His father sneered at him. “You don’t understand. How could you? You had everything handed to you-by me! I started out as the son of a weapon’s merchant-a merchant! I taught myself to fight. I got myself a position in this castle. I worked my way up to sergeant. You don’t need to understand, boy. And this isn’t the time for it. A wise man taught me that we don’t have to live under their heels. I could fix things so that your mother didn’t die in vain. She’s the spark that lit this fire, a blaze that will burn away the kingdom and usher in a new era … one without kings. And we’ll be part of that-an important part. I didn’t enjoy the things I’ve done tonight, but justice has been served!”
“Things? What else did you do?” Reuben focused on the bloodstained sleeve and his mind flashed to the image of his father leading Rose out through the gate. “What did you do with Rose?”
“It was harder than I thought. Those big eyes, and her having the same name as your mother and all.”
“What did you do to Rose?”
“I did what I had to. And so will you. A lot of people are going to die tonight.” He gestured at the door. “No one will be the wiser, and a whole new world will follow. You keep your mouth shut and I’ll be in a position to take care of you, of us. Now get back to your post and never tell anyone that you even came up here.”
Somehow Reuben’s sword got out of its scabbard and into his hand. “Get away from that door.”
The castle was glowing when Hadrian approached. The whole place flickered like a jack-o’-lantern with too many candles inside. A crowd had formed around the outer walls, peering up across the moat as flames spit sparks out windows that fell in red streaks, sizzling in the water. The big elm growing near the north side of the keep had caught fire about midway up, and as Hadrian watched, one of the branches broke free and crashed through an upper-story window.
He pulled his cloak tight, covering the dark bloodstains as he entered the crowd of spectators. Lots of people were on hand with more coming. Folks awakened by the light and the noise, gathered in their nightclothes to stare up at the castle, their sleepy faces illuminated by the wash of firelight.
He worked his way toward the front gate only to discover the line of carriages was gone, and there was no sign of Royce. The rose-marked coach had vanished with the rest and he had no idea where. Royce never told him the plan, but Hadrian imagined it included taking Exeter somewhere secluded, somewhere no one would think to look. But what if Exeter hadn’t taken the bait or if Albert hadn’t been able to find him at the party? Did Royce set the fire? Did he burn down an entire castle just to smoke out one man? Was he capable of that?
If a bug bites you, you don’t bite it back, his friend was fond of saying. You crush the life out of the thing so it never bothers you again. And if you do that to an insect that can’t cause any serious harm, why would you do any less to an enemy who will almost certainly come back and kill you if you don’t?
The worst part about Royce and his arguments was that all too often Hadrian couldn’t think of an answer to such riddles, even though he knew there should be one.
With nothing to do, and feeling both physically tired and emotionally drained, Hadrian joined the rest of the crowd watching the spectacle. It had been a few years since he had seen a castle burn. This brought his total to five, but this was the first time he wasn’t at least partly responsible. He wondered how many had died-and if Albert was one of them.
He hoped there was an alehouse still open in the city. He would need to drink in order to sleep. Hadrian stood there, smelling the odor of smoke. Funny how it brought feelings of warmth and safety, like a campfire or cozy hearth-but the only thing cooking tonight were men.
“Well, look at you,” Richard Hilfred said, a little smile growing on his lips as he saw the sword in Reuben’s hand. “That’s good. About time you stood up to me. I was wondering how long it’d take, but this isn’t the time or the place. This is serious. Now get back to your post.”
Reuben, who had never before raised his voice to his father, raised his sword. “I said get away.”
His father must have seen something new in his son’s eyes because he drew his own weapon.
Reuben swung.
He didn’t want to kill his father; he just wanted him away from the door.
Richard blocked.
Reuben swung again and again. His father slapped the attacks aside.
“You’ve learned somewhere. That’s good,” his father said casually. No fear, no concern. Then, as if tiring of a game, he struck Reuben’s blade hard near the hilt. The sudden vibration snapped the sword from Reuben’s grip. The pretty blade that the prince had given him clattered on the stone, and his father kicked it away.
“Hilfred!” They both turned to see the chancellor running to the top of the stairs, his sword in hand. Percy Braga glanced at the door, then at father and son.
“He’s sealed the royal family in!” Reuben declared. “My father is a traitor.”
“I see that,” Braga said, his sight taking in Richard’s drawn sword and the one on the ground.
The chancellor advanced on both of them.
“Lord Braga, I-” Richard began.
“Run-get help!” Braga shouted at Reuben, and swung his blade at Richard.
Reuben’s father barely had time to get his own up to save himself.
Reuben wasted no time leaping his way down, throwing himself to the bottom. He scrambled to his feet and raced for the front door. Bursting out into the courtyard, he shouted, “The royal family has been locked inside! The chancellor needs help! At the top of the steps to the residence.”
The crowd outside remained huddled against the cold, staring back at the upper windows of the castle that belched smoke.
No one moved.
“The chancellor needs help!” he yelled again.
Having had time to sink in, his words caused the closest guards, Vince and Grisham, to run forward. The rest continued to stare. Reuben gave up and ran to the woodshed. Inside he found the axe, sunk in a piece of wood, where he had left it the day before. With a slap and yank, he pulled it free.
By the time he returned to the front door of the castle, Chancellor Braga, Grisham, and Vince were coming out, coughing and reeling. “No one else go in!” Braga ordered. “The fire-” He coughed. “The fire has spread.”
“The boy said it was regicide,” someone from the crowd shouted.
The chancellor nodded. “Sergeant Hilfred confessed that on orders of Lord Exeter, he set the fire. Lord Exeter was working with Hilfred, of the castle guard, to kill the royal family in order to take the throne for himself. As chancellor, I judged him a traitor.” The chancellor raised his blood-soaked sword. “And executed him.”
Reuben stopped. My father-dead? He ought to feel something. He didn’t.
He looked up at the castle. Smoke was rising from the windows and billowing out the front door where he could just make out a flickering glow.
“What about the king? The queen?” Vince asked.
Braga shook his head. “The doors to the residence are chained and the fire has spread. The royal chambers are a death trap. All that straw in the castle is catching. It’s too late to save them. You can’t even get up the stairs. It’s suicide to try, and by now”-he hesitated-“by now, they’re all dead.”
All dead.