Chapter Text
The throne room was dark and empty when Alexander of Tirragen, proud son of the Hill Country, entered it to meet his fate. The lanterns, which on Coronation Day had been bright and gleaming, had not encountered fire since that brutal day. Instead, their intricate shadows weighed down the room with a heaviness that felt like a graveyard after a storm. The air was clear, and light fell only from the new cracks in the ceiling, where Roger’s earthquake had ripped the room apart. Alexander of Tirragen approached the new king without faltering, even though he had plenty of reasons to fear him.
“Your majesty,” Alex said, quiet and arch as a cat exploring new terrain, while his steps brought him to the foot of the dais. “I am here, as you requested.”
Jonathan IV of Conté was not seated on the new throne that he had won by birth and battle, but on the dais itself. Not even at the highest level, but one below. If Alex still knew his king as he had known the page and the squire, strong as he might be in public, Jon was still struggling with guilt and mourning for his parents in private.
Alex, most likely bound for Traitor’s Hill, did not flatter himself to think that the king considered him a friend any longer. It was more likely that he was worth so little to the new king that Jonathan did not care what he revealed at all.
Though Jonathan was seated far below the throne that was rightfully his, his bearing was still that of a king. Long gone were the sprawling postures and intimacies of youth amongst faithful companions. Long gone was the faithful companion as well.
“Lord Alexander of Tirragen,” Jonathan said, his tone so cool that Alex could not read it. His blue eyes sparked with something—perhaps rage, perhaps exhaustion, perhaps the lingering magic of the Dominion Jewel. “What am I going to do with you?”
If Alex were the type of man who begged, he would have fallen to his knees at that. Hundreds of men in Tirragen colors had flooded the palace on Coronation Day alongside those of Eldorne and Malven. Alex had served his former knight-master in every element of his treasonous plots—had whispered in the right ears to bring Roger back to life from the Sorcerer's Sleep, had brought in Delia of Eldorne and Thom of Trebond and forced the King’s Champion into a vicious sword fight, injuring her, while she rushed to stop Roger and save Jonathan.
The king knew these things, and they were indisputable. He also knew the only thing that might save Alex, and Tirragen, from total annihilation: though Alex had won his sword fight, he had let Alanna go. He had followed her to his knight-master, and he had helped her strike the final blows.
“I don’t know, your majesty.” Alex did not fall to his knees, but stood in a straight-backed posture, his own tone dry. He was not wearing his sword; that had been taken from him after the battle. “Execute me, most likely.”
Jonathan looked at him sharply. “Then why did you come?” he asked. “Why didn’t you run? You could have made it halfway to Tousaine by now.”
Alex was silent.
Jonathan scowled at him, and though he had sworn to himself and his mother that he would never beg for his own life, Alex felt an instinctual flash of fear from the weight of that expression that threatened to force him to his knees regardless.
“Well?” The king snapped. “Alex, I don’t want to kill you, but if I have to…”
The threat lingered in the cool air of the great stone room, and at last, Alex smiled. Bitterly.
“Roger promised me two things,” he said quietly. “I would have my fight with the Lioness, and an autonomous Hill Country with resources to protect our people. I got the first, but the second…”
He paused, knowing that he would have only one chance to make his case. If he lost it, he and many of his people would die the death of traitors. Slowly, in a movement he rarely made with any real meaning, he dropped to his knees, then looked up. His expression, usually sardonic, was grim and fierce.
“Your majesty, I will obey any order you give me, for the rest of my life, whether it ends on Traitor’s Hill tonight or in many decades. I will serve you and your heirs and Tortall, in whatever capacity you desire. Please,” Alex said, taking a breath, but matching the bright blue gaze of the king evenly. “Consider my request for my people, and let your vengeance fall on me rather than them.”
He bowed his head at last, and waited.
Jonathan was silent for a long moment. Alex remained still. He was not so much of a warrior as to not recognize when there was no fight left to make.
At last, the king laughed. It was cold and sharp, and Alex nearly flinched. “Well calculated, Tirragen,” he said. “For peace between our peoples, I just might agree. But tell me this: why did you turn on Roger? Why turn to my justice instead of his reward? He would have made you his Champion, you know.”
Alex looked up slowly, to find Jonathan’s eyes on him in appraisal. “I didn’t want to kill you either,” he said heavily. “Your majesty.”
Jonathan glared at him. “You fomented rebellion amongst your men, helped raise my cousin from the dead to take his revenge, and tell me you had a change of heart?”
Alex met his eyes. “Yes,” he said, and his lips curved bitterly once again. “Once I had beaten the Lioness, the only thing Roger alone could give me was accomplished. He had woven spells of loyalty around me, but he didn’t expect that I would realize the loophole.”
The king raised his brows. “The loophole?”
“His enchantments assumed that only he could provide what I wanted, your majesty. That was true of Alanna. But for the rest—” Alex cut off. “If I trust that you intend to rule justly, you are more likely to grant my request than Roger was.”
“If,” Jonathan said quietly. “So you lay your loyalty to me if, and only if, I grant it?”
Alex, taken aback, shook his head in one swift movement. There was no uncertainty in him at all. “No, your majesty,” he said, his own voice softer than before. “My life is yours to do with as you wish. I know my errors. If I intended to betray you again, I would have run.”
The new king snorted. “Again,” he echoed. “So you do agree you have betrayed me already.”
“Yes, your majesty.” Alex bowed his head again. “I throw myself upon your mercy, for myself and for my people.”
Jonathan was silent again. After a long pause, he spoke. Deliberately, as if he were issuing a sentence before the court instead of to an audience of one.
“You have put us in a difficult position, Lord Tirragen. We could make an example of you, and throw you off Traitor’s Hill, but it is known that you defected from my cousin and helped defeat him. We could pardon you, and grant your request, but men in Tirragen colors fought the Crown alongside Eldorne. If we reward Hill Country when its fighters betray us, we will look weak and compromising. If we execute you, we will look ungrateful for your assistance at the end. If you live, you could betray us once again.”
Alex heard this pronouncement, and did not move. Jonathan, clearly, was considering his offer.
“If Hill Country continues as it is,” the king continued, “it will breed more traitors, as it has for generations. If it becomes autonomous, and has resources, it may rebel against us.”
Alex looked up, again, to find the king’s gaze brooding. “You were an apt student of history,” Jonathan said, “for all you argued with Myles. Tell me, why should I trust you or your people after what you have done? Now, and for the future?”
Alex could have made false promises, then. He could have sworn to the king that the Hurdik peoples had forgiven the Tortallans their conquest and valued their connections, opportunities, and trade. He could have argued the other side of history, the great heroes and strategists and writers that had come from Hill Country and how they had served the country and the Crown.
Instead, he offered what he had known from the moment he entered the room that he would have to. “A blood oath, your majesty,” he said, and Jonathan, for the first time, was startled.
“A what?”
“A blood oath,” Alex repeated, and did not bother to control his shudder. Better that the king saw his sincerity, rather than his pride. “It comes from the old ways of serving the gods. If it is violated, whatever has been sworn, the swearer’s blood will boil in their veins.”
Jonathan watched his expression, and saw his shudder. “And you would do this,” he asked, tone carefully dispassionate. “For me? For your people?”
“I promised you my loyalty, your majesty,” Alex said quietly. “You will have it, and I will have nothing to fear. Research it, or ask your advisors, if you must. Reinforce it with your own Gift, or the power of the Dominion Jewel. But you have my fealty and my loyalty.” He paused, carefully, before continuing, as he bowed from the waist. “My king.”
Jonathan scowled, as Alex had known he would. “Your king, whom just days ago you were willing to kill,” he said coldly. “And you haven’t even apologized.”
Alex pulled himself out of the bow to look his king in the eye. “I told you,” he said, voice rough. “Roger knew what I wanted. It wasn’t your death I desired. And… I am sorry for my part in it, you may be assured of that, Jon.”
The king sighed. “We were friends once,” Jonathan said. “And more.”
“Yes, your majesty,” Alex agreed, quietly. It was that youthful relationship that he knew allowed him to kneel there after treason at all, or he would have already been executed and discarded.
“I can’t trust you, and I can’t be seen to trust you,” the king said. Sounding exhausted.
“Yes, your majesty.”
“You offer me your life and loyalty, and claim that you can seal it with an unbreakable oath. In exchange, you would have your freedom, and a brighter future for Hill Country. Is that all, Alex?”
“It is, your majesty.”
Jonathan sighed, and let his head fall into his hands. Alex saw from the corner of his eye that the king looked much more his age—young, and tired, and mourning. “Fine,” Jonathan said, his voice muffled. He lifted his head again, and sighed again. “Look at me, Alex.”
Alex looked—had not stopped looking.
“If you are telling the truth about this oath,” Jonathan said, sounding once again like a king, “and if there is no other treason we uncover, we will grant your requests and demand your fealty, Lord Alexander. We will write your oaths, and you will not alter them. You will swear your oaths publicly, and every man who stormed the castle will surrender, and be put to death within the fortnite. If these terms are met, you will have your freedom, and the Hill Country will have its resources.”
Alex’s posture did not falter, but the haunted shadows on his face seemed to lift. “Thank you, your majesty.”
“If you are lying to us, in any way,” Jonathan warned, “you will die and Hill Country will be razed to the ground. If you ever betray us again, the same. Are we clear on these terms, Lord Alexander?”
“We are, your majesty.”
Jonathan extended his hand before him, one finger ringed with the seal of Tortall.
Alex bowed to kiss it, held his posture for a respectful pause, then straightened. Jonathan withdrew his hand, and studied it. Alex waited for the king to dismiss him.
“You may go,” Jonathan said at last, and Alex slowly got to his feet.
He bowed. “Your majesty,” he said. “Thank you for your mercy.” As he began to back out of the room, the king held up a hand, and Alex stilled.
“I’m sorry he got to you,” the king said, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was penetrating, and Alex felt something in him break open. “We should have trusted Alan’s instincts, back then.”
Alex nodded, his expression tight and guarded.
“We should have, your majesty. Myself, most of all.”
Jonathan looked at him sharply. “He hurt you,” the king said, with certainty, and Alex flinched at last. “I am sorry, Alex. I failed you too.”