“Do what?”
“Kill me.”
“Is that what you think? You think I came to execute you?”
“Didn’t you?”
“Why would I punish the one man in my kingdom who did his job? The one man who risked his life for my family? Who knowingly sacrificed himself for the ones I love the most? Reuben, I am not in the habit of executing heroes.”
“But your daughter…”
“She just lost her mother. She hates everyone right now, me included. I can’t blame her. I almost killed the bishop myself for speaking the truth. Maybe your father was a traitor, but you are not. I owe you a great debt. I’m not going to execute you, Reuben. I’m going to reward you. I could knight you for bravery, but I don’t need another knight. As a knight, you would leave the castle, and I can’t have that. The coming days will be dark ones, I fear, and I am frightened for the safety of my family. I need men to protect them. All the gold in my treasury couldn’t buy a better protector for my daughter.”
The king stood up. “You need to get well quickly, Reuben. I will be arranging for proper combat training, as my son tells me you are less than able with a blade, and I need you as skilled as a Pickering.”
“I don’t understand.”
“As of this moment, you are now, Reuben Hilfred, royal sergeant at arms and the personal bodyguard of the princess. You will go where she goes, never letting her out of your sight. And as far as her protection is concerned, you act with the power of the king. That means you have my permission to kill any man who threatens her-I don’t care what rank or position he holds. Do you understand?”
Reuben nodded.
“From now on, you answer only to my daughter and to me. Never let anyone tell you not to protect her again.”
“But the princess hates me.”
“She’ll get over it.” The king turned to leave, then paused. “Of course, I think we’ll wait at least until you’re healed and have learned how to use a sword before I break the news to her. She has a temper, that one.” He walked for the door, but paused once more before opening it. “Thank you, Reuben.”
“Your Majesty?”
“Yes?”
“I wasn’t alone.”
“What’s that?”
“In the fire. When I went back for the queen, I wasn’t alone. Someone else was with me. I couldn’t see them. I couldn’t see anything. Just a voice; she told me which way to go, how to get out, and when I finally reached the stairs, she told me to jump. Only no one else could have been in there with me, could they?”
“There was no one else. You alone braved the fire.”
“I think it might have been my mother. I think she wanted to help me-see that I survived-and now she has.”
The king stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “I think everyone may have underestimated your mother’s love for you. Me included.”
CHAPTER 24
Hadrian watched as snow began to fall on the dirt. It melted faster on the newly turned soil, causing the little grave to stand out. The rough rectangle clean of any leaves, rich and dark, looked too small. It could be a child’s grave. He remembered her from that night-her face so young, so frightened. She was hardly more than a child. He pictured her under all that dirt and his stomach tightened. Gwen had dressed her in a gown of white and surrounded her in the last roses the vendors had left. Then they had nailed the box shut and settled it into the hole. Gwen had paid for the plot; she never said how much. All the ladies had pitched in for the headstone. There was a place outside the city for undesirables, but after Chancellor Braga’s announcement that the ladies of Medford House were under the direct protection of the king, no one protested. Not able to use her name, the headstone read GRACE FLOWERS.
If only he hadn’t interfered.
Would Rose have lived? Is she in that box under all that dirt because of me?
If he hadn’t helped Richard Hilfred fight off the sheriff and his deputies, if he hadn’t stepped in the way and stopped Terence from taking Rose to safety, she would still be alive.
Royce hadn’t said anything. What better illustration than the cold body of a beautiful young girl to really drive home an argument. Only the thief remained silent. Previously Hadrian might have wondered why, but he was getting to know Royce now. More to the point, Royce was getting to know-if not entirely understand-him.
The majority of the mourners filed out of the graveyard. A long silent procession of bowed heads and weeping eyes. Most were women-none wore black. Hadrian imagined it was the one color that the ladies didn’t own. The procession to the graveyard through town had brought stares and glares of disgust. More than a few commented on the “harlot colors,” but Hadrian knew they all wore red in deference to Rose.
Royce and Gwen lingered beside the grave. For once the thief was the most appropriately dressed. Gwen cried. She stood quivering, her hands to her face. It took a moment, a few beats of delay, but then Royce awkwardly slipped an arm around her. At his touch, she buried her face in his chest and sobbed. He stiffened. Her arms circled his waist and squeezed so that his cloak tapered. For a man so adept at movement, so agile and quick, Royce moved at the pace of a watched pot. His arms inched out around her shoulders, his cloak enveloping her. They stood that way, joined as one person in the center of the graveyard at the end of Paper Street.
Watching them, Hadrian sighed and it came out as a little fog that was snatched away by the cold wind.
He doesn’t deserve her. Then he shrugged. Who does?
First Arbor, now Gwen. Perhaps this is the way it would always be. Whenever he found the perfect woman, he would lose her to his closest friend. He breathed in a cold swallow of air that hurt.
Better to let it go.
Movement to his right caught his attention. A set of eyes peered at them over the top of a headstone. Hadrian recognized the forehead. It was Puzzle.
Hadrian’s only surprise was that it had taken this long. Since the night of the fire, they had not seen a member of the Hand. Now they were standing on their doorstep, and as inappropriate a time as it might be, they could hardly let it pass. More eyes appeared among the crypts and stones. None looked happy. They must have been aware of Royce and himself for some time, and while in the back of his mind Hadrian acknowledged the kindness that they held off, he wasn’t in a good mood. With the burial of Rose, he was back in a serious drinking state of mind. He often got that way when he thought too much, when he took inventory and found his shelves bare. His mind always spiraled down to thoughts of the tiger, his father, and the emptiness-an emptiness he tried to fill with drink. It took a day or two, but eventually he always succeeded in drowning the hatred, the deep loathing of the one person he held responsible for all his failures-himself.
Of course, a good fight could help too. And it was with this eager eye that Hadrian watched the Crimson Hand rise out of the crypts and gather around them. Hadrian wondered if Royce saw them. He was unusually distracted at that moment, but then he lifted his head and drew Gwen away, positioning her between himself and Hadrian.
Top Hat approached with his trademark lid, to which he added a long wool cloak. He glanced at the grave. “My condolences,” he said, tipping his hat. It even sounded sincere. He looked at Royce. “I heard back from Colnora.”
“Let her go first,” Hadrian ordered.
Top Hat looked at Gwen. “No need. I wouldn’t dare harm a lady of Medford House. Not after the chancellor’s edict. And…” Top Hat’s voice lost its bravado and he looked to Royce. “Not after what happened to Lord Exeter”-he turned to Hadrian-“and the sheriff’s men. They’re saying the king did it, you know? That he made an example of what happens to traitors. It was adequately gruesome, and very public to be sure, only a bit odd. Kings usually like executions done in daylight with torture and lots of screams before a cringing crowd. It also tends to happen when he’s actually present, not drinking with old friends.”