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.

Riyd grinned savagely. “He should know better than to speak so to the Executioner.”

Heca’s eyes flashed and her voice projected out over the crowd like the crack of breaking branches. “You will speak when you are addressed, penitent.” The acoustics of the square were designed to catch and magnify her voice, so even some in the crowd shifted uncomfortably.

“Lady Executioner, if I may—” Rhandiir started.

The dryad looked down at him. “You may not, Lord Rhandiir.”

His jaw clicked closed immediately. While I had to play politics with the vampire lord, which frequently required listening, Heca did not. She was of one purpose, one that could not be bent or bargained with. To challenge the Executioner was to directly defy the King in Black.

Heca looked out over the crowd, her eyes sweeping over the assembly until they found me. She bowed her head politely once, a recognition she extended to no other. “Varys Gaersiath, you have been charged by order of His Majesty with dereliction of duty, contributing to the death of Spymaster Luka and an injury to His Beloved.”

Varys’s jaw dropped open in shock, eyes wide. It wasn’t a farce: clearly he hadn’t been expecting to be held responsible in any way, shape, or form for Luka’s death. “I did not—”

The roots around him twisted savagely in a symphony of cracking bone and exploited joints. With a vampire’s regeneration at his disposal, Varys could hardly expect tender mercies. The more pain one could take, the more Heca would provide. He howled in agony as each root dug and ripped with a frightening precision into pressure points and nerves.

Heca looked down at him with a dispassionate eye, like a scholar evaluating a common specimen of bug. There was no hatred on her face, but neither was there any gentleness or regret. “You abandoned your obligation to His Majesty’s will and justice, Varys Gaersiath. What do you have to say in your defense?”

The roots loosened their hold enough that Varys could respond. “I gave the task to one better suited to rat-catching,” he hissed.

“So you decided you knew better than His Majesty, and instead of bringing a concern to His attention, you took it upon yourself to place His Beloved at risk and abandon Luka to his fate?” Heca leaned down, the leaf-like susurrus of her voice caught and projected to the crowd. “Or perhaps you were hoping to be rid of two rivals at once?”

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“Surely failure is its own punishment,” Rhandiir called, desperately angling to save his progeny. These were serious accusations, the kind with lethal consequences. “And this humiliation is adequate, no?”

Heca’s eyes flashed as she looked towards the elder vampire. “I find you suffer from a crippling lack of imagination, Lord Rhandiir.” She looked down at Varys. “You are fortunate, Varys Gaersiath, to have enjoyed the protection that His Majesty extends to all his subjects here in the Eternal Kingdom. You have wanted for nothing in your time here, yet His generosity was not enough for you to preserve His protections for those His Majesty holds most valuable. Clearly you have forgotten the immense benefits bestowed upon you by His Majesty at His most gracious. A reminder, then, will be most instructive. He has sheltered you from your most hated foe. Let the embrace of that enemy remind you of His Majesty’s mercy in preserving you…and the consequences of your hubris should your straying continue.”

Riyd leaned forward in her seat beside me, watching eagerly. On my right, Shira shrank back against the rough bark of our perch.

Heca raised a hand, her words a whisper of power. I looked up instinctively and saw the clouds that perpetually shrouded Sanctum begin to swirl directly above Varys. Before anyone could react, the clouds parted and beautiful, golden sunlight poured down on Varys in a torrent of radiance.

He screamed as every inch of exposed flesh, mostly his face and neck, burned. Blisters and then blackness formed across his face, followed by clouds of smoke rising from the screeching vampire. As he thrashed, he bared more and more flesh to the sun, which began to ignite as well.

Rhandiir recoiled back, both in horror and fear of the sunlight. Teth retreated quickly as well with an instinctive cringe. At my side, Shira gagged and closed her eyes, covering her ears. Even I found it gruesome, though I gave no sign.

Heca waited until Varys was almost dead before raising her hand again and uttering words of power. The clouds closed again, granting the vampire his life. He was still a blackened wreckage of a creature, but his regeneration would slowly begin again in the absence of the sun. “His Majesty grants you life, Varys Gaersiath. Waste it at your own peril.” The dryad turned to look at Rhandiir as the roots uncoiled from the twitching mess. “You may come to claim your spawn, Lord Rhandiir. His Majesty wishes only for you to instruct him better, lest you too require a remedial lesson.”

The threat hung heavy in the air. Rhandiir looked more cowed than insulted. He wasn’t a stupid creature and knew the King in Black did not make idle threats.

Heca stepped back off the Plinth, but instead of retreating into her tree, she followed the twisting roots with fey grace until she reached Riyd, Shira, and I. “Was that satisfactory, Lady Frostborn?” Heca asked in a voice like dry leaves rustling, the question for me alone. The strange projection to her voice was limited to when she stood on the Plinth or was significantly irritated.

I gave the dryad a firm nod. “It was more than I was expecting. Hopefully the lesson is sufficiently instructive.”

“His Majesty takes such offenses seriously. If His word is not obeyed, chaos would reign.” Heca’s gaze flashed to Shira, noting the priestess’s fear. “You are not a face I recognize from Her Ladyship’s typical entourage.”

“She is new to Sanctum.” I gestured to the dryad. “Shira, this is the Executioner. Heca, this is a pupil of mine, Shira.”

Heca gave a polite nod of her head. “Be welcome in this place, Shira. It is rare for Her Ladyship to instruct. You will benefit greatly from her tutelage if war is your intended home.”

I fear it will be, Shira signed, still clearly unsettled from the display earlier. I am sorry for your suffering, Lady Heca.

Heca glanced down at one of her pale hands, metal-poisoned veins easily visible through her almost translucent skin. “I thank you for your concern.” She looked up at me, an unspoken question on her face. “You have found a most rare soul, Lady Frostborn. There are few who would comment upon my condition in such a manner besides yourself. I hope you keep her.”

“I intend to preserve her as best I am able.” I leaned forward slightly. “I have a favor to ask, Heca.”

“You need only name it, Your Ladyship.” Heca was never concerned with requests from me, knowing that they would not countermand the authority or desires of His Majesty. The other generals were far more self interested, and as a result, she seldom paid them any courtesy.

“The mastermind of Luka’s assassination is still alive. If I bring them to you in the same condition, I would appreciate your expertise in obtaining what they know. They worked with servants of the god Erelim.”

Heca dipped her head. “So long as they are still alive, I will gladly assist. If they perish, my talents are far less useful.”

Shira looked over at me uneasily, no doubt thinking of Varys’s fate. She had more reason to trust servants of an allied god than either Heca or I, especially knowing both of our reputations now.

“And when they have given their answers to Lady Frostborn’s satisfaction, I hope you treat them in the ancient and accustomed manner,” Riyd growled from the other side of me. “I would be present for it as well.”

Heca tilted her head slightly, regarding Riyd with her strange eyes. “Of course,” the dryad said. “For love of your father, Riyd, I would promise nothing less.”

The dryad had always maintained a soft spot for the fangwardens, especially Luka. They served as protectors of the land in a way the undead seldom cared to. Besides, with all the iron coursing through her own veins, no doubt she had some sympathy for Riyd’s wound from silver.

Riyd rose to her feet and bowed, a show of respect she gave few others. “Thank you, Executioner. I have his funeral to put into order. He must be buried beside my mother.”

“Riyd, notify me when you intend to bury him,” I said. “I would be present as well to pay my respects.”

The fangwarden wasn’t surprised, but I saw a brief flash of gratitude across her face all the same. “It is usually a clan affair, but this I will do,” Riyd said. “He always appreciated you, Lady Frostborn.”

I flashed her a barely-there smile of reassurance for a split second. “And I him.”

Riyd said nothing more and shifted forms into an eagle. She took to the sky, soaring away with swift wingbeats.

“There will need to be a new spymaster,” Heca observed. “His Majesty wished that I provide you with the name of His choice, considering it impacts you most directly.”

“Who?” I asked, a knot forming in my stomach.

“Medesicaste.”

My hopes sank at the mention of Melody filling that role. It would be dangerous and demanding, painting a target on the back of my closest confidante. More than that, it would remove her from my inner circle by necessity. “His command or His request?”

Heca’s stare fixed on me. “He has decided.”

“Then so it will be.” Nothing and no one was beyond the King in Black’s reach. I had no friend or possession He could not take if it pleased Him.

Her message delivered, Heca gave me a graceful bow and stepped away, bare feet never faltering on the rough bark of her tree. I grit my teeth in the silence, trying to stem the feeling of hurt and resentment. He does what is best for the Kingdom, I reminded myself.

A decidedly cold comfort, even to one as duty-bound as I.