“Elias! Elias Peck—is that you?”
A woman’s shrill voice made her start and, in the low sunlight, it took Asta a moment to place exactly where it was coming from. She turned toward the door that joined the Physic Garden to the Kitchen Garden. On the other side of the metal grille stood the Cook.
“Oh, it’s you,” Vera Webb said, with undisguised disappointment, as Asta rose to her feet.
“My uncle is still sleeping,” Asta said.
“Well, bully for him,” Vera said. “Some of us have jobs to do at this hour.” As she approached the door, Asta could see that Vera was holding a trug filled with freshly cut herbs.
“How come you are up and about this early then?” the Cook asked, surveying her with suspicion through the iron grille.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Asta lied. “My uncle is always testing my knowledge of the plants here, so I thought I’d get some early work in today.”
“How nice to have time on your hands,” Vera said sharply.
“You’ve been busy too,” Asta observed. Didn’t the Cook have underlings to send out for herbs?
As if reading Asta’s mind, Vera’s eyes met hers. “I thought it best to come and pick the herbs myself this morning. Just in case they arrest another member of my team before I get lunch under way.”
Asta nodded noncommittally.
“I take it you know all about the arrest?” Vera continued. “One of my stewards. Michael Reeves. The sweetest, kindest boy you could ever hope to meet. But thanks to Axel Blaxland—and your uncle—he’s locked up in the Dungeons.”
“What part did Uncle Elias play in that?” Asta asked, defensively.
Vera rolled her eyes. “Because of the postmortem report,” she said, anger now evident in her voice. “Your uncle told the Captain of the Guard that Prince Anders was killed by poisoned food.”
Should Asta remind Vera that Elias had offered up several possible ways in which Prince Anders could have been poisoned? There seemed little point in that.
“I wonder what Prince Jared thinks about all this,” Asta mused instead.
“The new Prince signed the death warrant,” Vera shot back. “So I’d say he’s pretty sure about it. But really that boy has so many people whispering in his ear, he can’t know if he’s coming or going. This is all Axel Blaxland’s doing. He wanted a quick resolution to this investigation and Michael will be killed tomorrow night while the real killer goes free.”
Tomorrow night? So soon?
Asta didn’t like what she was hearing. She was very familiar with the postmortem report. Surely it wasn’t conclusive enough to condemn a man to his death—unless there was evidence she, and perhaps Vera too, didn’t know about.
“You seem very certain that the steward is innocent,” Asta said.
Vera nodded. “You’re right there,” she said. “I run a tight kitchen. It’s damn near impossible for food to be tampered with.”
She could see the lingering doubt in Asta’s eyes.
“Sometimes,” the Cook continued, “you can know things in your gut before you do in your head. Do you understand? And I know that my boy didn’t kill the Prince. But I can’t prove it. And now he’ll lose his head by nightfall tomorrow.” The Cook had worked herself up into such a state that her face was as purple as raw meat, but now she sighed suddenly defeated.
“Well, I’d better go and oversee the breakfast preparations,” she said. “I’ll leave you to your “studies.”
As the Cook disappeared from view, Asta turned and pressed her back against the connecting door, surveying the four walls of the Physic Garden once more. Sometimes it was good to look at things from a fresh perspective. Her head was still full of the noise of Vera’s protestations—her assertions of Michael’s innocence and her anger with Axel and Elias.
Vera was not the most likable of creatures but that didn’t mean she wasn’t worth listening to. In certain ways, the Cook had given voice to Asta’s own doubts.
There was no denying that the steward had had direct access to Prince Anders’s supper plate. Nor that Michael had run to the forest before being apprehended. His behavior was, to say the least, suspicious. But what if it was some kind of smokescreen?
Asta looked around the garden again more convinced than ever that Michael could not have broken in there. Certainly not alone. He’d have needed some very high level help.
The Cook seemed very certain that Michael was innocent. As certain as Axel was of his guilt. But in the postmortem report, Uncle Elias hadn’t said that poisoned food was the definite method of murder, only that it was the most likely one. He had also raised another strong possibility, to which no one seemed to be paying attention to—that the poison had been admitted through the wound on Prince Anders’s leg.
The Cook might well be telling the truth. Michael might have no part in the plot. But, for whatever reason, Prince Jared had signed the young man’s death warrant and he’d be executed at sundown tomorrow. Vera Webb was right—there could be no halting or reversing of this decision without hard evidence. Asta determined then and there to find some. She needed to find out more about Prince Anders’s hunting wound and she knew exactly who she needed to ask.
SIXTEEN
The Grand Hall, the Palace
THE FIVE CHIMES OF THE GROOM’S BELL ECHOED about the palace.
“It’s time,” Logan told Prince Jared.
Jared nodded. He had heard the crowd gathering in the palace grounds during the past few hours and Edvin had brought back reports from upstairs where he had been covertly observing proceedings. Jared had listened to his brother’s descriptions, with a growing sense of doom and nausea, declining the offer to come and take a peek for himself.
“Do you feel ready?” his mother asked him now.
“I’m not sure I’m ever going to feel ready for this,” he admitted.
“You’ll be fine,” Logan said. “Trust me. It will be over before you know it.”
His mother kissed him. “Just stick to Logan’s script, my darling, and you won’t go wrong.”
They walked out to join the others on the balcony. Jared was flanked on one side by Logan and on the other by his brother and his mother.
As the crowd below the balcony caught sight of the new Prince and his entourage, the hubbub that had preceded their arrival dwindled to an expectant hush.
Edvin and Elin walked off to the side, to join the other royals and the waiting Twelve. Meanwhile, Logan and Jared carried on side by side toward the edge of the balcony.
Seeing the crowd down below, Jared felt a sudden sense of vertigo. They covered every last inch of the palace grounds. Their faces were a blur to him.
As Logan began speaking, making formal confirmation of Prince Anders’s death, Jared remembered some advice the Poet had given him earlier.
“Find one face, somewhere central in the crowd. Focus on that one face alone when you make the speech. Forget about however many others are out there, just imagine you are speaking to one person.”
Suddenly, he heard the sound of clapping. He turned and saw that Logan had finished speaking and was now gesturing to him to come forward. His throat felt dry and his limbs heavy as he stepped the few further paces to the front. There was no turning back now.
He looked out into the crowd, searching for that one face. With relief, he soon found it. It was the Physician’s niece. He’d have zeroed in on her arresting gray eyes and copper-red hair within any crowd. She smiled at him now—just as she had when he’d seen her helping her uncle with Anders’s body. Now, as then, there was something reassuring in her smile.
Jared took a breath, then began speaking.
“Citizens of Archenfield,” he declaimed. “It is good to see so many of you here today. This is a sad day in Archenfield’s history—the saddest certainly that I have known—and it is good, I think, that we should gather together like this and help each other through our grief.”
He could feel the crowd hanging expectantly on his words
. He kept focused on that one face, which was still gazing intently up at him.
“My brother, Prince Anders, is dead. My family and I, and all the court, are in a state of shock at this, as I know you are too.” He paused. “Prince Anders was only at the beginning of his reign. In two short years, he achieved much for the Princedom, as well as finding deep personal happiness with his wife, Silva, who is very much in my thoughts today and, I’m sure, yours too.” He glanced across the balcony at Silva, noting that Elin had taken her daughter-in-law’s hand and was holding it tightly in her own. Nodding, Jared turned back to the crowd, finding the girl once more.
“We, all of us in his family and the court, thought that Prince Anders would rule over Archenfield for many glorious years to come. Sadly, this has turned out not to be the case. But even though his time here was much shorter than we would have wished for, his impact was great. Anders, my dear brother, Archenfield will never forget you.”
Jared broke off. Although he was speaking words crafted by the Poet, still he could feel the emotion cutting through his voice. His eyes were now wet with tears and he knew he needed to take a breath to steady himself.
As he did so, he became aware of cheers ringing out from the ground below. The gathered citizens of Archenfield were showing him their support, telling him it was all right to be upset. The noise was soon like a waterfall; completely engulfing. It was as if every man, woman and child in Archenfield was cheering in support of the two princes, Anders and Jared.
When Jared resumed his speech, his voice was clearer than he had expected. “I want you all to know that the investigations into my brother’s murder have already begun. Be under no illusions. The Blood Price will be paid. And soon. But while we await the results of the official investigation, I do not want our Princedom—this wonderful Princedom of Archenfield—to live under the shadow of fear. Yes, for now there are unanswered questions but the answers are being sought and we will tell them to you when we ourselves know them. The truth matters to me and I will stop at nothing until I discover the truth of what happened to my brother. When I do, you may be assured, I will share it with you.”
He paused again, his eyes once more seeking out the girl. As he did so, a fresh—unscripted—thought occurred to him and it seemed right to give voice to it. “This is a difficult time for all of us. My family and I truly appreciate you coming here and showing your support.” He paused, then smiled and continued: “I know, thanks to my younger brother who was spying on you all from one of the turrets above, that many of you have been here since the early hours. You must be tired and hungry and I hope you will take advantage of the food we have laid out before you journey back to your homes.” He paused. “There is no immediate cure for the grief we all feel now, but it will come—for us all.”
There was another burst of cheering. Eventually, Prince Jared lifted his hand to stay the noise. “You are very kind,” he said. “There is just one more thing I want to say to you.” Now he lifted his head, so that when he next spoke, his voice seemed to take flight up into the sky and out across the realm. “There was a Princedom. Its name was Archenfield. There is still a Princedom. Nothing and no one will threaten the future of Archenfield.” Another pause. “There was a Prince and his name was Anders. His deeds were many and great and he died with so much promise unfulfilled. There is still a Prince. My name is Jared. And I pledge to continue my brother’s work and to serve you and Archenfield to the end of my days.”
As he finished speaking, the cheers were deafeningly loud and long. Looking back into the crowd, Prince Jared saw that the girl was once again smiling at him. Daring now to look beyond her at other faces, he saw that many there too were smiling at him, while those who were not were lost in tears.
Moments later, when the cheering showed no sign of abating, Prince Jared lifted his hand to acknowledge the people’s response. As he did so, some of the people began throwing flowers up toward the balcony. It was a magical sight—the sky in front of the palace suddenly dancing with garlands of leaves and early autumn flowers. Jared looked out as the petals fell like confetti, uniting them all for one glorious moment.
Jared glanced over his shoulder and beckoned to Edvin to come and join him. His brother marched over and stood at his side. Both young men now lifted their hands to acknowledge the crowd. Jared glanced to his side, seeing Elin and Silva and the others watching from the side. Were they pleased with his words? And the crowd’s response? He hoped so. All he could say was that he had done his best.
At last, Logan Wilde stepped forward and gave the signal that it was time to go back inside the palace. But not before some ambitious members of the crowd had been hoisted aloft on the shoulders of their friends to offer garlands of flowers to the two princes. Jared saw the nervous glances exchanged between the Poet and the Bodyguard. The Prince himself answered these with a smile and a shake of his head. Within minutes, his arms—and Edvin’s too—were full of flowers and the two older men had to admit good-natured defeat.
Jared’s eyes ranged across the crowd one last time, then he turned and began walking with his brother back to the main palace doors off the balcony. He and Edvin followed Logan inside, weighed down by their posies of flowers.
Elin and Silva, Uncle Viggo, Aunt Stella, Cousin Koel, and the members of the Twelve were waiting to greet them there.
When the doors had been closed shut behind them, muffling the cheers still emanating from the crowds outside. Logan was the first to speak. “Well,” he said, “I don’t think that could have gone much better, do you?”
Elin nodded and Jared saw that his mother was smiling. She was still holding Silva’s hand. Now Silva too gazed over at him, her face wreathed in a tranquil smile.
Uncle Viggo stepped forward. “I don’t wish to be churlish,” he said. “But Prince Jared did not entirely stick to the Poet’s script.” He paused. “Unless some eleventh hour changes were made of which we were not informed.”
Jared opened his mouth to respond but Logan beat him to it. “No, you are right. Prince Jared did improvise a little. But the script was only ever intended as a guide. I think what the people wanted was to hear their new Prince speak from the heart and connect with them.” He turned and nodded at Jared. “He certainly achieved that.”
“Nonetheless,” Lord Viggo said. “The script was there for a reason.”
“He’s right,” Emelie Sands, the Beekeeper, said. “We all have our jobs to do, and there are reasons we are entrusted to do them. Prince Jared, I mean no offense by this, but you were not just speaking for yourself and your family out there. You were speaking on behalf of the entire court.”
Jared nodded, feeling the euphoria of finishing the speech and experiencing the crowd’s ecstatic response, draining away.
As other members of the Twelve and the royal party waded in with their own opinions. Prince Jared turned to Logan. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You wrote me a great speech and I’m truly grateful for that. I hope you know that I did not depart from it for any reason other than… it just seemed the right thing to do at the time.”
“I do know that,” Logan said, as they watched the others bickering. “And I can say without any hesitation that you did absolutely the right thing.” He lowered his voice. “Some of the others can be terribly literal about everything.” He cleared his throat and spoke normally again. “And now, may I suggest that we stop debating what was, by any standards, a wonderful performance, and help free the two young princes from the burden of these rustic garlands?”
SEVENTEEN
The Palace Gardens
ASTA FOUND KAI JAGGER IN A SECLUDED GLADE in the palace gardens, which bordered on woodland. The Huntsman was standing on a grassy hummock, a willow basket at his side. The low sun made a silhouette of him, standing as still as a statue, as if in a warrior pose. Gripped in his left hand was what at first looked to her like a multiblade weapon. As she stepped a little closer, out of the immediate glare of the sun, she saw he was in fact holding a c
lutch of small hatchets. She counted five of them, their sharp blades glinting menacingly in the light.
A piercing whistle sliced through the air, making Asta jump. At the same moment, the Huntsman suddenly sprung into motion. “Blues,” he called. A second later, he threw the first of the small axes.
Facing them, at a distance of perhaps a hundred feet, was a line of birch trees. Asta watched as the Huntsman’s four remaining axes flew through the air in quick succession, each finding its mark in the trunk of one of the trees. She now noticed that there were targets painted at varying levels on each of the central five birches—colored circles of blue, green, red and yellow. And, sure enough, each one of the hatchet blades was now impaled within one of the blue circles.
She watched as two members of the Huntsman’s team now shinned up the trunks of the trees to remove the blades. She was tempted to approach Kai Jagger then and there, but something compelled her to wait.
The young man and woman made fast work of retrieving the hatchets. Asta saw that Kai was already poised with a fresh clutch of axes in his hand. The willow basket must be full of the small but deadly weapons, she realized. His colleagues had retreated to the edge of the row of birch trees. Now one of them gave another shrill whistle. “Reds,” Kai called in response. Asta watched as he sent the next five blades flying down the clearing and toward the tree trunks. Once again, each one hit its target—this time the red circles, painted at varying levels on each of the central five trees. There was no doubting his precision, and Asta felt that she would not have liked to be an animal trying to evade the Huntsman’s aim.
As Kai’s subordinates moved into action again, Asta herself moved came forward.
“Mr. Jagger,” she said, walking over to join him on the hillock.
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