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ctors. Roland was in real pain. He looked up suddenly. "My mother was killed."
For the first time there was a response from the crowd, a low whisper of comment that was hardly more audible than a wind stirring summer leaves. Thomas knew they were thinking that it had broken Roland. Aviler swayed as if to move forward, then stopped himself. It was a curiously moving gesture of restraint; the High Minister was going to trust that Roland hadn't gone mad, and would not attempt to control what the King said in an open audience.
Roland fingered the carved chair arm, and his eyes went to Denzil. "Many people were killed. Someone should die for that."
Thomas realized he was holding his breath.
Denzil was as still as a statue, and almost as pale, but he didn't look away from Roland's hollow eyes. Thomas knew that people were remembering the two had grown up together, though Denzil was older.
Roland shifted in his chair suddenly, looking away. "The sorcerer Grandier is dead. Most of the traitors are dead. The charter of the troop of the Duchy of Alsene is to be torn up, the survivors disbanded, their arms taken, and they will not be allowed to form again under those colors on pain of death. The men who hold Officers' commissions in the Troop of Alsene will be ordered executed as traitors, for the act of treason against the crown and the Ministry. Any of the lords of Alsene found in the palace taking part in the conspiracy will be ordered executed as traitors, on the same charge. Denzil Fontainon Alsene, Duke of Alsene, is...is ordered..." Roland did not look at Denzil, or anyone else. His gaze was locked on the pastel haze in a painting of a harbor skyline. The silence stretched, but no one in the crowd made the slightest sound of inattention. Roland closed his eyes to shut out some vision other than the painting. "Is ordered banished from our borders--" He hesitated again, as if he heard himself speaking and wondered at it. Then he continued, "Forever. On pain of death."
Thomas re