Mercy (Short Story)

Year 598

"Highness, this is Conscience Astin. She will serve as your Conscience as long as she lives and we pray will advise you well."

The King did not hear the Councilwoman speak; he was busily nodding and smiling in a gently bemused fashion at everyone who passed his throne, which seemed far too big for such a young, thin person.

"Highness."

He turned.

"Conscience Astin is here to advise you."

The King frowned in confusion, and Conscience Astin envied him those wide, innocent eyes. "I thought the Conscience is supposed to tell me what to do," he remarked, brow furrowing. "That's what Mother used to say."

The Councilwoman shook her head, a disdainful smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "It is Conscience Astin's task to know everything about the decisions which come before you. She will tell you what choice she deems best, but the decision is still yours. You are the King."

Conscience Astin would have scoffed if she had been prone to displays of emotion. This man could no more make decisions for himself than he could fly.

The Councilwoman was still talking. "If you make the choice Conscience Astin tells you to make, then you will bear no responsibility for its consequences. However, if you choose to go against her advice you will be held accountable for whatever happens and will be disciplined by the Council should your decision prove a poor one."

The King nodded. "I will do as you say, Conscience Astin."

The Councilwoman smiled tightly. "This day you have your first decision as King before you—"

"Already?" The King was distracted again, this time by his young sister, who had brought him a drawing she had made. "Yes, it's lovely, Nora."

Conscience Astin disapproved of the King's clear lack of interest in his one real duty, but if the Councilwoman cared as well she didn't show it; she merely pulled her notes from the leather satchel at her side.

"You must decide whether or not to take the property of a fraudulent tax collector," she said after looking the papers over. "She neglected to turn over 50,000 pieces to the Council."

The King nodded. "What does Conscience Astin say?"

Conscience Astin knew the woman in question as the King never could. From her studies and interviews she had gathered that the fraud had been an accident, and that if the woman's house was taken she would be thrown onto the streets to beg.

She cleared her throat. "I recommend that her property be taken, Majesty."

The law was the law, and the tax collector had broken it, whether purposefully or not.

"Very well, then." The King smiled and waved an impatient hand as he examined another drawing. "Do as she says."

Conscience Astin followed the Councilwoman from the room and went to deliberate three more decisions, the uneasy ache in her head subsiding somewhat.

The beginning of the King's reign obviously meant more to her than to him—after all, he had only to do what she advised. He could live free of guilt and fear, while one mistake on her part could mean, well—

The Councilwoman had not bothered to tell the King that if Conscience Astin chose wrong, it would almost certainly mean her death.