nobles and royals in our custody keep their heads.”
57
THE COUNCIL OF COUNTRY CONVENED THE NEXT MORNING IN THE open hall of the Public Archive to deliberate over the first major decision of the new Republic of Galitha: what was to be done with the leaders of the Royalists. I watched the debates, Niko’s impassioned oration in favor of swift execution, several more cautious arguments about the lack of precedent for executing surrendered enemies, an extremely dull exposition on the history of treason trials in Galitha from a lawyer named Maurice Forrest, and an earnest appeal to justice from Vernon Harrel, the southern soldier I had last spoken to in Hamish’s field hospital at Westland Hall.
By late morning, all the members of the council who wished to have a voice in the debate had done so. There were tentative forays into legal debate and confident assertions of pragmatic concerns. I had promised Polly that I would offer some advocacy for the fair treatment of the prisoners. As individuals. I took a shaky breath. I had no vote, but the council would entertain opinions from the gallery before proceeding to a vote.
I stood. “Governors, permission to speak.”
Kristos started, surprised not that I was there, but that I would add my voice to public debate. A lot had changed since the last time we had that opportunity, I thought ruefully. “Granted,” he said.
“I’m not a lawyer. I don’t know the laws or the legal precedent for executing prisoners of war. But then again, most of you aren’t, either,” I said. This earned a few light chuckles. “I’m not a soldier. I didn’t fight on the field of battle with you. But I’ve risked my life alongside you, and I knew that I wouldn’t be granted even the consideration we’re giving the Royalist leadership now.” Nods from the more fervent Red Caps.
“This is the first thing that this council is going to do, and it is how you’ll be remembered. You will build the laws of Galitha on the back of this choice. Will it be clemency, or justice?” I paused. “Or does cowardice pass for clemency, or vengeance pretend to be justice?” That earned a few sour looks from across the range of men assembled. I pressed on anyway. “We should be governed not by our basest qualities. Clemency is not weakness when granted fairly in the face of evidence. Vengeance is not justice when meted out to anyone who’s offended you. Consider the crimes of the individuals and judge them from there.”
“What are you saying?” Niko demanded.
“I’ve heard these debates consider all of the prisoners as one unit. But they’re not. The crime for which execution is the prescribed sentence is not ‘fighting against us and losing.’ It’s treason.” I waited to see if Niko, if the assembly gathered, understood what I was saying. “Merhaven, Pommerly, and the king conspired to undermine the laws of the land as passed by the then-ruling-body, the Council of Nobles. That was, in my estimation, treason. The other officers currently held prisoner may not have been involved in that conspiracy. Neither was, from the evidence thus presented, Lady Apollonia.” I swallowed the half lie. I knew Polly had been actively complicit, but no one else needed to know the extent of her treachery unless it came out in a trial.
“They still sided with a treasonous government,” Niko said.
“Yes, they did,” said Kristos, “but the reasons and rationales of the individual become far more varied at that point.” He looked at me and smiled faintly.
“Call the vote.” Niko smacked his hand on the table in front of him, dismissive.
The first proposal on the table, the one that had been debated, was summary execution for all the prisoners. It failed, by a large margin. I exhaled a shaking breath as a new proposal was swiftly made and seconded, to try each of the prisoners individually, and this passed by an even larger margin than the first had failed.
Noon crested the sky and the councillors recessed to scrounge something to eat, still being served communally out of Niko’s system of provisions. I wasn’t sure why I left the Public Archive and made my way to the Stone Castle, but I did. It was just a short walk across Fountain Square, a strangely familiar set of steps across now-pockmarked cobblestones, beside the scarred and burned fountain.
No one stopped me; the guards recognized me, or if they didn’t, they knew the uniform of the Reformist army and the woman wearing its colors must be the magician, the witch, the consort of the Rebel Prince—whatever character I played in the story they wrote for themselves of the Galatine Civil War. We were all still writing it, I reminded myself. It wasn’t over, not yet.