The King's Hand

by Anna Thayer

  “May I speak frankly, my lord?”

  Eamon looked at him. The cadet’s eyes pierced like midnight stars. He nodded.

  “There are men at the college,” Manners said, “who put themselves through the course every morning because you assured them that they could.”

  Manners paused as another breaker crashed against the quay. The sea rushed up at their faces. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “I know that the men who went to Pinewood still serve because they saw you serve. Every quarter of this city saw you bring back the Easter’s head to save your men. There are men who never thought once about the people of this city. Now they think of those they meet, because they know that you do.”

  Eamon stared at him, not believing what he heard, and did not know whether to rejoice or weep.

  Manners looked up at him again, a little warily, but he continued. “There are men in the Gauntlet, my lord, who never knew what it meant to be a loyal man until they served under you.”

  “Men cannot serve me,” Eamon answered at last. “They must serve the Master.”

  The cadet looked him straight in the eye. “I have seen and heard what you do,” the young man told him. “For myself, Lord Goodman, I will serve whom you serve.”

  Eamon stared at him. The cadet’s face was firm and unchanging.

  “Do you understand what you’re saying, Cadet Manners?”

  The young man matched his gaze. In a moment both terrifying and astonishing, he nodded.

  “Yes, Lord Goodman,” Manners replied. “I understand it.” He paused. “I promise you that you will hear no more of the ‘Good Men’.”

  “Thank you, Mr Manners.”

  He dismissed Manners back to his work, but could not help but stare at him as the young man returned to the ropes that were his lot. He could scarcely comprehend what Manners had said, and dared not think on it too long.

  He returned to the inn and reclaimed his horse, leaving several coins with the keeper for his trouble.

  On his way back to the Handquarters, he stopped at the Good Man and spoke swiftly and softly with the grey-faced innkeeper. It was a short meeting that grieved them both, but the keeper understood the request that Eamon made of him. He promised to effect the Hand’s command as soon as he could.

  Later that day, word came to Eamon that a new inn called the Horse and Cart had opened where once the Good Man had stood.

  CHAPTER XXVII

  Two days after Cara’s flogging, Eamon sat at his desk in his office, staring at the papers he had to sign. As usual, he had received a small number of requests for transfers into the East Quarter, but that morning he could not bring himself to sign them. With quill in hand and ink at his side he looked at them, fear and doubt hovering near him. Alone with his thoughts, all he could think of was Arlaith’s face, his harsh words. If Eamon stepped out of line, more would die, just like Mathaiah had, and more would be flogged and beaten for their love of him.

  He stared at the papers until he heard a knock on his door. Anderas entered the room, looking warm in his thick jacket. The weather persisted in being hotter than usual. The previous day Eamon had seen people lining up at the wells. It boded ill for the summer to come.

  Would the city still be under the hand of the throned in high summer?

  “Good morning, captain.”

  “Good morning.” The captain laid the day’s reports down on Eamon’s desk and then stood in silence for a moment. “Are you well, my lord?”

  “What?” Eamon looked up, distracted.

  “Are you well?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s two days since you’ve ridden, my lord.”

  “Do you think my well-being depends on whether or not I choose to ride at a time when most normal people prefer to sleep?” Eamon snapped. Anderas did not flinch.

  “No, my lord. I would be short-sighted if I did. But it may be that whether or not you ride indicates your well-being.”

  Eamon tried to ignore the captain’s gaze. In the end, he sighed and looked up.

  “How is Cara?” he asked.

  “Your servant? I believe she is faring better, my lord.”

  “Is she well enough for me to see her?”

  “The lieutenant-surgeon believes so, yes.”

  “Then have her come here this morning. I need to make some notes about what happened, for the quarter records.”

  “Of course, my lord.” Anderas remained watching him for another moment. “Lord Goodman?”

  Eamon pressed at his eyes. “Captain.”

  “I am a man with men under my command, and so I understand why this incident has disquieted you – for your house is also under you.” He paused. “Lamentable as it may seem to you, my lord, I do not believe you could have done better than you did.”

  “It does seem lamentable to me,” Eamon replied, “but I must endure it.”

  “Yes, Lord Goodman,” Anderas replied. “You have endured many other things, and you shall endure this also. You must not fear for us.” Eamon glanced up in surprise, but the captain only offered him an encouraging smile. “I will send Mr Slater with Cara.”

  “I would like you and the lieutenant-surgeon to be present also, captain,” Eamon told him. “Choose a time that fits with your various duties.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I shall.”

  Eamon watched the door for a long time after Anderas left before turning back to his papers. He could not sign them. To do so would grant them his favour – and the Right Hand’s grace. He could not condemn them to that.

  And should the Right Hand go after the Grennils, or Ellen’s cousin, or the “Good Men”, what then? Did he really believe that in hushing a name or removing a sign he could save them?

  Eamon’s blood curdled. If Lord Arlaith struck and breached such men and women, then the Right Hand would learn that the Lord of the East Quarter was a lord who knew the blue light and did not report it – indeed, that the Lord of the East Quarter was a lord who used it. Lord Arlaith would learn that the man who had begged his clemency was none other than First Knight to the Serpent. Eamon would be discovered, he would be tortured and killed… and many of the quarter would be sent to the pyres with him.

  Eamon. The quiet voice came suddenly and gently to him. Be encouraged.

  Eamon drew a deep breath. “That’s easy for you to say,” he murmured, knowing not to whom or what he spoke, only that it was a whisper that moved in his heart. He had no other to turn to.

  Eamon, the voice answered him, and somehow Eamon realized that it was deeper and broader and keener than he could understand; that from this, from something beyond it, the King drew the very nature of his kingliness. It was the kindness, unflinching justice, and grace of this true voice that the voice of Edelred mocked and perverted when it spoke to him. As knowledge of that settled over him he felt both ashamed and awed.

  Peace, Eamon. See with better eyes!

  Eamon sighed and looked again at his woeful thoughts. Supposing that he was discovered? Supposing that they found him to be a wayfarer after all this time? What would they do to him? They could torture him, but he did not fear that. Perhaps they would kill him, but Eamon realized even that did not frighten him greatly. At the very least, death would release him from his fears.

  But while he was alive they could use him against the King. As the thought struck through him he shook. That he feared more than any other thing – that his will and his blood would be wrought in treachery against Hughan.

  Fear it not.

  The words ran through Eamon’s heart and he recoiled in anguish. Did the voice not know of Eben? Did it not know how the throned called him in Eben’s name?

  “But I am the traitor’s heir!” he cried. “Treachery is in my blood!”

  Your blood is your own; your heart you have given to the King.

  Eamon sighed. It was true; he had given his heart and service to the King. In that service he served the East Quarter. If they found him to be a wayfarer, and defamed him as s
uch; if they brought him out of the Pit – tortured and scarred, bloodied and torn – to parade him before the people…

  Suddenly Eamon laughed. They could not; not now. For if the Lord of the East Quarter – the lord whose ways caused the quarter to sing the throned’s praises more than any other – were shown to be a King’s man… What recourse would the Master have, or his Right Hand? All the praise that had been given to the throned would rebound and return to Hughan, to whom it was rightly owed. Hughan would be served, whether Eamon was revealed or not. The thought was of comfort to him.

  It was not long later that Anderas returned. With him came Slater and a notary who would make a record of what was said. The lieutenant-surgeon and Cara came behind. The girl walked slowly and stiffly, her face creased with pain. Another servant escorted her; he held her arm as she went and had one of his own looped lightly about her lower back to help her stand.

  Eamon rose as the group entered. A shiver ran down his spine when he looked at Cara. He offered the notary a chair, and then turned to her.

  “Would you like a chair, Miss Cara?”

  She did not look at him.

  “I’ll get one, my lord.”

  Slater stepped quickly to one side and chose one of the many chairs in Eamon’s office. It had a tall, straight back, but Slater stepped from the room and returned a moment later with a cushion tucked under his arm. As the servant helped the girl to sit, Slater tucked the cushion gently behind her back. The lieutenant-surgeon looked nervous that the servants moved so freely before a Hand, but Eamon did not say a word, for he thoroughly approved.

  “Thank you, Mr Slater.”

  “My pleasure, my lord.”

  “Notary, please begin your work,” Eamon said. “Note that those present are myself, Captain Anderas, Mr Slater, Mr Hill, and Miss…” He faltered. “Miss Tenent,” he remembered at last.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Drawing a breath, Eamon looked at each of them. “I am sure that this whole affair has been an unpleasant experience for all of you, but I must ask: what happened when Lord Arlaith came here, seeking me?”

  Cara flinched and began to shiver. Eamon stepped up to her – she tensed as he moved. The side of her face was still swollen from where she had been struck.

  “Miss Tenent,” Eamon tried again, “are you able to tell me what happened?”

  She did not answer him. Slowly, Eamon crouched down beside the girl so that he could peer up into her hidden face.

  “Will you not speak?” he asked quietly.

  At his words she turned her face into her hands and wept. The other men in the room looked at each other. The lieutenant-surgeon seemed sympathetic though distant, as though he had seen such before. The notary merely wrote.

  Eamon tried to catch a glimpse of the girl’s eyes. “Cara,” he said gently. “Why are you afraid of me?”

  The girl did not answer, her voice choked with sobs. Eamon looked across to Anderas, who drew a large handkerchief from the pouch at his side. Without a word he extended it to Eamon, and Eamon gently touched it against Cara’s hands. But she did not take it; instead, she turned her face farther from his. He thought he heard her try to speak.

  “I can’t hear you, Cara,” he said softly.

  “You must be angry with me, Lord Goodman,” she whispered, then struggled to continue as sobs pressed her throat. “I have brought dishonour and shame – on this house and on you. You won’t believe anything that I can say. You’ll breach me and you’ll –”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  The girl shuddered with another violent sob. Rage against Arlaith grew in his heart, but he knew that this was not the place to speak it.

  When he spoke again his voice was gentle. “Know this, and believe it: if I am angry, Cara, it is not with you. Neither have I any cause to disbelieve what you say, and I have not been shamed by you.” He laid the handkerchief in her palm again and was encouraged when her fingers closed around it. “Tell me what happened.”

  At last, and after a long pause, Cara spoke.

  “Lord Arlaith came late, my lord. I was tidying in your room when he asked me where you were. I told him that I did not know. Lord Arlaith became angry and demanded to speak with you, but it did not change what I knew. He… he breached me.” Her breath grew short and she cried out as she remembered it. Slater laid a hand on her arm. “My lord,” she cried, “he-he hurt me…”

  “I know,” Eamon answered. “I am sorry.”

  “I did not know where you were. I told him that I did not know… he saw that I did not know, but he would not let me go…” Her voice faded as she was caught in the horrific memory.

  “I heard her screaming, my lord.” Slater spoke warily. “I was passing by the stair. When I heard, I went up to your rooms. I saw Lord Arlaith breaching her, and then he took his hand from her face and struck her. Then he asked me where you were. I did not know, but I invited him to retire to your study to wait while I sent for you.” Eamon nodded, impressed by Slater’s quick thinking given the circumstance. “I accompanied him there, then went to find Captain Anderas.”

  “Slater explained to me what had happened,” Anderas added quietly, “and while he went to tend to Cara I came to find you, my lord.”

  Eamon nodded; it made sense to him. He could see the notary in the corner looking up as he finished his notes.

  “Please note that this servant was flogged for displeasing Lord Arlaith,” Eamon said. He saw a shadow pass over Cara’s face. “Thank you,” he added, rising to his feet.

  The notary rose and bowed before leaving. Eamon looked to the others. “You may return to your duties,” he said. “Mr Slater, you may take Miss Tenent to the servants’ rooms in a moment. Please wait outside.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Eamon gestured to Anderas to remain. Quietly the other men cleared the room until Eamon and Anderas were left alone with Cara.

  “Miss Tenent?” Eamon said. The girl looked up at him. “Miss Tenent, how is your back?”

  “Sore, my lord.” Cara did her best to put a brave face on it.

  “Have you seen your brother since you were beaten?”

  “Yes, lord. Mr Bellis brought him to see me this morning.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” Eamon answered with a smile. “And how is he?”

  “Shaken, my lord.”

  “As are you. Do you feel able to return to your duties?”

  Cara nodded firmly. “Yes, lord.”

  “Then you will do so after you have taken a further three days’ rest.”

  Cara looked at him in surprise. “My lord –”

  “That is my will, Cara.”

  She fell silent, then looked up at him. “Yes, my lord.”

  Eamon dismissed her with his best wishes for her continuing improvement, and asked Slater to escort her back to the servants’ quarters to rest. As the servants left, Anderas stepped to Eamon’s side.

  “She’s making a good recovery,” he said.

  “Good.” Eamon wondered whether the girl held him responsible for what she had received, or if she knew how many lashes the Right Hand had planned to give her. His own back burned in discomfort and he involuntarily drew a sharp breath.

  “Are you well, my lord?”

  “Yes,” Eamon answered. He wondered whether Anderas knew that the Lord of the East Quarter had also once been flogged. “Thank you, captain.”

  “Will you ride tomorrow?”

  Eamon nodded.

  That evening Eamon sat once again at his desk. Many of his papers had not moved, although he had at least dealt with the most important of them. He watched the first beams of moonlight touch the wooden bookshelves. They shifted between the branches of the trees beyond his window.

  After a short while there was a knock at his door. He called to grant admittance and was surprised to see Marilio framed in the doorway.

  “Mr Bellis,” he said. The man bowed, showing traces of white in his dark hair. He bore a broad tray.


  “Good evening, my lord. Mr Slater was attending to another matter and asked me to see to your supper.”

  “So I shall now have the chance to thank at least one of my cooks personally for what I am sure is a very fine meal indeed,” Eamon told him.

  “Yes, my lord,” Marilio answered with a laugh, and laid the platter carefully down on the table. Eamon met his gaze again.

  “Tell me, Marilio, how are you finding yourself in this household?”

  The man smiled. “Well,” he answered, “you are a kind and noble master.” The use of the word chilled Eamon to his core, but it was true: he was the master of the household.

  “I suspect that not everyone will hold so kind a view of me as that.”

  “You worry much about what men think of you, my lord – too much!” Marilio told him. “I have heard no cause for such worry.”

  “Would you tell me if you had?” Eamon challenged with a laugh of his own. He didn’t leave the man time to reply. “That was an unfair question – I apologize for asking it.”

  “You are very free with your apologies, my lord.”

  “I err often enough to warrant it.” Eamon caught a glimpse of the ring on his finger and sighed. Lord Arlaith was right: he behaved so little like a lord of Dunthruik…

  Marilio stood while he was silent. Eventually the man spoke again. “Can I be of further service to you, my lord?”

  “No, I am well,” Eamon answered. “How is Miss Tenent this evening?”

  “She is getting stronger,” Marilio answered. “She would not have admitted it herself, but she sorely needs the days of rest you granted her.” He paused for a moment. “My son visits her: he said that you had granted him permission to stay with her when he was not on duty.”

  “He tells the truth in that,” Eamon answered, catching the tiniest flicker of concern on Marilio’s face. “I found him sitting by her the night she was flogged. There was no harm in him to my mind, and he seems a very able guardian.”

  “There is a great deal of good in it, my lord.”

  Eamon looked at him with a questioning gaze. “How is that, Marilio?”