Gold Throne in Shadow by M.C. Planck

glass vase.
    â€œDid you use magic against Karl?” he demanded, when the spell was live. “Did you lay an enchantment on him?”
    â€œWhat of it?” she cried, defiant now. “Am I a hideous crone, to sicken him with the deed? Any man in town would gladly take his place. I placed no bond on him, laid no further demands at his door. What man can honestly say I wronged him?”
    â€œI can,” Christopher said. “That’s rape, Fae. Rape! What would the Cardinal do, if Karl had held you down and done the same to you?”
    â€œHe would hang me for the deed,” Karl answered, “even for the sake of a foul witch.”
    â€œI did him no violence!” Fae sobbed.
    â€œYou did violence to his mind,” Christopher said. “You did violence to his rights.”
    â€œThe Church will hang you for this,” Karl proclaimed in righteous wrath. “Commoner though I be, I am theirs, and not yours to trifle with. You will hang.”
    â€œYou dare not!” she screamed. “He needs me. I alone will keep his secrets and make his sky-fire. I am his, and your Church will not touch me, for he needs me.”
    Even in the midst of the red fury in his eyes; even in the grief and shame he felt for his part in the making of the witch, and thus this terrible ordeal; even through all of that, Christopher could not help but notice that these people spoke in terms of property, not rights. Drawing a deep breath, he put aside his ethical indignation and answered in their language.
    â€œI need you as an apprentice,” he told her, “not as a wizard. What I put in your head, I can take out. I can hang you, revive you, and reduce you to just an apprentice again.”
    â€œYou would not!” she cried, outraged at the expense he dared, but he was standing in the zone of truth too. Her eyes danced wildly, seeking escape. Though her hands did not twitch, Christopher said it anyway.
    â€œIf you reach for that wand, I will cut you down and burn your body next to Flayn’s.”
    The pretty face quivered and then cracked, blubbering, all pride and will vanquished in an instant. “Forgive me,” she cried, tears falling like lonely raindrops, “please forgive me. The power went to my head. All my life to be a toy, but once to hold another in my hand.
    â€œI am sorry.” She wrenched the words from her torn and bleeding heart and then collapsed in a weeping heap, her black hair in disarray, her fine white skin red and crumpled.
    â€œI cannot forgive you,” Christopher said heavily, astonished at the hard scales on his own heart. “You must ask Karl for that.”
    â€œYou’ll not get forgiveness from me,” Karl laughed barkingly, as if the very concept were absurd. “But I will withhold my judgment, for as long as you serve our master. Should you ever fail him again, I will have my vengeance, and no amount of rank will protect you.”
    Fae’s tears washed her face and Christopher’s anger, the flame in his heart slowly quenching under the deluge. Karl stood like iron, revealing neither pain nor sorrow. Christopher wanted to avenge the proud young man, to honor him, but Fae was just a foolish child with a dangerous toy. Flayn had not seen fit to promote her. Christopher had. He could not escape his share of the blame.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said, but Karl would not understand. The soldier would hold only Fae responsible, and Christopher could not even argue with him. Karl had been severely wronged, and he had the right to deal with it as he chose. The truly guilty would just have to accept it.
    â€œI will not fail you again, my lord,” she sobbed. “I will earn my pardon, and even Karl the Cruel will not begrudge me. You will see, I am still valuable to you.”
    Christopher could not afford to feel sympathy for her. “See that you do,” he growled, and left the room and the cloying stench of