The Shattered Circle

21. Before the Tree of Anguish

The Tree of Anguish dominated Executioner's Square, a great gnarled oak with a trunk the size of a tower. Its roots tumbled over paving stones and wrapped hungrily around the slab of stained white marble known as the Headsman's Plinth. Sanctum's citizens thronged the square, voices hushed in the presence of so many of their generals as they jockeyed for places where they could see the raised platform with ease. Wind rustled through the pale leaves, more gray than green, and the dark, almost black bark of the oak bore obvious scars from the iron spikes driven in deep during the torments visited on those who violated the edicts of the King in Black.

The area directly around the Plinth was cleared back about ten feet before the crowd, allowing generals and people of import within Sanctum the closest seats. Instead of making our way there, I guided Shira and Riyd up onto one of the great roots, to a sheltered alcove created by the natural twisting of the exposed wood. With the assassins' mastermind still in the wind, caution warranted an unexposed back. It also had an unobstructed view of both the Plinth and the rooftops to the south and east.

"Do you know what His Majesty intends for the parasite?" Riyd took her seat on the rough bark, pleased with the perch. Her natural predatory instincts preferred such positions, the easier to pounce from.

I sat down on the root and leaned back, comfortable against the knot that protected us from behind. "I do not. I expect that the precise nature of his punishment was left to Heca to decide."

Varys stood on the Plinth out of his excessively embellished armor, dressed in a fine silk shirt and gold-accented pants, lip curled with disdain as he looked towards the crowd. It was clear from his posture that he thought he would be getting out of this unruffled. To no one's surprise, Rhandiir stood near him in the open spot around the Plinth with Lady Teth and General Maric in attendance as well. As Varys's sire, Rhandiir would no doubt voice an objection. The other two never passed up an opportunity to see blood.

All at once, the tree's leaves rustled in a shudder and a hush passed over the crowd like a shadow. They were natives of Sanctum and knew what that motion meant: the Executioner was present.

Heca stepped out of her tree like an impassive queen, bare feet finding easy purchase as she descended roots that moved like steps between her and the Plinth. Beside me, Shira sucked in a sharp breath, no doubt horrified. The taint to the dryad was obvious: slim and regal in bearing, the skin that should have been as brown as her tree's bark was deathly pale, with dark veins of iron-taint visible in her face, bare arms, and lower legs. Instead of leaves, a wrap of dark, rotting cloth covered her from collarbone to mid-thigh, and her eyes betrayed the poison of iron too, metallic silver in their glow rather than the green of thriving life. Scars of puncture wounds littered her exposed skin, even her face.

Shira grabbed my arm with one hand and signed with the other. How is she still alive? Iron is death itself to fae!

"The ambient magic in Sanctum preserves her and her tree."

But the pain she must be in...

I felt a twist of something unpleasant in my stomach, a regret defying description. "It is excruciating," I acknowledged. "A lesser will would have been driven to madness." I knew Heca channeled her pain into the kind of calculated, infernally precise malevolence that Varys wished he could achieve. But mad? Hardly. I had met few so very in tune with the reality of the world around them.

"Why have I been summoned?" Varys demanded as soon as Heca's feet touched the Plinth.

Roots surged up onto the marble slab, coiling around Varys's legs like vengeful serpents to yank him down to his knees. He hit hard, letting out a yelp of pain and surprise.