A/N: After four weeks away, camping across the country and studying for an exam, I am finally posting this next instalment! Thank you all for your patience and kind reviews. I've been looking forward to writing this chapter, which will hopefully answer the questions that you still have, and shows a long-awaited meeting between two characters. Enjoy!

Confession

"Ghalio, can you go into Death?"

The dark-haired man turned from where he'd been leaning on the ship's railing. Behind him stood the young King, not yet twenty, with a curious look on his face. The King walked up to the railing and closed his eyes, obviously relishing the cool and salty ocean breeze. "Ciprian mentioned you were cousins. Does that mean you're the Abhorsen's son?"

"Nephew," grunted the dark-haired man. "I was never really part of the family, to be honest."

The young King looked at him sidelong, then shrugged. "Well, you're an Abhorsen to me."

Ghalio laughed and ruffled the boy's curly hair, then they turned to watch the ocean together.

It wasn't cold, or dark, or uncomfortable in the room. It was boring. In an effort to pass the time Ghalio was sitting at the rickety desk making animals from folded paper. Quill and parchment had been provided by his jailors in the hope that he would confess everything in a final written statement before facing the gallows. Ghalio smiled as he held up a paper fox; his execution date was looming, and he still had not spoken a word of confession to his interrogators. Furthermore, he had stopped eating, if only to annoy them even more. They were getting desperate.

The key rattled in the lock and Ghalio dropped the paper fox and twisted in his chair, wondering what they were going to try with him today. But it wasn't Corporal Tralon, or the Chancellor, or any of their lackeys who walked through the door. The prisoner inclined his dark head. "Well, well. The King himself." So, they had apparently taken his words to heart.

Rothain was still frail and weak, and Ghalio watched closely as the younger man sank into the chair just outside the spelled line crossing the room. The King folded his hands and sat back with an air of expectation. Ghalio smirked, got to his feet, and noisily dragged his own chair over to sit opposite the King. The golden line of Charter Marks ran between them like a molten river.

"They tell me that now you are willing to talk." Rothain's voice was studiously composed.

"Only to you," Ghalio clarified. He would confess everything before death, but not out of a sense of guilt. No – the confession itself would be his final act of revenge. Rothain had no idea.

The King gave a strained smile. "Should I be flattered?" When Ghalio did not answer, the younger man clenched his fists and his eyes flashed impatience. "Well? Talk."

"About what?" Ghalio noted with satisfaction that the King was getting even more flustered. He had always been like that, over-emotional and easily affected. Such a weakness in a ruler.

"You're the one who wanted to talk to me," Rothain grumbled, then he flushed upon realizing how petulant and childish he sounded.

Ghalio smirked, enjoying the other man's discomfort. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," said Rothain firmly. "With help from the Archivists we've pieced together your actions after the Invasion. But where did it all start? And –" he made a violent gesture of helplessness and frustration, "– why? I want to know why you did all of this."

"Then we should start at the beginning."

King Rothain's expression darkened. "You and the Queen."

"No," said Ghalio abruptly. "Before that." There was a long silence, during which he scrutinized the younger man. He could practically read Rothain's thoughts as they flitted from one possibility to another: What had he felt for Lady Irabel? Where had he learned Free Magic? What had he done during those unknown years after his village had been destroyed? Then –

"Why would the Abhorsen's nephew turn against the Charter?"

Ghalio gave a pleased smile. "Well done." He settled more comfortably into his chair. "It started with the falling-out between my father and the Abhorsen. My mother was a poor villager, a nobody, and pregnant with me at the time. My father wanted to marry her, but the Abhorsen would not hear of it, so my father left. Thorael disowned him so that he – and I – could never claim the title of Abhorsen. Father became the Charter Mage of my mother's village, and several of the neighbouring villages as well, but despite the work he could never make ends meet. We lived in poverty. My father blamed the Abhorsen for our circumstances, and rightly so."

"I am sorry to hear of your misfortune," said Rothain, and he looked sorry too. He'd always had a soft heart. "But – I've heard that you spent time with your cousins during your childhood."

"Yes," said Ghalio through gritted teeth. "I did. My aunt attempted to heal the breach between her brothers, and when that failed she invited me to visit the House. She meant it kindly, foolish woman, but those visits served to remind me of the wealth, status, and heritage that I was never a part of. Oh, I hid my feelings well, Rothain. They never knew how much I truly detested them."

The King flinched at this callousness, which amused Ghalio. "When my parents – and the rest of the village – were killed by northerners, I did not join the Abhorsens. My aunt invited me, but she did not understand that I would always be an outsider, the son of the least-favourite brother."

Rothain was nodding his curly head. "All right," he acknowledged. "You did not feel you were part of the Abhorsen family. So what did you do during those three years?"

Ghalio shrugged. "I wandered from place to place. Growing up poor, I'd learned to shift for myself. You were at sea at the time, so you wouldn't know what it was like in the Kingdom. Everybody was on the run, Charter and Free Magic alike. So I joined a band of necromancers."

"Necromancers?" The young King was staring at him in astonishment.

"They hated the Abhorsen too, so we had some common ground," observed Ghalio with a twisted smile. "I could go into Death, same as them, and the Abhorsen family are the only Charter Mages who can use Free Magic. The necromancers told me that if I wanted something, I would have to take it for myself. And if someone else had what I wanted, it was better to destroy it. That way, I would never lose." A pained look had crossed Rothain's face; the boy was no doubt thinking of Irabel. "I learned a lot, not the least how to always be on my guard." Ghalio flexed his hands. "Necromancers don't often work together, you know. They're dangerous. I had to develop quick reflexes in order to survive. I wasn't a full necromancer – I used Charter Magic, and I wasn't baptised with a Free Magic rune – but I learned their tricks and invented some of my own. Like how to make a regular Mordaut into a means of control."

Rothain's hand instinctively clutched his chest, and for a moment he glared at Ghalio. The older man smiled mirthlessly back, secure in the knowledge that he was safe behind the spelled line. Also, Rothain could not do anything to him – at least, not until the confession was complete. The boy's sickening sense of justice would see to that.

After a tense moment the young King relaxed. "So," he said with forced calm, "what happened to your necromancer friends when I reclaimed the throne? If you recall, at that time the Abhorsen and Favilliel set about eradicating all enemies of the Charter."

"I abandoned them." Ghalio enjoyed the expressions of shock, anger, and disgust that passed over Rothain's face. "And I wouldn't go so far as to call them friends," he added. "It was no longer useful to be with them. I was glad that I hadn't burned off my Charter mark."

The King pursed his lips, but did not pursue the subject further. "What happened then?"

"I enlisted in the Royal Guard," replied Ghalio, stretching his arms way above his head and cracking his back. "It gave me the opportunity to hone my battle magic and use the fighting skills I'd picked up. Serving the Crown, I was beyond suspicion. My idiotic cousin Ciprian enlisted as well, and we were reacquainted. Ciprian liked me – but then he is a fool who likes everybody. And if my cousin wished to befriend me, who was I to alienate him? I could use him."

"Like you used everybody," Rothain noted bitterly. "Ciprian, Padric, Betrys – me." The King's fists clenched, but he said, calmly enough, "When did I become part of your plan?"

"The day I captured your attention in the courtyard. You wanted me in your personal guard. Until then I had been keeping my head down, wondering how I could strike out at Thorael. That man, my uncle," he spat, "ruined the lives of my entire family. If he had only accepted my mother, she would have been safe inside the Abhorsen's House when the Northerners took her village." Ghalio brooded for a moment in silence, before carrying on. "Despite my hatred, I knew that the Abhorsen was far too powerful to take on directly. But by getting close to a young and vulnerable King, I could uproot the very power that my dear uncle so devotedly served, and achieve my revenge that way. I would make his duty, that infernal duty that had caused him to disown my father, something laughable. I would make him serve a weak and pathetic ruler."

BANG!

Rothain's chair toppled over as he jumped to his feet. He took a threatening step forward and stopped short at the spelled line, letting out a growl of anger and frustration. Ghalio remained seated, smiling up at him. This seemed to enrage the King even further, and for a moment Ghalio feared that Rothain would ignore protocol, shatter the protective spell, and kill him right there.

But soon the fury in Rothain's eyes diminished, to be replaced by sorrow. "What?" Ghalio asked, his voice coming out harsh and defensive. "You're upset that I used you?"

"No." The King's voice shook as he righted his chair. He sat down, his pale face drawn and exhausted. "What hurts me, Ghalio, is that to you our friendship was one of convenience." This remark genuinely surprised the dark-haired prisoner. Ghalio had committed countless crimes against Rothain and the Kingdom, and he wanted to talk about their friendship? Rothain was still looking at him sombrely. "Didn't it mean anything to you?" he asked, sad and dignified.

"Would it matter if it did?" Ghalio replied, just as grave.

"It would matter to me." Ghalio did not say anything to this, and the silence stretched into minutes. The sigh that finally escaped Rothain carried with it all the weariness of a dying man. "We had both lost our families during the invasion. And you were my closest friend, a surrogate brother. You looked after me." Rothain leaned forward. "What happened?"

"For a year I was loyal," Ghalio confirmed. "Your friendship brought me up in the world, and increased my ability to revenge myself on the Abhorsen." Rothain looked hurt at that, and Ghalio knew that the young monarch would never understand him. If he was completely honest with himself, Ghalio had to admit that he'd liked Rothain – as much as he could like a person, in any case. But he wasn't going to tell the boy that. "I stayed in your personal guard until my first mission to fetch Lady Irabel. You ask what happened. It was a woman." He let out a burst of sudden, humourless laughter. "It's always a woman, isn't it? I will spare you the details. I loved her. I wanted her. She would not have me."

"And so you killed her." Rothain's voice was cold and hard, and his face was as expressionless as a statue's, but this was clearly a painful topic for him. It was painful for Ghalio as well.

"All of a sudden, my fight was not just against the Abhorsen. It was against you too." Ghalio leaned forward and clasped his hands, not wanting to miss Rothain's reaction. "I began to hint that she was having an affair with my professional rival, Corporal Dernic. You hadn't been a good husband, riding off all the time on state business, so your fear was real enough. After all of my insinuations you came to me one night, desperately seeking counsel. And it was then, during your moment of greatest weakness, that I infected you with my Mordaut, that dark creature into which I'd poured all of my power and malice. Now I had control – a revenge better than death."

Rothain sat back in his chair as if wanting to retreat from Ghalio's words. "You're right," he murmured, passing a hand over his eyes. "After I went to you – that's when I began to lose my memories. And that's when I must have –" He stopped, unable to go on.

"Irabel and Dernic were executed," said Ghalio coldly. "The archivists were banished for their suspicions. The Court Doctor was sent to Ancelstierre. Under my power, you became a paranoid recluse, always surrounded by a diamond of protection. And you refused to see the Abhorsen, who would sense the Mordaut if the diamond ever failed."

"I suppose your plan was to use me as your puppet?" Rothain groaned. "To move up as high as you could, perhaps even to the Chancellery? To influence me to take on the Abhorsen himself?"

Ghalio inclined his head. "You are the most powerful mage in the Kingdom. Nobody else would have a hope of challenging Thorael. And if you failed, that was no real detriment to me."

Rothain lowered his hand from his face, and his eyes held a glint that Ghalio had not seen in them before. "You did not succeed," the younger man observed.

"No," Ghalio acknowledged. "My attempt to kill Vansen was unsuccessful. Padric hit your diamond of protection instead, and the magical pressure I'd put on him unhinged his mind. What I did not foresee was the rebellion." Ghalio struck the arm of his chair. "That interfered with my plans. From a distance I could only prevent you from remembering your Queen."

An expression of comprehension dawned on Rothain's face. "The headaches..."

"Yes. I feared that if you remembered Irabel, you would fight the Mordaut's control and possibly break it. Thankfully, by then the practice of surrounding yourself with a diamond of protection was ingrained. Meanwhile, I had to change my plans. I managed to remove my rivals for the ear of Captain Betrys, and urged open war. Betrys would become the next Regent, I would be pulling the strings, and if you or the Abhorsen were killed in battle, then so much the better."

Rothain was shaking his head, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "You left some loose ends," he observed. "Padric, and the archivists. They led to your downfall."

Ghalio gestured with his hands. "I never said I was perfect."

The young King regarded him unhappily for a moment. "All of that, because of you." Ghalio felt triumphant that now, at last, Rothain knew the extent of his actions. The younger man was distraught. "What should I do with you?" he murmured, almost to himself. They gazed at each other across the spelled line, and Ghalio felt a strange and unexpected sense of camaraderie between them. Abruptly, Rothain stood and began to pace. "Everyone is urging me to hold a public execution."

Ghalio watched him, wondering why the King was saying this. "Then go ahead," he said bluntly. "I don't care."

Rothain paused and turned to him. "I think you do. You were always proud."

Ghalio opened his mouth to retort, but his words died before they reached his tongue: Rothain was taking down the spelled line. He watched in wonder as the King crossed the cold stone floor. Rothain wordlessly pressed something into his hand, and Ghalio glanced down. It was a knife. A long look passed between them, then Rothain turned and walked slowly for the door.

The handle of the knife dug into Ghalio's palm as he clenched it fiercely. The spelled line was down. It would be so easy to cross the room, grab the King, and draw the blade across his throat. Moreover, Rothain had turned his back on him. Was the boy so arrogant and foolish? Ghalio's jaw clenched in anger, before the more reasonable part of his mind took over: He was beaten, fair and square. Rothain, for whatever reason – perhaps out of humanity, or perhaps as a last sign of friendship – was giving him a quieter, more dignified way out than a public execution.

At the door Rothain turned to glance over his shoulder. Ghalio, still seated, gazed at the knife in his hand, looked back at the King, and then inclined his head. Rothain returned with the barest of smiles, and then he was gone. Left alone, Ghalio examined the knife more closely. He did not have much time left, but he would like to see the weapon by which he was to die. It was an ancient relic, and had probably been retrieved from one of the Palace's dusty armouries. At his touch Charter marks ignited along the steel curve of the blade, and Ghalio's throat constricted when he read the brief inscription: I was forged by will of the King as his gift to the Abhorsen. He closed his eyes briefly. Then, he positioned the point of the blade over his chest, and struck.

A/N: I really feel I ought to say something about Ghalio. He is heavily influenced by two Shakespearean characters, Iago from "Othello", and Hal from "Henry IV". You'll notice that his name is an amalgamation of theirs. Iago is my favourite Shakespearean baddie. He is secretive and conniving, but everyone thinks he's a great guy. He's also overlooked for a promotion to Lieutenant, and revenges himself on his competitor Cassio by getting him drunk and demoted – hence Ghalio's actions against Ciprian. There is also some sexual jealousy between Iago and his General, Othello. At Iago's instigation, Othello suspects his wife of adultery and kills her, much like Rothain. Conversely, Hal is actually a good guy, and will grow up to be the awesome King Henry V. But as a prince, Hal uses his friends (especially Falstaff) for his own purposes and ambitions, and then quite cruelly abandons them. This is similar to Ghalio's treatment of his lackeys, Sino and Padric. So I really owe a lot to Shakespeare. But then, I've counted no less than three Shakespearean references in the Old Kingdom Trilogy, so if I must steal at least it's in a Nixian way!

Only one more chapter to go.