She stilled.
For a moment, Godren allowed himself to just look at her with all the pent-up resentment and fresh blame that raged within him. He let it burn from his eyes to hers, willing years’ worth of shame and remorse to overcome her right then as he stood before her to deliver it.
Then he quenched it, clinging to the sanity he wanted to have when this was all over.
“You have stolen years of my life,” he declared, “and destroyed the prospect of not only whatever future I once had, but any future at all. While you’re worried about your image as a selfish little fraud, worried about what people might think, I have been running for my life for three years because your little games have given me the sure face of a killer. What would they say, do you think, if they knew you were nothing but a self-gratifying, childish fake? Well in the ruthless world you’ve plunged me into, Delcy, they don’t just say things. There are consequences for being a killer. They put me beneath an axe and chop the head from my body.”
Her breath quivered against his fingers, and she swallowed as anxiety rose inside her at the conviction in his words.
“Worse still,” he continued, “there is still a killer among you.”
That seemed to shock her into humbleness, as if she had never thought about it before. She had probably been too much of a nervous wreck fearing her own exposure.
Taking the chance that she was humbled, Godren removed his hand from her mouth. Strands of her dark hair that had been caught in his hold fell back into place framing her face.
The humbleness flashed from her eyes as being released sparked a means of independence and defiance. “Get away from me, Godren. For all I know, you did kill my father.”
“You have no right label me the murder that you did.”
“And you have no right to come in here and threaten me. I’ll report you for this, I promise you.”
Oh no, you don’t. Growing affronted, Godren grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to listen closely. “Thanks to you, my rights don’t apply anymore. You have destroyed me further than this, so I can threaten whoever I want to in perfectly good conscience. You will talk,” he told her, “and clear me, or the gods help me I will show you what it’s like to run for your life.”
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as fingers dug into her shoulders, but he held her there. He opened his mouth to finish his persuasion, but in a confusing crash of senselessness the world suddenly went dizzy, and he crumpled in a sick rush. His awareness was reduced to nothing but a feverish starburst, as a shattering ill throb took root at the base of his skull.
He wasn’t aware of fading out completely, but somewhere in the swimming, seeking void, it happened.
*
He didn’t want to return to the world. Not when a bright point of his life was the fact that he was experiencing physical pain. That really threw his life into perspective as he was coming to; it was appalling – astonishing – what he was reduced to.
The first thing he saw when he regained enough sense to focus was a very bleak, very dreaded symmetrical pattern he had hoped to never see – prison bars sequestering him. Dismayed, he closed his eyes again.
What in the world had happened to him? That blow had come out of nowhere.
At least he wasn’t dead, he thought. Then again, that might not be something to be thankful for.
For a time, he just lay there and pretended time was standing still and nothing was in motion around him and nothing would ever happen again. But then someone burst into the room.
“Gods,” a voice murmured in astonishment.
Painfully, Godren lifted his lids to behold the speaker, and found his mother, Ilsa, staring at him from the other side of his cage. Stealing himself against the undesirable effects of the task, he roused himself and drew his body upright.
“Godren…” She stared in shock as he painstakingly came to the bars, and then she rushed forward, reaching through his cell.
He embraced her, the bars between them.
Carra entered the room behind her mother. Heartbreak shone in her eyes.
At a complete loss for words, with three years to catch up on, false reassurances caught in his throat, questions on the tip of his tongue and good-byes at risk of composing themselves, he swallowed everything.
“My boy,” Ilsa uttered with affection and regret. “Why did you come back?”
“I was seeking justice.”
“It was Laront who hit you,” Carra said. “At least one of Delcy’s secrets is out – apparently she got someone to substitute for you and really sneak through her window at night.” She spoke half-heartedly, casting her eyes down at the end.
Ilsa drew back to look at him.
“And she’s not talking?” Godren asked knowingly.
“She’s not talking,” Ilsa confirmed.
“So they’re going to try me now, and that’s it.”
“But you didn’t kill him, Godren,” Ilsa insisted, as if the truth mattered.
“No,” he said pointlessly, “I didn’t.”
Tears welled up in Carra’s eyes and spilled over, and she covered her face.
“Forgive me for coming back,” Godren said.
Shaking her head, Ilsa touched his face, but could not say anything.
How could he have been so careless, allowing Laront’s presence to go unnoticed? He had promised Carra he would take care, and had instead let his emotional focus on his undertaking distract him from taking precautions. He had been so determined to leave his criminal life behind that he had forgotten to employ all those blessed criminal survival tactics.
What have I done?
Now before him stood his family, the ones he had missed, who had missed him, who had constantly prayed that, wherever he was, he was safe – who had hoped every day that they could see him again.
And now they wished he had never come back.
34: Sweet Authority
Godren’s faith had transformed – taking on the view that perhaps things were meant to be this way, and that was okay – by the time the day of his reckoning dawned. Binding his hands, they led him out to the prison yard. He looked at the boundless, taunting sky, thinking how beautiful it was, wondering for the thousandth and final time how things had come to this. In those last minutes, he couldn’t straightly remember. It all seemed like such a nightmare, intense but unreal, dizzying itself in his meaningless wake. Maybe, he thought, if a life was meaningless and then you died, it would be as if you never existed and nothing would matter. None of what had happened would matter.
About then, as they positioned him in front of a morbid block that was either to cleave his head over or serve as a pedestal for a noose – he was in too much of a daze to tell which, and he didn’t want to know – it was about then that Wingbridge began to resonate with the approach of riders. The authorities looked up from the preparation of his execution, wondering over the unexpected interruption. A trio of horsemen thrummed into the yard, pulling up sharply and prancing close enough to send the authorities dancing out of the way.
“In the name of King Talivor Vandelta of Raven City, stand down and don’t you dare touch a hair on his head,” a female voice flamed across the yard.
At the familiar sound of that voice, Godren snapped out of his daze. By some twisted miracle of fate, he beheld the princess of Raven City as he looked up. And Seth. A single guard accounted for the identity of the third rider.
“Where are Ilsa and Carra?” the princess demanded, keeping her eyes deliberately off of Godren. How did she know his family? Seth must have told her – but what as he doing with her?
“They were not permitted to attend, my lady,” one of the authorities stuttered. “And if you please, this is no place or time for–”
“My lady?” Catris challenged. “I am the princess of Raven City – it will be ‘your highness’, if you please – and it is the place and time for whatever I say.”
Taken aback, the man fell silent.
“Where is the house of Ilsa
and Carra? I demand to be taken there at once,” Catris announced.
“Of…course, your Highness,” the authority agreed, unable to refuse her, but then a complication broke out.
“She’s brought us Sethos!” someone exclaimed. “Someone contain him!”
As that invoked a great stir for custody, Seth’s already-stricken face turned even more stricken, and the princess raised her voice.
“Be still and don’t touch him either!”
The action halted.
“Your…your Highness, your companion is known as a dangerous man, capable of being an accessory to murder.”
“And I’m a very dangerous woman, capable of murdering you all where you stand,” Catris countered fiercely, and then evened her tone. “Leave. Him. Be.”
From his place in the yard, Godren stared in blank insignificance as the situation unfolded around him. Was this really happening? He scarcely allowed himself to hope, so close to the noose was he, and yet he couldn’t hold down the swarm of butterfly relief that ravaged giddily through his heart. Catris was here, in Wingbridge, and though he couldn’t say what that meant for him, it certainly meant a great walloping turn of events.
“Now,” Catris was saying, “take me to the house of Ilsa and Carra. And if there is so much as a mark on his wrists from his bonds between now and when I return to do things my way, I will have you drawn and quartered.,” she promised, indicating Godren.
Swallowing, the man set off in the direction she requested.
Still not looking at Godren, the princess turned her mount and followed, leaving Seth to join Godren and wait.
*
Ilsa and Carra were being contained inside, holding each other and weeping at the window. When the door was opened, they looked up through tear-stained eyes and only tempered the hysterical blame from their gazes when Catris stepped past her predecessor. Confusion replaced the blame, but nothing tempered their tortured expressions.
“The pri–” Catris’s escort began to announce, but she cut him off.
“Wait outside.”
Silenced, he hesitated a little grudgingly before taking his leave.
As the door shut, Catris sought some way to approach speaking to the women, so fraught with devastation were they. “They’ve discontinued the execution,” she announced, unable to imagine how desperate a tragedy it was to think a son and brother dead.
Stricken in the opposite extreme, the women’s tears ceased like the moment in which the water of a winter flood freezes, and then relief overwhelmed their eyes.
“Wh – how?” Ilsa stammered.
“I commanded they desist,” Catris said, not sure how to go about explaining everything.
“Who are you?”
Who was she? Of course – she hadn’t introduced herself, and this was only a humble little village far removed from the capital. They would have heard her name, but where would they have seen her face?
“Forgive me, I am Catris Vandelta.”
At that, their eyes widened. Suddenly they were speechless.
And entitled, Catris thought. What thoughts must be rushing through their heads? What business did the princess have showing up in their scarred little community to intervene in the reckoning of a long-lost, suddenly turned-up member of their insignificant circle?
“I…” Catris tried to begin getting to the point. “I am here on Godren’s behalf, before you jump to the conclusion that he is wanted for bigger things and that I have come to take him for a more noteworthy trial.” Suddenly feeling out of her element in this town and self-conscious under their surely intense speculation, Catris looked for the quickest way to sate their inquisitiveness and cut to the chase. “I need to know everything. Everything you can tell me about Godren’s predicament, so that I can untangle him from this mess.”
“Y-you’re going to help him?” Carra asked, hopeful and incredulous.
“I know he’s innocent, Carra. I can’t explain it, but I do. Injustice grates against my nerves like nothing else, and on top of everything – he has done unthinkable favors in my interest. I have wracked up quite a debt to him. I owe him my life.”
“But, your highness, the only person capable of denouncing the accusations’ credibility cannot be persuaded to talk,” Carra despaired. “The truth would hurt her image; greater authority will only send her deeper into hiding, not encourage her to confess anything.”
“Oh?” Catris challenged. “Tell me everything about her, and we’ll see what she won’t confess.”
*
Catris still had not touched her tea by the time the Caster maid found and fetched Delcy. It sat stagnant on the table, which the princess had ignored for sitting.
Delcy looked decidedly pale as she entered the room, especially against her dark hair and eyes. She had composed her pretty expression, though, and stood prim and proper before the princess.
“What a staggering honor, your royal Highness,” she said in greeting. “I must admit, I never expected my doorstep would be graced by a royal presence. We are a humble community here.”
“If you are not mortally humbled by unimaginable shame, then I don’t want to hear it,” Catris established in a no-nonsense fashion, not humoring the girl in the least.
Delcy’s confidence blanched ever so slightly at the princess’s manner. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You don’t know much, do you? Are you even aware that a man is awaiting execution down the street as we speak? Are you aware of that?”
“I–”
“What were you doing when I sent your maid to fetch you?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What were you doing? Because you obviously weren’t mourning the pending loss of a close member of your community – one that you once smothered near to your heart and made every valid claim of being in love with. I suppose in all respects maybe you were – it’s always been known that the love of the conceited is shallow.”
“Godren has been gone for three years,” Delcy objected.
“Oh, so no longer counted a close member of your community? Or did you mean three years is longer than you should be expected to stay in love?”
“He was accused of murder and became a different person out there,” Delcy persisted defensively.
“So what were you doing, embroidering?”
“What?”
“You’re avoiding the question; I want to know what you were doing when I sent your maid to fetch you.”
Delcy opened her mouth, flustered. “I – nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing – certainly not embroidering. How could you make such a morbid assumption?”
“How could you do nothing?”
“What would you have me do, march out there and grapple with the headsman in objection?”
“Oh no, you might ruin your dress. I suppose that’s a good excuse for not crying on it either.”
“It is not my place to intervene with authority, your Highness. I would not be sitting in my room embroidering while a man I once knew is being executed in town, but embroidery is what I do. I do not confront headsmen. I do not possess the physical strength.”
“Did Godren possess the physical strength to stave off the accusations? To endure starvation if he could not obtain sustenance on the streets? To resist going emotionally insane? It isn’t about physical strength – but if you want to make it about that, one thing he did have the physical strength to do was knock you silly a long time ago, and by the gods I don’t know why he didn’t do it.”
Blood rose to Delcy’s pale cheeks as she grew incensed over such unsympathetic implications. “This is outrageous, my lady,” she fumed, barely containing her obvious desire to lash out further.
“Is it?”
“I did nothing to deserve this,” she said in great objection. “How dare you march in here and presume to judge my character? You have never spent a day in this town, and know nothing of our lives. Have you ever even spared a glance for an
y town lesser than your precious capital? Do you even have the capacity to understand a humble way of life? You know nothing. Nothing of us, nothing of me.”
“I do, however, know that Godren did not commit the crime you have condemned him over. I know he didn’t do it. And if–”
“I beg your pardon; the crime I condemned him over? You flatter me, your Highness, but condemning goes to the authorities.”
“Oh, so you’d like to blame them as well?”
“I never blamed Godren.”
“You had the ability to revoke the evidence against him.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I never knew better about any evidence. They decided what was valid, and as far as I’m concerned they can keep that job. Having someone’s fate in my hands, and the obligation to deliver its just reckoning, depending on so many threads… I don’t think I could stomach it.”
“And yet the threads of your embroidery don’t dizzy you in the least. Not even your role as one of those fateful threads, one of those factors, seems to sicken you in the least.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Are you saying that Godren really came to see you that night?”
An evident swallow slid down Delcy’s throat. “Yes,” she said in a flat tone. “He came to see me.”
Catris cocked an eyebrow and let the silence hang, forcing the girl to stand straight-faced in the uncomfortable presence of her blatant lie. As could have been anticipated, Delcy tried to fill the silence herself, squirming away from pressure;
“If he did not commit the crime, that is unfortunate. It would be a shame for them to put stock in invalid evidence.”
“It’s also a shame that I believe Godren’s family over you.”
“And what did they say about me? That I framed their son for murder and condemned him to death all by myself? They’re his family – of course they’re going to defend him, and blame someone else.”
“They can vouch for him not fulfilling the majority of the little fantasies you have spread around town – and Seth can as well – and even if they can’t for that night, that still makes you a liar and gives me every reason to believe them over you. And don’t tell me Seth is merely on their side, because I cross-referenced their stories in different rooms at different times. What’s more, I happen to have a fairly keen insight into Godren’s taste for women, and you are nothing of the stuff he pursues.”
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