By midday, he could smell soup or stew and found he was hungry. Before the meal came, he heard the sound of coach wheels and then shouts. The voices outside were harsh and unfriendly.
“Make way for the king!”
At this, Reuben heard Dorothy drop a pan. He hoped it wasn’t the soup.
“Open in the name of His Majesty King Amrath!”
The door did not creak when opened as usual, but it practically cried as it was abruptly pulled back.
“The king has come for Reuben Hilfred.” The voice was loud and powerful.
“He’s done nothing wrong!” Dorothy cried.
“Out of the way, woman.”
Reuben braced himself as best he could. The whole thing struck him a bit funny, which in itself was amusing. How many people could laugh about being executed for a crime they did not commit? He should have died in the castle. He had accepted his passing then but managed to gain several more days that were filled with excruciating pain. Dying now-while absurd-was not a great hardship. Given his state of agony, death was less his enemy and more a sympathetic acquaintance. His only regret was that he would not taste the soup that smelled so wonderful.
He could smell again! Reuben had only a second to revel in this accomplishment when soldiers entered the room. How would they do it? A hanging most likely, or perhaps a beheading. It would be ironic if they burned him at the stake, but he assumed everyone had enough of burning. He changed his mind an instant later, thinking the king might want an exact revenge. To do to him what his father had done to the queen.
The soldiers ducked their heads and moved out of the way as the king entered. With him came the prince and Arista. They were all dressed in black, with the princess wearing the same gown as when Lady Clare died. None looked good, their faces tired and pale, except around the eyes where the skin reddened. Still Arista looked more sullen than the rest, her stare fixed on the floor.
Reuben had never seen His Majesty this close. The man was huge, and as Reuben looked up, he seemed a giant with his rich bristling beard. He appeared as tired as the rest, but in his eyes was a storm.
“Your Majesty,” one of those in the corners said. “This is Reuben Hilfred, son of Richard.”
At the sound of the name, he saw the king wince. Perhaps there would be no burning after all. Maybe the king would kill him there in his bed. At least he was able to see the princess again. She was safe.
Thank you, Maribor, for that parting gift.
“Do you know the penalty for lying to your king?”
“Death?” Reuben guessed.
“Death,” the king confirmed. “Did you leave your post without permission the night of the gala?”
“I did.”
“That is dereliction of duty at best-desertion at worst. Do you know the penalty for desertion?”
“Death.” Reuben knew that one.
“Death.” The king nodded gravely.
“Were you ordered by anyone to leave your post? Told by anyone to enter the castle?”
“No.” Reuben noticed a subtle change in the king’s eyes but had no idea what it meant.
“Then knowing it was death to desert your post, why did you?”
“The castle was on fire. The princess and the queen were inside, and no one else was trying to save them.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They were all just standing around. The chancellor gave orders-”
“It was chaos that night.” Reuben heard Lord Braga’s voice as he pushed into the room from the kitchen. “The darkness, the flames, all those people trying to get out.”
“Finish what you were going to say, boy,” the king commanded.
“The chancellor gave orders that no one was to go inside.”
“Is that true?” Amrath asked Braga.
“Yes, but it was an order issued to prevent the further loss of life. The doors were sealed. There was nothing that could be done.”
“Is it true you fought your own father?” the king asked.
Reuben lowered his eyes to look at his bedcovers. “Yes.”
“When did you learn your father planned to murder my family?”
“I didn’t. I guessed it when I found the door to the residence chained. My father told me to leave. He said he posted me at the gate for my own protection. That’s when I knew he had set the fire-that he had chained the door.”
“Braga asserts that he fought and killed your father-is that true?”
Reuben nodded.
“Speak up to your king,” Braga demanded.
Amrath raised a hand. “He’s fine. Tell me, boy, how did you get the chain off the door? After the fire, the lock was found but it hadn’t been snapped or cut.”
“My father had the key on his body. I took it from his belt.”
“So you unlocked the door and went to Princess Arista’s room?”
Reuben nodded again.
The king turned to his daughter. “Is this the boy who carried you out?”
Arista said nothing. She didn’t even look up.
“I asked a question. Answer me.”
“Maybe.”
“Arista, look at him.”
“I don’t want to.”
The king petted his daughter’s hair. “Why?”
“I hate him.”
“You hate … but he saved your life, didn’t he? Carried you from the castle? Others have testified they saw him with you in his arms coming out. Are you saying that isn’t true?”
“It’s true.”
“Then why-”
“He didn’t save Mother. He let her die! He lived and she died! He’s a coward, a vile, awful…” Arista broke down in tears and with a wave from the king was led out.
Reuben thought he couldn’t feel worse and hated himself for his naivety. Everything could be worse. He felt tears forming and struggled to hold them back. He didn’t want to cry in front of all those men.
“Everyone out,” the king ordered.
“But, Father,” Alric protested. Reuben noticed then that the prince had two swords, one in his hands and one on his belt. The one he held Reuben recognized as his own sword that the prince had given him, the sword he had lost in the fire. “You can’t listen to her. He’s innocent. He saved Arista’s life. He tried-”
“I said out!” The king’s voice finally boomed and everyone retreated. He waited for the door to close. It was just the two of them then. Reuben and the king. Even Dorothy was gone.
Imitating the bishop, the king sat on the spinning-wheel stool beside the bed. He didn’t say anything at first and Reuben didn’t dare look at him. He kept his eyes on the dried plants hanging from the ceiling.
“The castle was on fire,” King Amrath began, his voice low, soft. “Leaving your post would result in severe punishment, maybe not death, not to a boy who was serving his first day, but a whipping at least. You knew that.” The king paused, stroking his beard. “You were ordered not to enter the castle by the chancellor and your own father.” He paused again, licked his lips, and exhaled loudly. “Even discounting everything else, you ran into an inferno when everyone else was running out. Reuben, that doesn’t sound sane to me. So explain-why did you?”
“To save Arista.” The words came out of his mouth, but they were born somewhere deeper, and having said them a tear slipped and fell. This time he did not notice it hurting; the pain from his burns was secondary to this new agony. He looked at the pommel of the king’s sword and wished he would draw it, wished he would kill him. His life was a waste. Born unwanted by both parents, he killed his mother and drove his father to murder and treason. Now the only girl he would ever love hated him. He wanted to be dead. The fire had cheated him. How much better if he had burned to death believing in ignorance that he had finally done something right.
“I see.” The king nodded. The tempest in his eyes was gone. All that remained was sadness.
“I tried to save the queen,” Reuben offered. “I went back, but I couldn’t see. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I was going to die in there. I know I failed you. I know I’m worthless. I know you all hate me. So, please, just do it.” Reuben was crying openly now. He no longer cared.