The moth drew too close, and the candle's flame engulfed it in a burst of sudden light. Conscience Astin watched it dispassionately and wondered if her own death on the morrow would be as quick and painless.
A sudden creak, followed by a slamming noise, hailed the entrance of a visitor. Conscience Astin did not move a muscle. She suspected that if she tried to smile she would find that she had forgotten how, and so she did not try now, although the visitor was the only person who dared to call themselves her friend.
"It's my fault, Astin."
"Astin is a label, Highness, not a name."
The King sat down on the nearby stone bench which served as Conscience Astin's bed and rested his lanky, delicate frame against the stone wall. "This isn't a pleasant place."
"Why have you come?" Conscience Astin frowned and finally turned to look at him. "Have I not shamed you enough?"
"I wanted to tell you," the King said slowly, as though deliberating over each word before he said it, "that you will be alright tomorrow. I promise."
"No." Conscience Astin turned back to looking at the flame. "This is what I tried to tell you long ago. You may control Justice for an hour, a day, a month, but it is like a river. It keeps coming, and eventually it overwhelms you. It has caught me now; there is nothing you can do."
The pool of dull, solidifying wax at the bottom of the candle now also held fluttering bits of ash, all that was left of the unfortunate moth.
"True Justice is not controlled by people," the King snapped. "The Council wants to send you to burn in the flames tomorrow, not Justice itself."
Conscience Astin did not respond. There was no use in arguing with the man. He had developed a will of his own.
"What are you going to tell me to do to you tomorrow?"
"Does it matter?" Conscience Astin asked sharply. "Do not ask questions, Highness. If you had not asked questions, we would not be here."
YOU ARE READING
Mercy (Short Story)
FantasyConscience Astin was unaccustomed to staring Justice in the face. She had worked alongside it all her life, sent helpless souls into its unforgiving hands-but she had never faced it as she now did. She had been taught to expect that this day would...
