The Letter, Part 13
Gilbetron ran through the street, ocean spray hitting him in the face as he tried his best to catch up with Telematrice, some hundred feet ahead of him. The mist was heavy enough that he couldn’t quite make out with direction she had gone in, though he assumed she was heading for the town square, where their horses were being kept.
“Telematrice!” he called frantically.
Suddenly, and very unexpectedly, Telematrice stepped toward him out of the fog. He stumbled, swerving at the last moment so as not to run into her.
“Telematrice,” he said again, panting, trying to catch his breath. “You can’t do this. I forbid it!”
“You don’t forbit anything. You’re absolutely incapable of doing so. You’re the lord of the Western Territories, whereas I… well, quite frankly, just being descended from the court of King Reginald XXVII means I outrank you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Gilbetron said. “When the last time you showed any pride in being part of that ridiculous royal line!”
She turned her head abruptly and disappeared back into the fog. Gilbetron hurried to catch up.
“Wait!” he called. “What you’re doing to wrong, and you know it.”
“Too much is at stake to be confined by everyday morality, Gilbetron,” she began. “I’d like to take the moral high road, but I’m not willing to do so at the expense of my country. I will not put my people in danger. If I can deliver those twelve heads, that’s precisely what I’m going to do.”
“But they’re innocent people! Even if you can track down the ancestors of the highwaymen, they will have done absolutely nothing to deserve death.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice truly laced with apology. Telematrice picked up the pace and vanished into thin air.