Someone brought in a sack of apples that ended up being aggressively haggled over. Broderick, who had only two coins, managed to get a bruised apple.
Edyon said, “I haven’t eaten anything but a crust of bread all day.”
Broderick stood over him, eating his apple. “So?”
“I thought I was going to be executed in a dramatic show, not starved to death in the corner of this room.”
“You’re not starving; you’re just hungry. We’ve all been there. Get used to it,” Broderick said.
“I’d love a slice of fresh bread, a cooked chicken—even a bowl of porridge would do. I don’t suppose the kitchen staff are still alive, are they?” Edyon asked, knowing the answer full well.
“Even if they were, you wouldn’t get any food,” Broderick replied.
“How much did you pay for that apple?”
“None of your business,” Broderick replied, and began to walk away.
“I have money. I could buy my own food.”
Broderick stopped, turned, and came back. “Money?”
“Not on me—that’s already been stolen—but in my strongbox. I can tell you where it is. It has more than enough to pay for food for both of us.”
“Where is it?”
“You’d better share the food you buy, Broderick.”
“Tell me where it is, and then I’ll buy you some.”
Edyon wasn’t sure Broderick could be trusted, but he was hungry, and he didn’t care about the things in the strongbox. He told Broderick, “There’s a secret cupboard behind the panel to the left of the desk in my room. Press the right-hand side and the panel opens. The key’s in the desk drawer.”
A short while later Broderick returned, his pockets clinking and a smile on his face.
“Can I have a pie and a chicken?” Edyon said. “And an apple, for starters.”
Broderick replied, “Soon enough.” Then he went to sit in the corner counting coins.
“I’m hungry,” Edyon shouted.
Broderick returned to him and said, “And I’m tired of your whining.” And he kicked Edyon, saying, “You’ll get food when I say so.”
The kicks hurt, but so did everything. Edyon thought of Byron lying in a pool of blood and wept for him. His only hope was that March was alive and would somehow get away from this mad mob and live a long life somewhere free of pain and cruelty, and that Thelonius’s army would crush Harold.
His hope didn’t last more than two days, in which time he’d had a sliver of a rancid pie, two apples, and a chicken leg with more bone and gristle than meat. On the second day he was given a gentle kick by Broderick and told with a smile, “Harold’s here. News is, he killed your father himself.”
Edyon wasn’t sure what to believe or even what to feel. Thelonius was his father, but Edyon couldn’t say that he loved him. He hardly knew him. But he had hoped to get to know him in time. Ever since childhood he had imagined someday meeting his father, and once he’d learned who his father was, he’d imagined so much more—becoming close to him, learning from him, making him proud. And he had started to. He thought about how Thelonius had supported him even when Edyon had accused Regan of plotting his murder. Nothing in their relationship had been straightforward, but they had been getting to know each other; they had been father and son. He remembered Thelonius had said, I couldn’t hope for a better son, and Calidor couldn’t wish for a better future than with him.
He looked at Broderick. “You’re sure of this? My father is dead?”
“They fought one-on-one to decide the winner of the battle and Harold won easy. Chopped Thelonius’s leg off, then his head.”
Edyon sat and stared and remembered his first dinner with Thelonius and how happy they had both been. That had been just a few weeks ago.
A kick and Broderick’s boot in Edyon’s thigh jolted him back to the present. “I said, I don’t think Harold’ll want to fight you, though. You won’t be much of a challenge at all.”
“For once we agree, Broderick.”
“I reckon you’ll be chopped in two.”
“So you’ve said,” Edyon remarked.
“It might be a better way to go. Messy, I guess, but it’ll be quick.”
“Thanks for your words of comfort, Broderick.”
“Plenty of poor kids get strung up all the time in Brigant and no one minds.”
“I imagine they mind. As will I.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have been a prince then, should you?”
“Indeed. I could be a poor student back in Pitoria. But I’m here and so are you, Broderick. We’ve been thrown