27. Solving for Moral Accountability
Solving for Moral Accountability
Soft desert light streamed through the tall windows of the domed, circular meeting room.
Against the cream-colored stone, a procession of sunrises captured in thread hung between each of the narrow windows.
The first tapestry depicted the horizon as no more than a razor-thin line, with a hint of gold bleeding up through the indigo predawn sky.
The images progressed as the sun was reborn, cresting and flaring in brilliant oranges, dusty roses, and deep desert reds.
The weavers stitched the rays in long, shimmering threads that caught the light as the viewer moved around the room.
King Faisal, with Mali at his side, waited near cushioned seating piled in soft dunes of amber, rust and sun-gold fabrics.
Griffon stopped only half-way through the room, his posture rigid with suspicion. “You already promised us horses and supplies,” he said. “What else do you want?”
The king’s mouth twitched. “Nothing.” He took a pitcher from the polished acacia table and poured wine into cups. “Please sit.”
I sat and took a cup of dark wine when he offered it, if only to have something to do with my hands. It smelled rich with spices I couldn't name. When offered a cup, Griffon dismissed it with a wave. Because what better way is there to convey his distrust than refusing refreshments?
The king didn't seem offended, but took a longer than necessary drink from his own. “I wanted to speak with you both honestly, away from public performance.” He locked his focus on me, and then on Griffon. “We owe you both a debt. Multiple debts, in fact.”
“For today?” Griffon said with no inflection. “You already acknowledged that.”
“Yes, for recovering the relic.” King Faisal said, setting his cup down with obvious care.
“But also for allowing the narrative to remain unchallenged. My people will speak of this day for generations. Divine intervention. Restoration of what was lost. Hope.” His eyes met mine.
“You deciphered coordinates our greatest scholars for sixty-five years could not. And yet, you did it in minutes.”
“Hours, actually,” I muttered. “If you count the time I spent staring at it.”
“Even so,” the king said, shaking his head as he leaned forward. “And the riddle? You solved that quickly as well.”
“I didn’t at first,” I said, taking a sip of wine as the memory of the panic of those hours in the cell surfaced. I shook my head. Just a casual evening of existential dread and puzzle-solving. You know, the usual.
“An equinox,” Griffon said quietly.
“Yes. 'Where Helios and darkness hold equal reign. Balanced like Caster and Pollux,” I said to the king.
“It says where they hold equal reign, not when. And then I saw the temple this morning with the number 144 on its exterior. It marks the year it was built—sixty-five years ago, and quite possibly still under construction when Hermes hid the headpiece.”
“The seals on the wall,” Mali said, thinking it through. “They mark where the sun strikes during solstices and equinoxes.”
“Yes, and that’s why Hermes didn’t specify which equinox. The sun strikes the seal at the top of the altarpiece at noon during both the vernal and autumnal equinoxes.”
The king sat back, with something like wonder in his expression. “Remarkable.”
“It makes sense. Your great-aunt,” I said. “Hermes loved her. When the king forbade their marriage, when she…” I trailed off.
“When she chose death over a life without him,” Mali finished softly. “Yes. Hermes blamed my husband's grandfather. Blamed the worship of Helios for declaring their love blasphemous.”
“So he stole the most sacred relic he could find,” I said. “The headpiece of the solar staff. Said to have been given to the people by Helios himself.”
“Revenge,” Griffon said.
“Grief,” I corrected, looking at him. “Sometimes they look the same.”
We shared a look. The kind that broken people share when they know what it’s like to carry anger that weighs more than they do.
“He could have destroyed it, buried it somewhere in the desert, but he didn’t,” the king said. “Instead, he hid it and left clues for someone clever enough to solve.”
“He wanted it found,” I agreed. “Eventually.”
“By someone who understood both theologies,” said the king. “Knowledge they could only gain from living between worlds.”
“By someone who understood balance. Who could see both light and dark,” Griffon paused, and then his eyes scanned my face, “without fear.”
“Someone like you,” Mali said, her dark eyes holding mine.
King Faisal leaned forward. “Seems like quite a coincidence.”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I was just paying attention.” And also trying very hard not to die.
“Paying attention is the difference between those who see patterns and those who see only chaos,” the king replied. “Which is the majority of the rest of us.”
Hearing one of my quirks described as uncommon brilliance sounded so odd in my ears that I didn’t know how to respond.
The king straightened, cleared his throat, and then turned his attention to Griffon. “We also owe you a debt from five years ago.”
The air in the room immediately thickened to soup.
Griffon stopped breathing next to me and went utterly still. It took him a second to recover from the surprise. “So, you admit you went to a rival kingdom and made a deal?”
The king tensed and placed his empty cup back on the table. “We made a choice,” he corrected.
“For a throne,” Griffon said.
“For survival.” The fierce words came from Mali. “You don’t know the cruelty my brother-in-law was capable of. Asad took pleasure in suffering.” Her eyes found mine briefly before returning to Griffon. “Children were dying in the streets. His own people were starving while he hoarded grain.”
The king took her hand in his. “I was forced to watch him rule for ten years as he drove our kingdom to ruin. While I could do nothing but hope he’d see reason.” The lines around his eyes seemed deeper with the weight of his grief.
“So you used Griffon to solve your problem,” I said before I could stop myself.
All eyes turned to me.
“I gave Queen Vesna the means to accomplish our shared goal,” the king corrected, his gaze now on me. “I made no demands about who completed the task.”
“It still fell into his hands,” I pressed. “You risked his life. You burdened his soul.”
Griffon’s hand found my elbow, but I couldn’t tell if it was there to steady me or to warn me.
Mali’s eyebrows shot up, and she stared at me with an expression both offended and impressed. Great, the queen respects my audacity. I can see my tombstone now: ‘Here lies Wren. She had audacity.’
“Yes,” King Faisal said simply. “And we have lived with that knowledge every day since.”
“Have you?” The question escaped sharper than I intended.
“Was that on your mind when you put a ransom on his head? While you built your reputation as the king who opened the borders and saved your people?” My voice rose.
“Or was it while you stood there and sentenced him to death? When you nodded for the torchbearer to light the pyre?”
“Wren—” Griffon said in a low voice. Mystery solved. Yep, that was a warning.
“No.” I pulled away from his grip and sat forward. “They asked you to do something terrible and then let you take all the blame. And now they want... what? Absolution?”
Apparently, when I wasn’t solving geometry puzzles, I was solving for moral accountability. It was like my brain had exactly two settings: ‘math nerd’ and ‘righteous indignation’. Apparently, there was no middle ground.
“We want nothing,” Mali said. “Except to offer honesty and acknowledge the truth between us before you leave.”
“The truth,” I shook my head and exhaled sharply, “is that we’re just pawns on someone else's chessboard.”
Dust drifted through the shafts of sunlight. And no one spoke. Griffon’s gaze felt like it was burning the side of my face, but I didn’t look at him.
Mali cleared her throat and then leaned forward to top off my wine and then fill hers. “Five years ago, we knew we had made a choice that damned us. But we did it anyway. Because we believed our people's survival, and our own, was worth the stain on our souls.”
King Faisal met Griffon's eyes. “It wasn’t noble. Nor will I pretend it was noble to allow an assassin to carry the weight of it. But you could do what we could not. And it was quite a feat—the way you escaped afterward. I should have suspected, especially with the rumors from Volantia. Stories of a killer who moved like smoke and struck like lightning. Strength that bordered on…” He gestured vaguely. “Divine.”
“I’m not divine,” Griffon snapped.
“Perhaps not,” the king said slowly. “But you are something. Today proved that beyond doubt.” He leaned forward slightly.
“You broke steel with your bare hands. Fought through a dozen armed men as if they were nothing.
I've seen strong men, Griffon. What you did this morning…” He shook his head. “That wasn't ordinary strength.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
When Griffon spoke again, his voice was edged with danger. “And how do you plan to use this information to your advantage?”
I set down my wine cup before my shaking hands could spill it. Even after all this, dumping wine on the king’s carpet seemed like it might ruin the evening.
“I don’t,” the king said simply.
“You expect me to believe that.”
“I expect you to believe what you will of my character.” He gestured around at the four of us as if the conversation alone should mean something.
“Just as I am believing what I will of yours.
You broke steel and fought through armed guards.
But you didn't kill them. You saved the girl. You revealed the relic. And then you stopped.” He leaned back, studying Griffon.
“That restraint tells me more about your character than any display of power ever could.”
“I still killed your brother.” Griffon’s fingers curled into the satin fabric of my skirt.