Morgan Rice - A feast of dragons

“Can’t you?” Godfrey said. “You know Gareth. The throne has been all he’s ever lived for.”

“But to kill our father, just for power? Just for a title?”

Godfrey turned and looked at her.

“You are naive, aren’t you? What else is there? What more can someone want than to be king? Than to have that kind of power?”

She looked at him, reddening.

“I think you are the one who is naive,” she said. “There’s a great deal more to life than power. In fact, power, ultimately, is the least attractive thing. Do you think our father was happy? He was miserable ruling this kingdom. All he ever did was complain, and pine for more time with us.”

Godfrey shrugged.

“You hold an optimistic view of him. He and I didn’t get along nearly as well. In my mind’s eye, he was as power-hungry as the rest of them. If he wanted to spend time with us, he could have. He chose not to. Besides, I was relieved when he didn’t spend time with me. He hated me.”

Gwen examined her brother as they walked, and for the first time she realized how different their experience of childhood had been. It was as if he grew up with a different father than she did. She wondered if it was because he was a boy, and she a girl; or if it was just a clash of personalities. As she thought of it, she realized he was right: her father had not been kind to him. She didn’t know why she didn’t fully realize it before, but as she did, she suddenly felt terrible for Godfrey. She understood now why he spent all his time in the tavern. She had always assumed her father disapproved of Godfrey because he wasted his time in the alehouse. But maybe it was more complex than that. Maybe Godfrey sought out the alehouse to begin with because he was the victim of their father’s disapproval.

“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 that if he 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. “Your brother Reese 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 just 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, and it was darker in here, as they 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 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 down the stables until they reached the stable caretaker.

“My liege,” 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 okay,” 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 a 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.