“He did interrupt it.” Her voice was flat. “He laid hands on me and dragged me from Lief’s side. He was shouting in my face. A lot of things. One of which concerned Lief, and his opinion on whether saving a life was a fit exercise for my powers.”

Artaves winced at that, mostly because he knew what was coming from the testimony of the monks.

“So…”

“I am afraid I suffered a lapse of judgment,” Dion said in dead tones.

“That’s… one way of putting it.”

“I became very angry very quickly, and I was not able to exercise the appropriate forbearance and restraint,” she went on.

“And you…?”

She took a deep breath, mustering the willpower to just say the words. “I struck Abnasio with my mace. With full intent to harm him.”

“More than once.”

“Yes.”

Artaves moistened his lips. You beat the Chief Disciple of Gamograth to death were the words he did not feel the need to say.

She shivered. “One of his followers got close enough to strike me, then.” An abortive gesture toward her bandaged head. “He knocked me down.”

“And your own followers…”

“Took it badly, yes. Only…”

“Hmm?”

She looked him properly in the eye for the first time. “I am not denying my actions. When I struck Abnasio I ceased to do the work of the Light. I will face whatever punishment the authorities demand for my actions. But Penthos…”

“Your magician.”

“You must understand how it is with him. I had instructed him to hold himself back. I had told him not to exercise the full and lethal extent of his powers.”

Artaves sighed. “I am sure that will be taken into account when your actions are judged.”

“No! I am not saying this in my own defense,” she told him forcefully. “How many died, of the monks?”

“Seventeen.” They had been crushed, flattened, torn apart by invisible forces. For a man used to keeping peace in the most peaceful city in the world it had been an eye-opener.

“And how many survived?”

“Twenty-seven, many of whom were injured.”

“Well, then, don’t you see?” she insisted. “Even seeing me fall, even seeking to protect me, and assailed on all sides, he held himself back obedient to my dictates. Believe me, Lord Commander, if Penthos had unleashed his full powers there would have been no survivors. There would have been no house left, perhaps no street. Please, you must recognize that he held himself back. And that it was all for me. I give myself up for punishment. Imprison me, exile me, strip me of my office. Execute me, if you will. My followers were only doing my bidding.”

There was a knock, and Artaves rose from the table to answer. One of his subordinates stood there, holding a sealed scroll.

“From the Potentate himself,” he reported.

“Praise be to Armes,” Artaves muttered, because that meant he himself was not going to have to make the call.