Page 21 of Arch Conspirator
I turned away from the crowd—not to hide my face from them, but to position myself as one of them. The head of the flock, the leader of the masses, standing against this woman who had stood against me. It would not hurt to remind them that I was one of them, that I spoke on their behalf and not my own. The crime she had committed was against their survival.
“Antigone,” I said. “Do you stand here of your own free will, ready to be questioned?”
“I do,” she replied, her voice even.
“Then let me recount the circumstances under which you find yourself accused of treason,” I said. “Two nights ago, a group of terrorists stormed the courtyard of this house”—hereI gestured to the building—“with the express intent of doing violence to me and my household. In that attack, your eldest brother, Eteocles, rose up in my defense. He was murdered by one of the aforementioned terrorists, but not before delivering a killing blow to the very man who killed him. That terrorist’s name was Polyneikes, and was his brother, and yours, as well as my own nephew.”
Her face was impassive. I had always had trouble reading Antigone; it had plagued me since her arrival in my house. I knew that she hated me, yes, but I was never certain of what she would do with that hatred, of whether it would simply fester inside her all her life, or whether it would inspire her to action. Even now, I was not sure of it.
“An attempt on the High Commander’s life cannot be tolerated, and is among our highest crimes,” I said. “Therefore I delivered an edict, clearly and in the hearing of every citizen of this city: the traitor’s body must not be interfered with, under penalty of execution. Did you hear this edict, Antigone?”
“I did,” she replied.
“Last night, you were discovered by one of my soldiers immediately following an explosion that caused irreparable damage to the Electran District of our city, including several homes, with an Extractor poised over the traitor’s abdomen, in the process of violating my edict. Do you deny it?”
“No, I do not,” she said, and a gasp sounded from behind me.
“Do you know who is responsible for the explosion that empowered you to act?”
“I take responsibility for it myself,” she replied.
I felt my mouth twist against my will. That was a sidestep if I’d ever heard one. She had obviously conspired with someone, and I was willing to bet it was the same rebels who had stormed the courtyard with her brother. Where one twin had connections, so did the other.
“Was there something about my edict you did not understand?”
“There was plenty about your edict I did not understand,” she replied.
“Do elaborate. Was it the definition of ‘interference’ with the body?”
“No. Your intent was quite clear to me,” she said. “You wished to exclude my brother’s ichor from the Archive, the only retroactive punishment available to you.”
I scowled at her. “What then did you find so confusing?”
“I suppose,” she said, “it was the hierarchy of law.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“To my knowledge, we have never excluded anyone from the Archive,” she said. “Not thieves, not murderers, and not even the rioters who rose up in the wake of a free election gone awry, ten years ago. We even permit those conceived as my siblings and I were to store their ichor, though some doubt it is ichor at all.” Her eyes softened. “And so I suppose what confused me was that the merciful approach we have taken toward our wayward citizens prior to this point was suddenly not permitted for my brother.”
I breathed deep through my nose. I could not lose control now.
“I should think the explanation for that is obvious,” I said. “A thief, a murderer, and even a rioter are not the same as an assassin who acts against the highest level of authority. Such an act is worthy of a stronger punishment. It threatens the very foundation of our society, and our society is our survival.”
“My brother was no assassin,” she replied.
“Because he was stopped,” I said. “By your own brother, no less. I didn’t realize you loved Eteocles so little.”
“I loved both of my brothers.”
“And they killed each other,” I said. “It’s clear you loved one more than the other, if there was only one whose ichor yourisked your life to preserve. Have you given a thought for Eteocles’ immortality? Do you even know where his body is?”
Her eyes hardened.
“I assumed that you would treat it with respect, given how loyal he was to you,” she replied. “Do you think you honor him, by destroying his kin permanently?”
“Do you believe a victim of murder feels warmly toward his murderer?”
“My point,” she said, harder now in voice as well as expression, “is that one man, High Commander or no, doesn’t have the right or the power to declare cruelty to be morality just because something has affected him personally. There is a word for the man who tries. Do you know what it is, Kreon?” She raised her voice so it rang through the square. “Tyrant.”
