The Courtesy of Kings | ☑ Queenkiller, Kingmaker #2

28.1

None planned it that way, but Dhvani's execution was timed perfectly with the first touch of winter. For days the air had thinned to a bitter cold, made only worst by the perpetual Surikh humidity. Now finally it broke into a drizzle that swept miles across the sky. Kiet stood sheltered under the extended eaves of the guardhouse cupping the square, his father seated in front of both him and Khaisan.

Six soldiers escorted Dhvani towards the weeping fig crowning the heart of the square. Five generations of the Ametjas dynasty had watched it grow, now it towered higher even than the palatial ring walls, its branches stretched wide overhead, drooping canopy still sufficiently thick considering the season—still sheltering most of the rain—and from its strongest bough was hung the Weeping Noose, its vivid white jarring against the gloom of grey robes and ossa.

The Obusirjan women watched, foremost amongst the crowd, faces shadowed beneath wide, grey mourning hats. Their children and husbands had at long last arrived to the capital, now they lined the row behind them. How Divya and Eshka decided it prudent to have the children attend was beyond Kiet. Though the oldest had seen already twenty winters, the youngest amongst them was only six. His little face peered up between his mother and aunt's legs, eyes wide as two soldiers trussed Dhvani's arms to her body.

All watched in silence as the executioner prodded her up the stepping blocks, high enough the fall alone would break her neck and still leave her hanging several feet above their heads. Dhvani declined yet again to speak when the executioner asked for her final words. She looked only ahead; a sightless gaze over the crowd, as though even in a noose she were too good for them all.

There was a scrape of wood over stone as the executioner pulled the last block from beneath Dhvani's feet; a loud creak of cord and branches as her weight fell. The weeping fig shuddered, autumn leaves shed upon the gasping crowd.

Eshka's child cried, and soon she, too, with him.

Kiet fought the urge to shift his weight. Suddenly was he reminded of Gyoseong Yeungji, and he found himself studying the white batique adorning Dhvani's swinging form. A more complex pattern, for sure. Far more intricate than the cross-hatches of tartan. Perhaps he should gift the hijeon a piece.

'This entertains you, uncle?' whispered Khaisan beside him.

Kiet wiped the faint smile from his lips. No one was entertained. None bar Djuro, it seemed, who barely contained the satisfaction on his face. Whilst his mother and nieces approached the blocks to collect Dhvani from the Weeping Noose, he instead made his way towards the guardhouse.

'Your Serene Highness.' He bowed low to kiss Judhistir's feet. 'Please accept once again my deepest regrets for the part my House has played in these recent tragedies.'

Already has he now lordship over the Obsidian Fortress, for what more does he lick Judhistir's boots?

The Maha Rama accepted his obeisance with the customary blessing upon Djuro's head. 'We all of us have but lost those dearest to our hearts. It brings me no joy to mete such fate upon your sister.'