Jeri Westerson - Troubled Bones

Lancaster gathered himself as if he might strike down the both of them, but as quickly as his anger blossomed, his resolve seemed to wilt and he took a step back. “Will you never forgive me, Crispin?” His voice was unexpectedly soft.

He looked up at his lord then, the man who raised him, made him a knight. But as Geoffrey so succinctly put it, he was also a man who, by rights, could just as easily take it all away. Did such a man truly owe Crispin anything?

“On this journey,” said Crispin, “I have seen how the sin of vengeance can seep into the heart of an innocent and shred that life till the soul is left in tatters. I have no desire to see my own soul degenerate to such a state.” He felt Jack’s eyes on him, felt the warmth from his gaze. “And though I … I may find it hard to forgive, your grace, I find that it is not … impossible.” He lowered his eyes, unable to bear the expression in Lancaster’s steady gaze. “Give me time, my lord,” he said softly. “Perhaps in time, our debts to one another will have been paid.”

The slump of the duke’s shoulder and his drooping lids showed a more subdued demeanor. He gave a curt nod.

“Though I thank you for your kind offer,” said Crispin more lightly. “Today seems to be my day for propositions.”

Lancaster, now ill at ease, measured him, the room, and finally Jack. “What is your name, lad?” he said to fill the silence.

Jack straightened his shoulders. “I am Jack Tucker, sir. Apprentice Tracker.”

The corner of Lancaster’s mouth twitched, but he did not smile. Instead, he nodded to them both and gathered his cloak about him. “Then I must say my farewell, Crispin.” He took a step toward the door, paused, and without turning, said, “Whatever you may think of me, I was only doing what was best for the kingdom.”

Crispin looked at the floor. “So was I.”

Lancaster inclined his head. He grasped the door latch and was quickly out the door.

When it closed at last with a final click, Crispin collapsed into his chair. “I have done a very foolish thing. Again.”

Jack touched his arm. “No, sir. You stood up for yourself. I am proud to have witnessed it. ‘The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances.’”

He blinked. “Why, Jack. Is that Aristotle?”

“Aye, sir. It seemed fitting, sir.”

It also seemed to be Crispin’s day for blushing. He settled himself on the chair, leaning on the table’s surface. “It is fitting to you, as well, Jack.”

Jack shrugged. “I have had hardships, it is true. And there will be more along the way. That’s a certainty. But this is your day, master. You told that duke. You showed him what your mettle is. No matter what others may say, I think your family would have been proud of you this day, sir.”

“Family. I think you are my only family now, Jack.”

The boy smiled. “If only that were so. But I am pleased to be your apprentice, sir. That is good enough for me. Far better than I could have hoped for.”

Crispin nodded. But the boy started him thinking about his family.

“Jack, fetch my rings.” He knew that the lad knew where they were. Jack hesitated and then went to the loose floorboard beside the wall under the window and brought out the little cloth bundle. Jack handed it to Crispin and he took it. Unwrapping the package, the rings fell into the little well of his palm. Two rings. One belonged to his father and the other to him. He held the gold band to the light of the opened window and studied the signet carefully created on its face. The arms of Guest.

He held it in his hand for a moment longer, feeling its weight, before slipping it on his finger.