by A. M. Manay
“We’re making a proper knight of you,” Hatch observed as he came alongside her.
“So it seems,” she replied. “Master Deniss decided I should learn to fight on horseback.”
“Yes, he told me so,” Hatch replied. “Keep at it. We may have a use for those skills sooner than later.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Lord Redwood has been busy,” he answered, but he offered no particulars.
“The king has many fighting men. Surely I wouldn’t be needed if it comes to battle,” she protested.
He gave her an unreadable glance before he replied.
“Some battles need a woman’s touch.”
Chapter 12
Never Trust Them
“Why is it against the law for bastard wizards like us to get married and have children?” Shiloh asked Brother Edmun, her voice piping up without warning, as was her wont. They had heretofore been eating their midday meal in silence. The eight-year-old nibbled at a piece of cheese as she awaited his answer. She had little appetite, as she had been recently unwell, but she knew her teacher would scold her if she refused to eat.
“It matters not for you. The hexborn are as barren as the Deadlands,” Edmun replied, sounding irritated at the interruption. He immediately returned to his dinner, missing the cloud that passed over his student’s face.
“I know. But if I weren’t going to be barren?” she countered patiently. She knew from experience that, no matter how annoyed her teacher was by a question, if she persisted, he would answer it.
“The nobility doesn’t want magical abilities to spread throughout the whole population,” Edmun explained, as though it were obvious to anyone with any sense at all. “So, they do not generally permit us half-bloods to procreate.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Why not? Did your fever melt your brains, child? Because they don’t want to lose their power over the peasantry! If every idiot in the kingdom could make proper use of a wand, what would give the noblemen absolute power over their landfolk? What poor farmer would be content to grow turnips all day if he could cast spells like an earl instead?
“They give us just enough prestige and wealth to make us better than the rabble, so we will spend our lives willingly serving the nobility’s interests. But they sure as hell don’t want us passing our meager treasures along to our children when they can take it back for themselves instead before our bodies are even cold.”
Shiloh cocked her head thoughtfully. “Is the nobility’s thirst for power also the reason that I’m the only child in our village you have taught how to read?”
“There she is! There’s my girl!” he cried. “You had me worried for a moment. Listen to me, poppet. Everything our betters do, they do for wealth and for power. Every law the crown makes. Every custom the noblemen enforce. Every little reward they give to the likes of us for helping them keep what they have. You bow and scrape, and you thank and obey, but you don’t let your mind go to sleep. You keep your eyes and ears open. You look for the reasons behind the pretty words, the favors, the gifts. You look out for yourself. You act for your own advantage. You don’t get complacent. And . . .”
“And what, Master?” Shiloh prompted him.
“And you never, never trust them.”
***
“He wishes to speak with you before he dies,” Hatch told Shiloh. She’d gone to his office to report a conversation with Daved, as she’d promised.
“Master Mikel?” she replied, shocked. “Doesn’t he know it was me? Why would he even want to see my face?”
“He does know. He’s clever enough to have deduced that. Sometimes people want to make peace or settle accounts. You don’t have to do it, of course. But, given his impending execution . . . you might be able to live with it more easily if you grant his request.”
“Does he wish to condemn me? Do you know?” she asked, biting her lip. “I just want to be prepared.”
“I don’t know. But I rather doubt it. He seems to blame himself,” Hatch replied. “He’s resigned to his fate. He sees now that Mirin used him, as is her habit of old.”
“I’ll go straightaway,” she pledged.
“Here,” he replied, handing her a note. “He’s on the ground floor now. This will get you in.”
She took the paper and marched back to the High Tower, butterflies in her stomach at the thought of facing the man whom she’d condemned with her words. The guards studied the paper and her face carefully before letting her pass, even though they’d just seen her visiting Daved.
“Master Mikel?” she called softly through the bars. The room inside looked warm and comfortable, much to her relief.
“Shiloh, you came,” he replied with a cough, shuffling toward the door from a chair by the window.
She nodded, unsure what to say. “I’m sorry,” she managed, throat rough with unshed tears. “I’m sorry they’re going to kill you.”
He smiled weakly. “Not as sorry as I am,” he rasped. “I was a fool to trust Mirin. I was faithless to betray my king. And I put you in terrible danger. If the guards had caught you with a letter . . . It might have been you on the block instead of me. I am sorry, child. This is my own fault, not yours. Do you forgive me?”
She nodded, tears pouring down her face. “Do you forgive me?” she managed, choking on the words.
He nodded. “Of course I do. I even forgive Hatch, the swine. You should go. If you stay too long, they’ll be suspicious. Pray for me, if you have a moment.”
She nodded and turned to go, but he called out once more.
“Don’t ever trust them, child. You can love them if you must, but don’t ever trust the purebloods.”
***
The courtyard was packed with people. No one wished to be absent and thus draw suspicion. Shiloh was grateful to be standing well back; she certainly didn’t want a better view.
Up on the platform sat the king and queen, resplendent in finery, though clouds in the sky prevented their jewels from sparkling. The block squatted at the other end of the platform, closer to the High Tower from which the condemned would soon emerge. The executioner stood beside it, his ax at the ready. Brother Charls stood beside him, prayer beads in hand, solemn-faced. Shiloh wondered how many of these he’d had to preside over. He was such a kind man. She supposed it must grieve him.
The crowd turned as one when the door to the tower opened. The lord prosecutor and two guards accompanied the former librarian. Mikel stumbled on the stairs, and Shiloh closed her eyes in sympathy. When she forced them open again, she was impressed to see the man standing straight, calmly receiving the final anointing from Charls.
The lord prosecutor pronounced the sentence and asked for final words. Shiloh couldn’t hear them. She found out later that he had admitted his fault and asked for forgiveness, much as he had in their conversation the night before. Then he knelt and placed his head on the block. He held out his arms, and the ax fell.
Shiloh gasped. It seemed too quick, a life over in just an instant. A life over, because she’d said a few words to Silas Hatch.
No, she told herself. A life over because of a queen’s plotting and a king’s desire. How many people have died for such pride?
How many more will bleed?
***
A loud knock jerked Shiloh out of a deep sleep. Heart pounding, she rose and stumbled toward the door. Opening it a crack, she peered out to see a member of the royal guard.
“Dame Shiloh, the king requires your presence,” he informed her.
“What?” she asked, bleary-eyed. “Now? Me? Are you sure you have the right room?”
“Yes. The king does not like being kept waiting, miss.”
“One moment,” she replied, then turned to grab a cloak to put over her nightdress and some slippers for her feet. At the last second, her eyes fell upon her belt; she quickly strapped on her wand. There was no time to buckle her hook into place, nor to do some
thing respectable with her hair, which hung just past her shoulders in two simple plaits.
She followed the guard to the Blue Tower in a state of anxiety and confusion. She’d never even been inside that tower before, and here she was, being led directly into King Rischar’s privy chamber. She there found the king sitting on the edge of his bed, nightcap and all, in a state of extravagant distress. Some lord’s son stood next to him; she could not recall the boy’s name.
“Shiloh, my girl, you must help me,” he greeted her as she curtseyed deeply.
“How may I be of service, Your Grace?” she asked, trying to hide her puzzlement.
“I have had the most terrible dream!” he cried. “I need to see what you make of it. They say you are a very clever girl, and close to the Gods.”
“Whoever said that is too kind, Your Grace, but I shall do my very best,” she replied.
Rischar stood and began to pace. “I saw a bird’s nest with two chicks and a mother bird. Robins, they were. Then a snake came for the chicks, but an owl swooped in and snatched up the snake. The mother bird took off. The chicks cried out for her, but she did not return. A different bird, a blue jay landed on the nest and fed the chicks. Then she laid an egg.”
“And that’s when you awoke, Your Grace?” Shiloh asked, mind whirling.
“Aye,” he confirmed. “What does it mean?”
“Well . . . perhaps the chicks are your daughters, Your Grace? We already know that they may be in danger, given the attack at the dedication. Lord Redwood may be planning something else, perhaps? I am not, of course, privy to Master Hatch’s intelligence on that topic.”
“That is what I feared!” Rischar agreed. “I already sent for Hatch, but he is in the Claw tonight.”
“I take comfort in the fact that the chicks were saved from danger, Your Grace. That bodes well, I should think,” she offered.
“Who is the owl?” Rischar asked.
“That is hard to say, Your Grace. Perhaps Master Hatch, or one of the guards?” she suggested.
The king nodded, then raised his head suddenly. “Perhaps you, child!” he breathed.
“Perhaps, Your Grace,” she allowed. “It was my honor to protect the princesses once before.”
“It must be you,” he insisted, pointing. “Look at your own wand, child.”
Her mouth opened, and she realized what he meant. “Oh, the owl!” she whispered. Her fingers brushed on the intricate owl that formed the handle of her wand.
“Ha!” he cried, rising and clapping Shiloh on the shoulder nearly hard enough to knock her over. “I knew I was right to bring you here!”
“Your confidence is most gratifying, Your Grace. I shall endeavor to be worthy of it.”
The king’s cheerful countenance turned dark again. “But what of the rest of it? The bird who leaves, the one who comes, the new egg?”
Shiloh could feel the terrain growing more dangerous beneath her feet. She tried emphasizing the positive, proposing, “The new egg could be a third child for you, Your Grace. A great blessing.”
“A son, Gods willing,” he agreed.
“That would, indeed, answer all our prayers, Your Grace.”
His eyes narrowed. “And what of the mother who abandons the chicks?”
“I . . . I am uncertain. Perhaps is represents the Dowager Duchess, Mirin, who has departed Your Grace’s company.”
“Or perhaps it is Zina,” he countered darkly.
“I cannot deny that that is possible, Your Grace,” she said softly. “The world is a dangerous place. Illness, accident, childbirth: there are many ways to lose a wife, alas.”
“You left out treachery,” he observed. He looked down at her from his full height. “You are too careful to suggest it, clever girl.”
Shiloh nodded. “I dare not, Your Grace,” she confessed.
“You saw this morning what treachery brings,” he observed.
“Indeed, Your Grace,” she allowed.
“Did it sadden you?” he asked.
“Death is nearly always sad, Your Grace. But I know why it was necessary to execute Brother Mikel. I am grateful not to be a king, so I do not have to make such decisions.”
“You’re the one who turned in the librarian to Master Hatch,” he pointed out.
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Do you regret it?” he asked, eyes shrewd.
Shiloh felt a pang but shook her head and replied steadily, “No, Your Grace. It makes me feel sad, and guilty, but I know I did what was necessary to protect my king and his kingdom.”
“Good lass,” he replied solemnly, as though passing judgment. “I trust that should you discover another betrayal in the course of your duties, you will take that knowledge straight to Master Hatch.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” she vowed.
Rischar cocked his head and changed the subject. “What about the blue jay? What could she represent?”
Shiloh smiled in relief. “I would take great comfort in the blue jay. She is obviously most kind, as she generously feeds the two chicks, though they are not her own.”
“Kind, yes. She seemed kind. I can certainly be sure that one is not Zina,” he concluded with a sour face, looking to her as if for agreement.
“I don’t suppose Your Grace chose Queen Zina for her kindness,” Shiloh ventured warily.
“Ha! Certainly not. Nor Mirin, in truth. It would be a pleasant change, to have a kind wife. The Patriarch would say I’m being punished for my sins. For the Reforms,” Rischar grumbled. “And he says that he is the only one who can grant me forgiveness.”
“With respect, Your Grace, the Patriarch has the all the wisdom of a box of hammers,” Shiloh argued. “And his theology is highly suspect.”
“You really think so?” he asked, grinning.
“I do, Your Grace. The Gods grant forgiveness to anyone who prays with a penitent heart. That is scripture. The Patriarch merely seeks to protect his own power. I would suggest that Your Grace pay him little mind.”
“When the priests told me that you are in the Temple twice a day, I feared you might be loyal to the Patriarch,” he informed her.
“Oh, no, Your Grace,” she assured him. “I am loyal to my Gods and to my king. When I learned you’d signed the Reforms that freed us all from the Patriarch’s dictates, that freed me from the Cleanliness Laws, I was overjoyed. And to think that I am now privileged to serve Your Grace! When I kneel in the Temple, I am praying for Your Grace to prevail, not for the Patriarch.”
“Pray with me, now, Shiloh,” he commanded, to her great surprise. He strode over to an enormous, gilded prayer cupboard, opened it, and knelt, gesturing for her to kneel by his side. A gold statue of the Father looked down at them, the other Gods depicted on a brightly painted icon behind him. “Go on, then,” the king told her, then looked at her expectantly.
Shiloh cleared her throat and cast about for the right words. “Gracious Father, pour your forgiveness and love down upon his grace, our king, for he is true of heart and seeks each day to keep to your ways and in your favor. Grant him your peace and your strength as well as your wisdom and patience, for the safety and happiness of this kingdom depends upon him and upon you. Surround him with family and servants who are steadfast, wise, and kind to support him in governing your church and this land. Bless him at last with an heir worthy of the crown, worthy of your anointing. Help his grace to feel your love that he may pour it upon his loyal subjects, thus bringing us all closer to you. May the Elder speak his wisdom clearly. May the Mother grant him comfort. May the Maiden show him beauty. May the Youth stand strong at his elbow. May the Babe bring him good cheer. And may you, gracious Father, bless him each day in his work as Father of the Church and Father of Bryn. All this, I beg of you most earnestly, as your humble daughter.”
She glanced warily toward King Rischar, hoping she hadn’t done too badly. To her shock, the king had tears in his eyes.
“You pra
y better than the priests,” he declared, raspy-voiced.
“Thank you, Your Grace. I am most pleased you think so.”
The king stood, and, to her further surprise, helped her to her feet. A knock sounded, and the guard opened it for Silas Hatch.
“Your Grace,” Hatch greeted him, bowing deeply. “Dame Shiloh.”
“Hatch, my boy, what took you so long?” Rischar scolded.
“Pray, forgive me, Your Grace. The waters of the Bay were treacherous tonight.” Hatch eyed Shiloh. “I see Dame Shiloh has assisted you in my stead.”
“Quite right, quite right,” the king confirmed, clapping her on the back once again. “She can tell you all about it. I’m headed back to bed.”
“Sleep well, Your Grace,” Shiloh replied with another curtsey.
“I shall, dear girl, thanks to you. This one is a keeper, Hatch. Make sure she is taken care of.”
“Of course, Your Grace,” Hatch agreed.
Dismissed, Silas and Shiloh backed out of the room. Once the door had closed firmly, Shiloh slumped against the wall in relief.
“What was that all about?” Hatch asked. “The guard told me he was troubled by a dream?”
Shiloh threw up her hand in bewilderment. “Yes, a guard came and got me out of bed. His grace wanted me to help him interpret the dream. And then he made me pray for him. It’s a miracle I didn’t say the wrong thing and wind up in the clink. Does this sort of thing happen a lot?”
Hatch looked down at her, lips twitching in amusement. “Often enough. Well, it sounds like you acquitted yourself admirably.” They began to walk down the stairs, Shiloh clinging to the railing to compensate for her trembling knees. “To my study,” he directed as they emerged at the bottom of the tower. Shiloh heaved an exhausted sigh but obeyed him nonetheless.
“What was it about? The dream?” he asked, once they had sat down in his office.
“Birds and snakes. There are two baby robins and a mother in a nest. A snake goes for the chicks only to be carried off by an owl. Then the mother robin disappears, only to be replaced by a blue jay bringing food for the missing mother’s chicks. He thinks I’m the owl, that I’m going to protect his daughters from some danger. And I feel as though he was fishing for my support for the idea that Queen Zina may betray him. I tried to walk the line on that question.”