The Missing Days
365
"All stand to attention, for the Queen of Albion."
Elsbeth does not wonder who Walter means: they are all turning to look at her, and even if they were not, the crown is heavy. As if she could forget its weight resting on her brow. She moves with purposeful majesty. It's not natural; she'd rather jog around all the time, or amble on the rare occasions she's feeling lazy. But now she must act regally, so she moves as if the whole world will wait for her. She does not look anywhere but straight ahead as she walks, keeping her eyes on the throne. There's a point, just before she reaches it, when Logan is on her right, and Walter on her left. She's aware of both their gazes on her, and how expectant they are. She's not sure what they expect. Two days ago, it would have been unquestioned: Logan would be executed. He deserved nothing less.
But those words have been rolling around her head for days now. She thought she banished them, as Walter had—until that night, when she went to bed, and they were still there. He hadn't looked like a tyrant. He hadn't raged, or pleaded for his life, and he had actually sheathed his sword when he saw it was her.
"You've finally become the woman I always wanted you to be."
Even when she'd flung her anger at him, as she'd wanted to for so long, he remained calm; if not cocky, then still sure of himself. She knows Logan, and there was underlying method to his madness. As well as a kind of bitter pride. She looks at him briefly now; he's looking at her, and there's that look again. Like she's where she's supposed to be.
"Did it ever occur to you that I may have had good reason to be?"
Walter claimed not to be interested in the reasons. Elsbeth is. Logan has something to tell them, to tell her. She wants to know what could drive the man who gave her piggybacks around the castle as a little girl (on demand, and she demanded them quite a lot) to complete despotism.
"Cower behind ignorance if you will, but my sister deserves to know the truth."
Walter told him to save it for the trial… Well, the trial is here. She's presiding over it, ready to make a judgement. Along with how heavy the crown is, she can feel the weight of Logan's life in her hands.
"Logan, former King of Albion, you stand accused today of crimes against the kingdom and its people. Those who brought you to justice will now speak."
She thinks she knows what the others will say. Sabine is a believer in the old ways, in eyes for eyes and teeth for teeth. Ben has a personal grudge to settle—Major Swift was his friend and mentor. Page is an idealist. So even though she knows how badly Bowerstone has suffered for Logan, Elsbeth doubts she will advocate his death. She will want to rise above him. Kalin, she isn't sure. She is a very compassionate and seemingly gentle woman, so perhaps she, too, will advise mercy.
Sure enough, the leader of the Dwellers speaks angrily, finger out and stabbing accusatorily at Logan. "There's not a soul alive in the kingdom who hasn't suffered for his glory, and plenty who've died for it. I says, let him have some death of his own!"
Ben seems to think he needs to justify himself; he doesn't. Elsbeth completely agrees with him. He slices at the air with his arm, rage on his face. "Look, I'm not one for lopping people's heads off," he says, "but we saw Major Swift executed, like it was a bloody circus act! He deserves nothing less as far as I'm concerned."
Elsbeth feels her mind changing as she listens. It's true, she knows, and he has a very good point. She still remembers that day in the rain, the way the major was paraded out in front of Bowerstone's citizens, barefoot and chained, and then shot the way someone would put down a dog. He wasn't even given the honour of a private death by firing squad, as would have been fitting for a military officer. Even if Logan was going to sentence him to death no matter what, he should have at least done him that dignity. It was unnecessarily cruel. When Page steps forward, the voice of reason and principle, the Queen no longer wants to listen.
"But aren't we better than that?" the resistance leader asks, her voice low and calm. "Isn't that why we fought to be here now? I've seen what Logan has done to this city—people starving to death, children forced to work, but killing him now won't solve anything."
Won't it? Maybe not. It won't bring back all those people who've died, and she can correct all those wrongs he's done to the city. She can open schools and end child labour—and she could do all of those things whether he's dead or alive. She could lock him up for the rest of his life, if she wanted to. She wouldn't actually have to kill her own brother to punish him. Kalin, she thinks, Kalin will have the deciding vote. She's undoubtedly the wisest here … even if she is not impartial.
The leader of the Aurorans speaks in her musical, exotic voice. "It is not my place to decide his fate, but his betrayal condemned many of my people to death. He promised us salvation, and then left us to face the Darkness alone."
Before anyone can process that, Logan speaks. His dark gaze is fixed on his sister, and his voice is loud and clear. "I had good reason to break that promise, and I had good reason for the crimes you claim I committed," he declares, and Elsbeth's heart skips several beats. Please let that reason be as good as he claims. "The day I returned to Albion, I received a visit from a blind seer. Theresa, our father's guide."
At this, her eyes widen; she has assumed that only Heroes would be able to see or be contacted by Theresa. Elsbeth thinks of her as her seer now, and it's a shock to hear she appeared to Logan too. Why?
"She showed me the future of this kingdom: the Darkness in Aurora is coming here. Bringing death, destruction, the end of our way of life!"
Fear prickles through the throne room—even those who have no idea what Logan is speaking of are afraid of it now. She sees Walter go tense with it, and feels all the hair at the back of her neck rise. The way that thing laughed …
Logan lowers his voice now, pleading his case with no trace of an actual plea in his voice. "The sacrifices I had to make, I did them to protect Albion. If a few had to suffer, it was to build an army. If a few had to die, it was to save a country. I have spent years preparing for this attack. Let me stand by your side now, and all my soldiers will be yours to command." He takes one step forwards, one gloved hand extending a few inches towards her. "Let us face the coming Darkness, together."
Frozen in indecision, Elsbeth suddenly doesn't know what to do. She'd been geared up to refuse any explanation or excuse he might make, but now he's chosen the only one she cannot ignore.
Walter swallows. "If this is true, if it's really coming here … we are all in grave danger."
"You have the power over life and death, sister. Now choose."
The words are as cruel now as they were then, and she wants to hit him. No matter how long she's been preparing for this, it seems he's been preparing her for it longer. He'd used Elliot's life to teach her a lesson? That's monstrous! How could he be that cold-blooded? And now he wants her to do the same thing again? He must know she can't, surely? He must know that killing Elliot—and she did, she may as well have pulled the trigger herself—haunts her. Will probably continue to do so for the rest of her life, and she cannot possibly handle the blood of someone else she has loved on her hands. And Page has a point. She wants to be the opposite kind of monarch to Logan, so that begins with not being vindictive.
"This is not the time for revenge," she says, ironing out the faintest traces of tremble in her voice. She stands. "We need your help, Logan."
The crowd mutter and shout, but it's impossible to say whether they approve or upbraid her choice. "The Queen has made her decision," Walter declares. "Logan's life will be spared."
There's one flash of emotion on her brother's face, and it looks mostly like utter disbelief. He hasn't expected to be forgiven. He's been bracing himself for death from the moment the revolution began. Did he only want to warn her? Did he think it was his only task? She almost gives in to the urge to hit him then, tell him he's the most stupid man that ever lived. When she gets to him though, he speaks again.
"I know you will never forgive me for the things I've done. You told me so once, remember?"
She scowls at him. But she just has, is that his point? "Of course I do."
"But what matters now is that we defend our land." He swallows, and sighs, and suddenly looks much lighter. "The castle is yours, and so is the throne. I'm glad to be rid of them."
