Some spoilers for The Queen of Attolia
My sonâs grand gambit has failed, and now that we have come to this, there is only one thing left that I can do for him. I should have dashed the viper upon the rocks when I had the choice, beheld her fear as I took her between my hands and hardened my heart to her, thrown her from the mountain, as one who has tried and failed to take that which belongs to the gods alone. Now it is far too late for that, and there lies before him, and before me, no choice at all. I have failed him before â I cannot fail him again. My vows to let him go â for his sake, for the sake of my country, for the sake of my queen â must hold, and this shall be no more painful of a parting. If I could countenance that parting, this should be no less easy.
He sits before me with his head down and his knees up, the dark wisps of hair curling at the nape of his neck just as they had when he was a child, shoulders slumped in resignation as we wait for the orders that will surely mean his end in any case. He is waiting, too â waiting for me to fulfill the promise I have made to him, that promise to let him go. I do not know, in this moment, if I will be able to do so, but I must, as his father, try. As his life depends on it, I must fulfill my vows.
I reach to take him in my arms one final time, as slowly and as quietly as the night creeping forward, the rattle and clank of chains muffled over by the sister-sounds of those around us as they shifted to allow me greater range. My son sank into my arms with a sigh like the worldâs ending, soft and low and with a relief that bore into my soul and detonated it, as surely as the accident that had taken my eldest.
I had known I would lose him from the moment his motherâs father had looked into his eyes and seen the thing that only the old man could see â the gift or curse or madness that had lead us to here, to now, to the moment that I draw my breath in and then draw tight the manacle-chain I had just looped around my own sonâs throat, the kindness of the noose he had been denied before the woman I had mere hours previous chosen to spare â for his sake â had begun her long crusade to take him apart, piece by precious piece, before my very eyes â and with him my country. I pull the chain tight, praying to the gods I had long-since ceased to truly worship â what divine justice was being meted out to me that I would live on as wife and children perished one by one? For what I pray I do not know, nor to whom, simply for some third path besides the two that had forked out before us and lead to nothing but his death.
His willingness to die â to go quietly and without complaint to this ending â is evident in his silence â a Thief never makes an accidental sound, the old man had always said â but his body fought for air and life nonetheless, bucking in my arms and twisting. And then, on a breath he could not have taken, in a voice I had not heard since the old man had toppled over a banister and died, my son, impossibly, speaks. âThieves,â he says, âdie of falls.â
Stars bloom in my vision as the impact of boot against skulls sends my senses reeling, and in the disorientation and retching I release him, to cough and splutter and wheeze and live.
I understand the message.