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“So, what are you doing for lunch later?”
“Really? That’s what you want to talk about, now?”
“It’s my big brotherly duty to make sure you’re fed.”
“And I’m sure your wives will make sure I eat at your funeral.”
“Okay, Elodie, might be human, but I think you’d have been invited to my wedding if I’d had one.”
It’s the normal sibling banter, the sort of sibling talk that wouldn’t be out of place coming from Shadia and Alogar. The only difference is that Hal’s impressive ventriloquism, spinning each word from sound wave to arcane missive, hits as hard as an actual missile. These could be his last words, Thjazi is well aware. And if they are, it’s because for once in their lives, he’s been outschemed by his brother.
He’s distracted, for a moment, by his still-technically-wife returning to his side.
“I did try,” she murmurs, in Obridimian. “She won’t see me. Even now.”
Normally, that language would be just as big a risk as speaking in Rungjani, but today she has joined him in the peasent’s crowd, abandoned her knight to stand at his side.
Thjazi wonders where Thaisha is, but then realizes he already knows—or if not where, exactly, since the least everyone knows the better, why he doesn’t. He’d known Aranessa couldn’t save him, but she isn’t the only connections that should have come in handy—and hopefully, something still will. The Marshall he trained, the pixie partner hiding somewhere in the rafters, the druid out of the cities reaches waiting to be guide somewhere even closer to Kother’ai’s heros. Honestly, if they were going for symbolism, Thjazi isn’t sure why they didn’t just kill Hal in the Hallowed Round. Or, well, try to.
It’s about then that the trumpets flare, and Thjazi keeps his eyes venemous and unerring as the proclomation is made.
Come on, big brother, he thinks. If you’ve gotten yourself into this mess by making the stage your vessel, I won’t turn away from the biggest show yet.
"Herein, sentenced to death by the authority of the Chamber of Lords-Advisory to the Revolutionary Council is the propagandist, arcanist, and slanderer Halandil Fang to be put to death. His crimes enumerated; embezzlement, breach of contract, slander, libel, defamation, befouling arcanism, sedition, and intent to incite insurrection against the beneficence of the city and its peoples."
‘Beneficence of the city and its peoples.’ The phrasing gets an eye roll from Thjazi that threatens to break even Hal’s solemn face.
“Kother’ai didn’t even say shit about the Revolutionary Council. You’d think they’d been fully replaced.”
“They have been.”
Indeed, it is the matriarch of the Creed and not a city official who steps forward. “Let the light shine and let peace be restored to this blessed city and its heroic legacy.”
“The heroic legacy you honored.”
“I am well aware of what Kother’ai did. And of—”
His eyes dart up, and Thjazi almost misses it, but he’s been watching for Thimble in the distance since the day he married Aranessa, and even she has noticed. Something’s wrong. She was supposed to stay hidden until Thjazi’s words could trigger the enchantment, and—
His train of thought is broken once again, this time by the insertion of his brothers.
“There’s more hidden fairy gates at the back of the theatre, get Thimble out of the city. I left a casket in the props for Bolaire. You need to work together. And most importantly of all, tell Shadia this isn’t her fault, and tell Thaisha and Alogar and Elodie and Hero that I love them all and—”
“Have you any last words, Halandil Fang?"
The spell stops as he realizes his chance is fleeting.
“I have told nothing but the truth from the beginning. No matter who dies on the journey, like Azgra, tyranny will fall! Dol-Makjar belongs to the Rungjani, and we will always perform for the falcon’s eyes!”
The lever snaps, the rope reaches its length, and in less time than it would take to down a bottle of Yargratz, Thjazi watches his brother die.