The Captive Heir

Chapter Twenty-One

With messengers and ambassadors scurrying back and forth, there was little else for them to do with Trenoriah but wait. It was the waiting that would drive them mad, the sitting and trying to adjust to life without their crown prince or Silvana. Skylar had returned home shortly after Elisabet discovered Fitz was alive, saying it was time. Elisabet hated to think of him in that small house, so silent and empty now. At least her mother went out to visit him, but the thought of the two of them, lost and mourning together, was almost as bad.

They needed something to do. With the bandit attacks over, it was time to begin trying them. The bandits could not be left in the dungeons indefinitely. They needed to be dealt with.

When it came to the approach, however, Elisabet found herself at odds with her family yet again.

"Yes, individually," Elisabet said, wondering why she was having to repeat herself. "Not on different days necessarily, but we're not lining them up for mass sentencing."

"Why shouldn't we streamline the process?" Lord Flor protested. A thin melody winding its way through the dining hall broke and scattered like oranges as the ancient advisor leaned across the head table. "There are so many of them, it will take ages, and we have more pressing matters to attend to."

"More pressing than seeing justice done properly?" Elisabet asked, incredulous. She turned to her parents, dismayed that they did not agree with her.

"Justice can be done well enough in a group trial," her father said, eyes hard. "After the damage they've done—"

"But they're not all—they didn't all do the same damage," Elisabet said, feeling the desperation welling up. Their fate will decide your own.

Staring at her plate, Elisabet's mother said, "The last time we had this many bandits in the dungeons—"

"We cannot do things the same way we did before!" Elisabet tugged on her braids, trying to ground herself before she lost her mind. "That's what landed us in this mess in the first place, the uniformly heavy-handed way people were treated during the Purges!"

"But the amount of time it would take, the tedium—" Lord Flor tried again.

Elisabet stared at him. "Are you suggesting we should consider putting our comfort before doing the right thing?"

Her father's hand landed on hers as Lord Flor sputtered. "What's your suggestion, then, Elisabet?" he asked her.

"They need an alternative," Elisabet said. "And so do we. Something between rotting in the dungeon and total freedom."

"Even if they deserve to rot in the dungeon forever?"

"That would be the point of individual sentencing," Elisabet said, grinding her teeth. "To determine who could merit release or not."

The queen, who had been content to let them bicker over breakfast, at last leaned over and joined the conversation. "And this alternative would be what?"

"Some kind of rehabilitation," Elisabet said. "A place they would be comfortable—like a camp."

"No," her mother said, returning to her meal.

"Small ones," Elisabet clarified. "Marie's camp—everyone had jobs to do, jobs that could be useful in a town. Cooking, washing, food collection. A rehabilitation camp could help them adapt those skills, prepare for life in a village."

"And if they use the opportunity to fall back into plotting?" the queen asked. "Should we continue to try them and send them back out to rehabilitation camps, on an endless cycle of risk to ourselves?"