my own sake,” the boy said. “I can take care o’myself, but my brother… He’s only five years old. Our papa died afore last harvest, an’ my brother wasn’t even old enough to lace his boots.” He hung his head and lowered his eyes. “I promised Papa I’d look after him, but I can’t get us enough to eat with just my sling. He ha’n’t grown any in the last year, an’ his belly hurts all the time. Papa always said stealin’ is wrong, but not many people throws out food.”
Gavin cringed. This boy was hunting rats in the street for his food. “You’re right,” he said. “My wife has a passion for looking after children like you and your brother. She’s away this morning though, visiting the orphanage. Did you take your brother there?”
“Yeh, m’lord— uh, Lord King, but they said they was full an’ couldn’t take nobody else.”
What would a king do? he thought. A king would help his people, especially those who couldn’t help themselves. “Awright, listen. Go get your brother and bring him here. You can wait for the queen in the dining hall, and I’ll have my cook fix you a plate.” He beckoned one of the guards and instructed her to keep an eye out for this boy returning with another.
The boy’s mouth dropped open in disbelief at first and then widened into a smile. He bowed deeply several times, thanking Gavin profusely as he did.
“Off you go then.” Gavin smiled, wishing all the people were as easy to please and help.
The morning brought one request for aid after another, most having to do with problems caused by the rain. Businesses were suffering, people weren’t getting enough to eat, cesspits were overflowing into the street, the river water was too dirty to drink, and there wasn’t enough dry wood to burn to boil water. Gavin asked himself, what would a king do? But he had no answers, only a question: why was this happening?
A messenger, dressed in the Lordover Tern’s red and black livery, entered at the back of the hall. His face was familiar enough that the guards checked him quickly for weapons and let him through without an escort.
“Good morning, my lord king,” he said, handing the message to Gavin.
“Hail, Hanik. How’s the little one?” Gavin broke the seal and handed the folded note to Edan without looking at it.
“Much better, sire, thank you. She can’t stop talking about how you healed her arm.”
Gavin smiled. “Give your wife my best.”
Hanik nodded with a crooked smile. “Thank you, sire. I will.”
Edan, looking at the note, said, “The Lordover Tern writes he’s questioned Cirang Deathsblade extensively with the aid of a well-respected shadow reader. He concludes she is blameless for the crimes with which she is charged, and requests you hear her for yourself within a week’s time or he’ll exonerate her and set her free.” He tossed the message onto the table dismissively.
“Can he do that?” Gavin asked.
“According to current law, the limit on her time in gaol without a formal hearing is three months, and she’s been in gaol for nearly that,” Edan said. “You should question her yourself. Your magic will tell you if she’s lying.”
“If her lips are moving,” Daia said, “she’s lying. She was well known at the Sisterhood for her ability to sell rubbish no matter its stench.”
Edan raised his brows in encouragement. “She helped Ravenkind escape justice. If she’s truly blameless in Rogan’s death, you’ll know.”
Gavin sighed heavily and rubbed his brow.
“I know you don’t want to do this,” Edan said, “but you need to make a judgment. Once you get this task done, it won’t be tapping your shoulder every other day.”
Gavin nodded. “Write a reply to tell him we’ll send someone to get her tomorrow morning.”
Chapter 8
Rain beat relentlessly on Adro Fiendsbane’s cloaked head and shoulders as he rode beside the queen’s carriage on their return to Chatworyth Palace. Their visit to the orphanage had been eye-opening and disturbing.
From inside the kitchen had come the sounds of feet stomping on the wooden floor. When they’d opened the door, a rotund woman of perhaps forty and a teenage girl had paused their stomping and looked up in shock, their faces flushed. On the floor were dozens of roaches in various states of squash, white goo oozing from their bodies, and many more as yet unsquashed that went about their business with tiny clicks of their feet on the floor.