“Of course I don’t. But we will force him. We will get the council to force him. With proof, we can summon the guards ourselves.”
Godfrey shrugged, skeptical.
“And even if that should work, even if we should depose him-then what? Then who will rule? One of the nobles might rush to fill the power vacuum. Unless one of us rises to the throne.”
“Kendrick should rule,” Gwen said.
Godfrey shook his head.
“No. You must rule. It was father’s wish.”
Gwen blushed.
“But I don’t want to,” she said. “That’s not why I’m doing this. I just want justice for father.”
“You may, after all, get justice for him. But you must also take the throne. To do otherwise would be to disrespect him. And if you say no, then the next eldest legitimate son is me-and I am not going to rule. Never,” he insisted firmly.
Gwen’s heart pounded as she thought of it. She could think of nothing she wanted less.
They crossed the soft grass of the stable ground, and reached the large open-air entrance to the stables. They headed inside, and it was darker in here, as they walked past rows and rows of horses, each more elegant than the next, prancing and neighing as they went. They walked on a floor of hay, the smell of horses filling Gwen’s nose, and continued all the way to the end. They turned down another corridor, then down another, and finally, they came to the place where the King’s family kept their horses.
They hurried over to Gareth’s corner, saw all of his horses, and Gwen examined the weapons rack against the wall. In the row of daggers, one was missing.
Gwen slowly unwrapped the dagger, gingerly lifted it and placed it in the spot on the wall. It was a perfect fit. She was breathless.
“Bravo,” Godfrey said. “But that still doesn’t prove that Gareth used this knife-or that he ordered the murder,” she said. “He could argue that someone stole it.”
“It doesn’t prove it,” she countered. “But it helps. And with a witness, the case is closed.”
Gwen wrapped the knife back in its cloth, stored it back in her waistband, and they continued down the stables until they reached the stable caretaker.
“My liege,” he said, looking up in surprise at the presence of two members of the royal family. “What brings you here? Are you here for your horses? We have no notice.”
“It’s okay,” Gwen said, laying an assuring hand on his wrist. “We are not here for our horses. We come on a different matter. We’re looking for the stable boy who tends to Gareth’s horses. Firth.”
“Yes, he’s here today. Check around back. In the hay pile.”
They hurried down the corridor, out the stables, then went around to the back of the building.
There, in the large, open space, was Firth, using a pitchfork to shovel piles of hay. There seemed to be a sadness on his face.
As they approached, Firth stopped and looked up, and his eyes opened wide in surprise. And something else-perhaps fear.
Gwen could see all that she needed to in that stare. He had something to hide.
“Did Gareth send you?” Firth asked.
Gwen and Godfrey exchanged a glance.
“And why would our brother do that?” Godfrey asked.
“I’m just asking,” Firth said.
“No,” Gwen said. “He did not. Were you expecting him to?”
Firth narrowed his eyes, looking back and forth to the two of them. He slowly shook his head, then fell silent.
Gwen exchanged a look with Godfrey, then turned back to Firth.
“We’ve come here on our own,” she said. “To ask you some questions about our father’s murder.”
She watched Firth carefully and could tell he was nervous. He fidgeted with the pitchfork.
“Why would you ask me?”
“Because you know who did it,” Godfrey said flatly.
Firth stopped fidgeting and looked at him, real fear in his face. He gulped.
“If I knew that, my lord, it would be treason to hide it. I could be executed for that. So the answer is no. I do now know who did it.”
Gwen could see how nervous he was, and she took a step closer to him.
“What are you doing out here, tending hay?” she asked, realizing. “A few months ago, you were always by Gareth’s side. In fact, after he became king, he elevated you, if I’m not mistaken.”
“He did, my lady,” Firth said meekly.
“Then why has he cast you out, relegated you to this? Did you two have a falling out?”
Firth’s eyes shifted, and he swallowed, looking from Gwen to Godfrey.
He remained silent, though.
“And what did you two have a falling out about?” Gwen pressed, following her instinct. “I wonder if it had something to do with my father’s assassination? Something to do with the cover up, perhaps?”
“We did not have a falling out, my lady. I chose to come and work here.”
Godfrey laughed.
“Did you?” Godfrey asked. “You were tired of being in the King’s Castle, so you chose instead to come out here and shovel crap in the stables?”
Firth looked away, reddening.
“I will ask you just one more time,” Gwen said firmly. “Why did my brother send you here? What did you two argue over?”
Firth cleared his throat.
“Your brother was upset that he was unable to wield the Dynasty Sword. That’s all it was. I was a victim of his wrath. It is nothing more, my lady.”
Gwen and Godfrey exchanged a look. She sensed there was some truth to that-but that he was hiding something still.
“And what do you know of the missing dagger from Gareth’s stable?” Godfrey asked.
Firth swallowed.
“I know nothing of a missing dagger, my Lord.”
“Don’t you? There are only four on the wall. Where is the fifth?”
“Perhaps Gareth used it for something. Perhaps it is lost?” Firth said weakly.
Gwen and Godfrey exchanged a look.
“It’s funny you should say that,” Gwen said, “because we just spoke to a certain servant who gave us a different account. He told us about the night of our father’s murder. A dagger was thrown down, into the waste pit, and he saved it. Do you recognize it?”
She reached down, unwrapped the knife and showed it to him.
His eyes opened wide, and he looked away.
“Why do you carry that, my lady?”
“It’s interesting you should ask,” Gwen said, “because the servant told us something else,” Gwen lied, bluffing. “He saw the face of the man who threw it down. And it was yours.”
Firth’s eyes opened wider.
“He has a witness, too,” Godfrey added. “They both saw your face.”
Firth looked so anxious, it looked as if he might crawl out of his skin.
Gwen took a step closer. He was guilty, she could sense it, and she wanted to put him away.
“I will only ask you one last time,” she said, her voice made of steel. “Who murdered our father? Was it Gareth?”
Firth gulped, clearly caught.
“Even if I knew something of your father’s murder,” Firth said, “it would do me no good to speak of it. As I said, the punishment is execution. What would I stand to gain?”
Gwen and Godfrey exchanged a look.
“If you tell us who was responsible for the murder, if you admit that Gareth was behind it, even if you took some part in it, we will see to it that you are pardoned,” Gwen said.
Firth looked at her, eyes narrowing.
“A full pardon?” he asked. “Even if I had some role in it?”
“Yes,” Gwen answered. “If you agree to stand as witness against our brother, you will be pardoned. Even if you are the one who wielded the knife. After all, our brother is the one who stood to gain from the murder, not you. You were just his lackey.
“So now tell us,” Gwen insisted. “This is your last chance. We already have proof linking you to the murder. If you remain silent, you will certainly wallow in prison for the rest of your life. The choice is yours.”
As she spoke, Gwen felt a strength rising through her, the strength of her father. The strength of justice. In that moment, for the first time, she actually felt like she might be able to rule.