Not even in private. And in public, before so many men and women of his Skaar…
“He comes,” Kol’Dre whispered suddenly.
Before them, there was movement within the ranks of the newly arrived—a shifting of bodies and a scattering of cheers and shouts. Ajin watched the soldiers part, and then her father strode into view.
Cor d’Amphere was not a particularly impressive man, let alone king, but he exuded confidence and certainty in his position as he came toward her, head held high, eyes fixed on his daughter. She met his gaze with her own and held it, refusing to back away or bow or do anything but stand there and await whatever he had planned for her. All around her, soldiers were bowing in recognition of his office and his power, including Kol—but then Kol always did know when it was advisable to bow and when not to. She should have shown deference, as well, but her stubborn refusal to be intimidated kept her from doing so.
Besides, whatever was going to happen would not be changed by a bow or a posture of supplication or anything else. She held herself frozen in place.
The cost was quickly apparent. Her father came up to her and, without a word, struck her across the face with the palm of his hand with enough force to send her staggering backward. But she kept on her feet, the sting of the blow kindling anger toward her father of which she did not think herself capable. Gasps and a few muttered oaths rose from the men and women behind her—her soldiers, who loved her; her comrades, who believed in her and would follow her anywhere. She ignored them. This was between her father and herself.
Slowly she straightened and came back to stand before him. “Was that really necessary?” she asked.
“I thought so,” he answered. Anger equal to her own burned in his eyes. “You crossed a line, daughter—a line that no one has the right to cross.”
“I crossed no line. I came to the Four Lands and I swept through the Trolls who opposed us, and took Paranor in spite of the vaunted Druid magic. I wiped out their order. Then I faced down the Federation and destroyed its advance force when it came against us—”
“And thereby brought the bulk of the Federation army down on our heads, it appears!” he interrupted, shouting her down.
Silence fell over those collected, everyone waiting to see what would happen next. Father and daughter were both possessed of strong personalities. Once they had shared a closeness, true, but that was before his second marriage and before she developed a true following and reputation of her own. Now, she was aware, she was becoming a bigger threat to him by the day.
Ajin recognized the extent of the danger she was facing in her father’s scowl and clenched fists. Nothing would be gained if she alienated him completely. She had to stop things from progressing further.
She dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “I have failed to protect the Keep and its treasures. I have risked too much to bring the enemy to meet us. I am at fault, and I accept all blame. I offer no excuses.”
Her father glared at her a moment longer and then nodded. “Your apology is accepted. And I am glad that you recognize your mistakes. I trust you see why you cannot overstep the limits I set for you. You cannot make decisions like the ones you have made here without consulting with me first.”
“Father,” she said quietly, still on her knees. “In my defense, I did attempt to reach you with messages several times—particularly regarding my feeling that negotiating with the Federation might lead to an agreement that would keep them at bay. I may have misjudged, but I did try to consult you first. Another prevented me from doing so.”
Her father nodded, unsmiling. “You tread on dangerous ground, Ajin. Be careful what you say next.”
She took his warning to heart. “Sten’Or arranged to have the messages intercepted so that they would not reach you. I am not even sure what brought you here today. I had asked for you to come, but he told me when I questioned him that you would never receive that message.”
“So my arrival is a surprise?” No change in expression or tone of voice, but a hint of something else. “Is that what you are telling me?”
She nodded. “May I rise?”
He gestured permission and she rose, standing as close as she had before, hoping his anger had lessened. But shards of it lingered still in his eyes as he studied her. “And where is Sten’Or?”
“Locked away. I could no longer trust him to be honest with me once I found out he was tampering with my messages to you.”
“We will see. Have him brought to me. Now.”
Ajin turned to Kol’Dre, who departed immediately to fetch their prisoner. Moments later, he returned, guiding the now unfettered and clearly unrepentant Skaar commander with a hand clasped firmly on his arm. Sten’Or was already talking as he came up to stand next to Ajin.
“She works to undermine your authority and your position as king, my lord,” he said at once. “She plots against you and the queen. She sees herself as more the commander of your army than you are, and exceeds her authority well beyond what you permitted her. I want her removed from command and myself reinstated.”
Cor d’Amphere nodded. “Did you tamper with her messages to me?”
“No, my lord. Not a one.”
“Did someone else?”
A pause this time. “I could not say for certain. I was here, with my soldiers, when those messages came to you.”
“Except, Sten’Or, they didn’t come to me. They came to someone else. Do you have any thoughts as to whom they might have reached, if not me? They were addressed to me, I presume. So who do you think would dare to intercept them?”
Sten’Or kept his composure, shaking his head in a perplexed way. “I cannot imagine such a thing.”
“And if I told you that not only can I imagine it, but I know for certain who dared? What would you say to that?”
The Skaar commander looked away quickly and then back again. “I would say they should be punished. You are king, my lord. No one should transgress against you.” He gave Ajin a baleful look to indicate she was not above such punishment.
“Well, then. Let’s deal with the matter in a direct way. Ajin, will you kindly step a few paces over toward your confidant?”
He gave a nod toward Kol’Dre. Ajin did as she was told, wondering what was happening. Her father waited until he was satisfied with where she was standing, and then he stepped forward to face Sten’Or directly. “Kneel, Commander, and receive my reward for your service to the crown.”
Sten’Or hesitated, and then knelt as ordered, eyes on the king. “Bow your head, Sten’Or.”
As the Skaar commander did so, Cor d’Amphere nodded to a man standing off to one side whom, until now, Ajin had barely noticed. The man was a giant, all muscle and bulk. He was carrying a huge battle-ax, and at the king’s nod he came forward swiftly, the ax already rising. In a single fluid motion, he swung the blade through Sten’Or’s neck, severing his head from his shoulders. It was done so swiftly and silently that the victim was dispatched before he even knew what was happening. He died without a sound, his head rolling a few feet before coming to a stop, his body slumping to the ground in a lifeless heap. Fresh gasps rose from the soldiers who watched it happen. But Ajin never moved, her eyes fixed on her father as he strolled forward and kicked the dead man with casual indifference.