King Rikard shifted, as if to flex every colossal muscle on his warrior’s frame. He riveted his gaze on Nightfall’s face. "Did you kill my son?"
Nightfall stared, frankly stunned. This question he had not anticipated in any version of his speculation. "What?" Surprise shocked amenity from him, and a long while passed in quiet before he added, "Sire."
Volkmier’s eyes and nostrils widened. As commanded, he feigned deafness in that he took no action nor made any comment.
Rikard repeated, "Did you kill my son?"
"Your son, Sire? Prince Leyne Nargol?" The suggestion seemed too ludicrous to contemplate.
The king became relentless, though patient. “Yes. You killed him, didn’t you?” The tone was flat, indicative of a rage so massive there could be no containment.
Nightfall knew he could say nothing King Rikard would believe. Guilty or innocent, he had no choice but to deny the allegation; yet he harbored no hope that he might be trusted. "No." He met the eyes of guard and king with level honesty. “Sire, you know I couldn’t have."
King Rikard rose. He spun suddenly, hands clenched, back to Nightfall. At last, it seemed, anger had driven him even beyond speech.
Nightfall waited patiently beneath Volkmier’s ceaseless scrutiny.
The king knelt, fishing something from behind his seat that clanged as he moved it. He tossed several objects to the floor: first the torn, brown and green cinch strap that had belonged to Sir Takruysse, then four pieces of two different sparring swords. As each item struck the wood with a clatter, he studied Nightfall’s reaction to them.
Nightfall raised his brows slightly, eyes tracing every movement. The display told him much he did not like, though it did not surprise him. Only one man could have learned of his tricks in such detail and would gather the physical evidence, one who could read his mind.
King Rikard produced one more item, a battered, bloodstained work of steel and leather that had once formed a helmet, the one Leyne had worn in the final tourney. Now Nightfall could see that someone had thinned the crown to a half or quarter thickness which explained why Sander’s single blow had proven fatal. Rikard’s voice sounded choked and uncharacteristically feeble. “Do you know these things, Sudian?”
Nightfall saw no advantage to lying. "Yes, I do, Sire." Gilleran’s intention and purpose seemed abundantly clear. Like so many others, he had easily copied Nightfall’s methods, using the similarities to ascertain guilt. It only remained for the sorcerer to devise some explanation of how Nightfall had escaped the constraints of the oath-bond in order to murder the crown prince of Alyndar. King Rikard clearly expected clarification, so Nightfall supplied it. "Sire, I admit I rigged the cinch strap and the swords. In my situation, I believe most men would have done the same. But my later attempts to cheat failed, and my master won every contest from that time without my help." He met the shrewd, dark eyes with an expression at least as somber. "Sire, your younger son has more ability than you or he or anyone gives him credit for."
Volkmier fidgeted, obviously troubled.
Nightfall hoped the guard was responding to the confessions of fraud rather than his own words. His time with Edward suggested that royalty despised any comments that put their past judgments about anything in doubt. "As a ruler, there’s nothing wrong with Prince Edward Nargol that age, a few confrontations with reality, and some lessons from his father couldn’t fix."
King Rikard’s eyes narrowed, but he remained too preoccupied to take offense from Nightfall’s speech… yet. "You’re avoiding the question."
Nightfall fell silent, expression open with uncertainty. "The question of the helmet?"
"Yes."
"Sire, I had nothing to do with it."
The king said nothing, only stared with a look that encouraged Nightfall to continue.
Nightfall shrugged. "There’s nothing more to say, Sire. Even had I need or reason, you know I could not have harmed Prince Leyne in any way."
King Rikard relented slightly. "I don’t believe you intended to kill him, only to eliminate him as competition for Ned.”
Nightfall saw no cause for arguing the point. "Your Majesty, I can’t deny that I considered ways to give my master an advantage, even over his brother. But I never touched that helmet."
"No one else had cause to do so, aside from Prince Sander, whose honor I would not disparage."
"Nor I, Sire." Nightfall would not shuffle guilt onto an innocent, no matter how obvious a target. He kept his gaze steady, knowing few things bespoke guilt as completely as restless eyes. "I didn’t survive this long by painting myself bullseye yellow and writing ‘I’m guilty’ on my forehead nor am I foolish enough to skirt the edges of magic that could-”
The king made a sudden, cutting gesture that hushed Nightfall. Clearly he had said more than Rikard wanted Volkmier to know.
Nightfall continued more carefully. "Sire, when you consider the goal as murdering Leyne rather than winning the tourney, the list of suspects becomes much longer. Whenever the answer seems too obvious, look to the source of your information.”
"I’ve heard enough!" King Rikard kicked the helmet, sending it skittering across the floor. It crashed against the wall, now riddled with new dents. “You’re a killer, and I was an old fool to trust you near either of my sons."
Volkmier tensed, awaiting a direct command.
Nightfall instinctively mimicked his actions for the same reason. When no edict followed, he broke the excessive quiet that followed the king’s display of violence. "Sire, if you truly believed I murdered Leyne, you wouldn’t have called me in to ask. You would only have meted punishment.”
King Rikard’s face purpled. “Don’t gainsay my motives. Who in the Father’s blackest, coldest, empty hell do you think you are?"
Nightfall dodged the question, preferring to finish the meeting before anger drove the king to irrational action.
"Sire, am I under arrest?"
"I haven’t decided yet." King Rikard studied the assortment of ruined objects on the floor.
"Then, Sire, perhaps I can make your choice simpler.” Nightfall turned his gaze to Volkmier, meeting sharp green eyes beneath a fringe of red bangs. He had faced off with the chief prison guard twice now, neither an experience he wished to repeat. "I perceive danger to Prince Edward here. If anyone tries to keep me from him, I’ll have no choice but to fight my way free in any way I can. You may lose a guard or two. At best, I’ll get the quick, painless death that seems the most I can hope for at the moment." He glanced back at Rikard who had retaken his seat, obviously calmer. "If you free me, you know precisely where to find me if you change your mind."
Volkmier prodded for his next course of action. "Sire?"
King Rikard scrutinized Nightfall as if to memorize every detail. He lingered longest on the eyes, and Nightfall met him stare for stare. He had told only the truth, boldly forthright, and nothing about his story could or would vary in the future. "Dismissed, Sudian."
Volkmier frowned, maintaining the verbal distance he had promised but obviously confused by his king’s choice. "Sire?"
King Rikard addressed his guard, switching to an unrelated matter to emphasize the finality of his order. "Volkmier, send someone to tell Edward I’ll meet him in the North Tower chapel right away." He turned some of his aggravation inappropriately on his captain. "I need some time alone with my son. I presume you’ll trust me with Ned and won’t force yourself on us."
Nightfall turned and headed from the Great Hall of Alyndar without looking back.