Beyond the Shadows - Brent Weeks [68]
“Kylar, it’s time for us to finish that conversation.”
“What conversation?”
“The one about king-making and queen unmaking.”
“I don’t have any more to say.”
“Good, then you can listen,” Logan said. He rubbed his unshaven face and his sleeve fell to show the edge of the dully glowing green tattoo etched in his forearm. “People commonly misquote the old Sacrinomicon and say that money is the root of all evil, which is moronic if you think about it. The real quote is that the love of money is the root of all sorts of evil. Not as pithy, but a lot truer. In the same way, what I am capable of doing in the pursuit of power and sex, the man I choose for Logan Gyre to be will not allow. My hunger for food couldn’t make me a monster in my own eyes. Not even when I ate human flesh. I was driven to that by necessity, not perversion. I suppose the same could be said for you, for killing. I saw it on your face when you killed my gaoler Gorkhy. You do it, but you don’t love it. If you loved it, you’d turn into Hu Gibbet.”
“There is a foul pleasure in it,” Kylar said quietly.
“There’s pleasure in having a full belly too, but for some it’s dangerous pleasure. When I ordered you to kill Gorkhy, you didn’t feel that.” Logan saw his tattoo was uncovered and covered it. “I did. I gave an order and he died. I killed with a word. And I loved it. And I wanted more.”
“So now what? You going to become a hermit, move to a cottage in the woods?”
“I’m not that selfish.” Logan scrubbed a hand through his hair. “If I asked you, would you kill Terah Graesin?”
“Absolutely.”
Logan closed his eyes. He’d obviously expected it. “If I didn’t ask you, would you do it anyway?”
“Yes.”
“Have you been planning it?”
“Yes.”
“Dammit, Kylar! Now I know.”
“So why’d you ask?” Kylar asked.
“To remove the excuse. Can you rule justly after you take the throne unjustly?”
“Good question to ask the woman who stole yours.”
“How, Kylar?”
“Schedule a meeting with her and drink a lot before-hand.”
“Dammit, man, how were you going to kill her?”
“A botched abortion. I’d poison whatever abortifacient she uses. Many of those potions are dangerous. If it appeared she’d taken double what her apothecary recommended, it would look like a tragic and shameful accident for a single, wanton young queen. If the nobles tried to cover up the details, the rumors would swirl around what a whore Terah was, rather than speculations that she was assassinated. And it would make the virtuous new king look even better.”
“Gods,” Logan breathed. “How long did it take you to come up with that?”
Kylar shrugged. “Couple minutes.”
There was pain in Logan’s eyes, as if he had to struggle to speak. “It’s brilliant, Kylar. It’s brilliant—and I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?”
“Yes.”
“And how do you propose to forbid me anything?” Kylar asked.
Logan looked astonished.
“Despite all my efforts, you’re not my king. You can’t forbid me a damn thing.”
Logan’s face darkened and all his usual conviviality drained away. It made Kylar conscious of just how tall Logan was. His lean seven-foot height made him a looming, merciless skeleton. “Know this,” Logan said. “If I’m crowned because of Terah Graesin’s murder, I’ll have you executed.”
“You’d kill me for Terah Graesin?”
“I’d execute you for treason. An attack on Cenaria’s sovereign is an attack on Cenaria.”
“She shouldn’t be queen.”
“But she is.”
“You had no right to swear fealty.”
“I did what I had to do to save the people, Kylar. Now I must abide by my word. Politics is ethics writ large.”
“Politics is the art of the possible, and you know it,” Kylar said. “On the eve of battle, the tides changed so you couldn’t be king, so you changed course. The tides are changing again.”
Logan folded his arms. His voice was granite. “My word stands.”
“Can you love an idea more than you love a man and not become a monster? How many friends will you sacrifice on the altar of Justice, Logan?”
“If you force my hand, at least one.”
They were standing on a precipice. Socially, Logan had always been