Morgan Rice - A Fate of Dragons

“You could never win father’s approval, could you?” she asked, compassionately, beginning to understand. “So then, after a point, you didn’t even bother to try.”

Godfrey shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, but she could see the sadness in his face.

“He and I were different people,” he said. “And he could never accept that.”

As she studied him, she saw Godfrey in a different light. For the first time, she didn’t see him as a slovenly drunk; she saw him as a child with great potential who was poorly raised. She felt anger at her father for it. In fact, she could even see traces of her father in him.

“I bet if he had treated you differently, you’d be a different person,” she said. “I think all of your behavior was just a cry for his attention. If he had just accepted you on your own terms, I think that, of all of us, you would have been the most like him.”

Godfrey looked at her, surprised, then looked away. He looked down with a furrowed brow and seemed to ponder that.

They continued walking in silence, opening one door after the other down the long, twisting corridors. Finally, they burst out of the castle, into the cool fall air. Gwen squinted at the light.

The courtyard was abuzz with activity, the masses excited, bustling to and fro, people drinking in the streets, an early celebration.

“What’s happening?” Godfrey asked.

Suddenly, Gwen remembered.

“The Legion returns home today,” she answered.

With everything else that had gone on, she had completely forgotten about it. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought again of Thor. His ship would be coming home soon. She ached to see him.

“It will be a huge celebration,” Gwen added, joyfully.

Godfrey shrugged.

“They never accepted me into the Legion. Why should I care?”

She looked at him, upset.

“You should care,” she scolded. “Reece will be returning home. As will Thor.”

Godfrey turned and looked at her.

“You like that common boy, don’t you?” he asked.

Gwen blushed, silent.

“I can see why,” Godfrey said. “There is something noble to him. Something pure.”

Gwen thought about that, and realized it was true. Godfrey was more perceptive than she’d realized.

They marched across the castle grounds, and as they did, Gwen felt the knife burning in her hand, and wanted to throw it as far away from her as she could. She spotted the stables in the distance, and increased their pace. Firth was not far now.

“Gareth will find some way out of this,” Godfrey said. “You know that, don’t you? He always does.”

“Not if we get Firth to admit to it, and to be a witness.”

“And even if so, then what?” Godfrey asked. “Do you really think he’ll step down from the throne that easily?”

“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 simply 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 where it was darker and 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 empty 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 through the stables until they reached the stable caretaker.

“My lieges,” 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 all right,” 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 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 not know who did it.”

Gwen could see how nervous he was and 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 covering it, 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 dung in the stables?”