Arch-Conspirator(20)

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 you risked 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.”

All around us was silence.

“It is unfortunate to see you this way, Niece,” I said, as softly as I could manage.

“In what way?” she said. “Grieving?”

“No,” I answered. “Warped beyond recognition. We all knew, of course, that it would happen eventually. Genetic deterioration is the lot of everyone who still lives on this planet. But most people start with a clean slate. You, however … un-souled, natural-born daughter of two broken parents…” I shook my head. “I am surprised you still trust your own assessments of what is right. Your twin brother did, and it led to him dying in disgrace.”

The mask that she had worn up until that point fell away. I had laid bare her hatred, at last.

“If I had a brother who was ‘warped,’ as you say,” she said, “it was Eteocles, who served a power-mad dictator at the expense of his own family.”

“Yes, well,” I said. “Some of us understand the necessity of duty over personal attachment. And that is why I cannot spare you, dear niece, after hearing you admit to your crimes, as well as your obvious awareness of them, brazenly and in the public square. You cannot be given special treatment simply because of my familial attachment to you. You must suffer the same consequences as every other citizen of this city. You must be executed.”