Mercy (Short Story)

Year 599

"You are not to know the details of your cases," Conscience Astin said flatly. "I break this law for no one. I do not know how you discovered—"

"My sister's murder is not a detail. She was a child! I loved her, and I had the opportunity to avenge her, and I threw it away! You made me betray her memory." The King pounded a thin fist against Conscience Astin's expensive desk and made its silver candlesticks rattle hollowly against the wood. "I don't know what I pay you for. You sit here in luxury, day after day, and you let me carry verdicts into execution when I don't know what I'm doing!"

Blood rushed to Conscience Astin's face. Did he not understand just how transient her wealth and power truly was? Did he not know what a terrible price it had?

"Has the Council declared my decisions unjust?" Her voice was rather sharper than it was supposed to be.

"No." The King scowled and swatted thin air.

"To go to war would have been wrong." Conscience Astin gripped her fine-pointed silver pen with slightly more force. "War would have gained your kingdom nothing. You were asked to go to war not for your sister, but for a petty trade squabble."

"But the woman who killed—"

"She is a murderer, but not one of yours. To punish her people for her deeds would be the height of injustice. You have not questioned me before; there is no use in doing it now."

The King's clenched fist froze in midair. Then, slowly, it relaxed and dropped to his side. For many blessed minutes there was only silence, and Conscience Astin took advantage of this reprieve from attention by continuing to scratch another few sentences onto green-lined paper in her slanting, elegant hand.

"I did not know." The words were soft, but unmistakable.

Conscience Astin turned. "What—give that to me!" She snatched the roll of paper the King had been reading without her knowledge from his thin, trembling hands. One glance told her it was one of the more emotional tales of woe she had received that morning, and her blood ran cold. "You are not to see that."

"Is this true?" the King asked, his eyes wide in horror. "You told me to tax these farmers, knowing that this man's children are starving? I would never have done this."

"Some of their children will starve." Conscience Astin shoved the offending roll of paper far beneath another pile of notes. "The taxation on orchard-owners provides public money for building projects which create employment for many poor citizens, and this man's case is a rare one if it is true."

"Could he not be excused from the tax?"

"That would be unjust."

The King shook his head. "I'm King. This decision's mine to make, isn't it?"

"You make the decisions the Council brings to you."

"How many other decisions have I made that have made others suffer?"

Conscience Astin did not reply, but this was as bad as an admission. The King placed a hand to his head in sudden guilt he had not known before.

Finally, he spoke. "From now on, you will tell me the circumstances of each case before you bring me a decision."

Conscience Astin narrowed her eyes to hide her panic. "Hearing the pleas of the accused is my task, not yours. Besides, it is a capital offense to allow you to know the background to one case, let alone all of them."

The King frowned. "You could be punished for letting me see this?"

Conscience Astin considered lying, but that was another capital offense. "Yes."

"I've already seen it. The crime is done. What if I told the Council? I will if you don't do what I say."

Conscience Astin looked helplessly down at her hands and cursed herself. This was the choice which would end her, the choice she had been avoiding all her life. There was no correct decision; she would be breaking her oaths to obey if she refused, and her oaths of secrecy if she accepted.

Which would allow her to live longer?

Finally, she nodded.