The Right to Die | ✓ Amby Winner 2023

26. The Right to Serve

Ashya tiptoed to the edge of the hover with him, and he held her around the waist as she reached for the rain too. Her hand twisted slowly in the air. "It's like the sky is crying for Daddy."

M'yu stepped back, pulling her with him, and shut the hatch. "No it isn't. It doesn't have anything to cry for."

Sviya eyed him. "You do understand what he did, don't you?"

"Doesn't matter. We're going to get him back."

"Young master..." Evriss twisted his handkerchief. "The Prince would not want that. Enough laws have already been broken."

"He wouldn't have sacrificed himself if he didn't have a plan," M'yu insisted. "He knows I can get into the Prav'sudja. He knows—"

"He knows that he couldn't compete in Washfall," Evriss rumbled. "But you can." His lips tightened into a thin white line on his otherwise soft face. His head dropped, fingers still crumpling the kerchief.

"But—" M'yu dropped onto the seat, mind awhirl. Even if M'yu survived Washfall and kept the House of Gold's position in the government, Aevryn still bore M'yu's guilt. He would still be executed. The trial for the Tsaright's crimes had never come; Aevryn hadn't been able to take him off the throne. 

The Gold House might survive, but it would never win.

His fist hit the seat. "Washfall was supposed to be next month," he muttered, throat tightening. "We were supposed to have more time."

Ashya's closed fingers appeared in front of his face. Slowly, she uncurled her hand. "Daddy asked me to give this to you." Her voice trembled. "In case the fairy tale didn't have a happy ending."

Aevryn's linkcard lay in her palm. Gingerly, M'yu picked it up. It was cool and thin against his skin. He balanced it between his fingers, afraid if he held it too tightly, it would splinter into a thousand pieces. Ashya stared at it with him, her face chalk white, and M'yu wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "We need to get home."

Tucking it in his pocket, he glanced over at Sviya. "Where should we drop you off?"

She smoothed out her skirts, not meeting his gaze. "I was thinking—" She made another pass over her skirt, then folded her hands tightly. "Well, the Washfall Trial will be tomorrow, and there's no doubt I'll pass my Right to Speak, so if you would agree to it now, on provision, it seems it could be expedient—"

"Sviya Tam, are you proposing to me?" Despite himself, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

Sviya blushed. "Hardly," she grumbled.

"I would be honored to hire you." Then he looked up to Evriss. "We can hire her, right? Aevryn wouldn't disapprove."

"Well." He rubbed the kerchief. "The recent hospital bills, put together with the fine to retrieve the hover from impound, have caused quite a hit on our finances."

M'yu glanced away, throat thick. Ashya patted his leg. "It's not your fault," she whispered even though it was. M'yu swallowed and forced himself to meet Evriss's eyes.

The old man clasped his hands together, the kerchief held steady between them, as he surveyed Sviya. She met his gaze, chin tipped up, and his cheeks crinkled. "But you're right. Prince Aevryn would want to repay kindness with kindness."

"Then it's settled." M'yu nodded at Sviya. "Is there anything we can do to push back the execution date?"

"Without a real lawyer?" Her hands clasped, and she sighed. "Not much. But any heir—that's you, or her I suppose," she said, nodding at Ashya, "can request a final meal with him, and the Prav'sudja can't refuse that. They have to give you a minimum of twelve hours post-verdict to request. After that, they can set the execution for any point."