“She was already second-guessing what she’d charged you with doing. Said she’d been foolishly inspired and put too much faith in greater influences, leaving it to the justice of fate. I just told her fate was all good and well but one time I aspired to kiss a girl and lost my nervous lunch as I leaned in instead, and sometimes things just happen that aren’t supposed to. It was the last straw in convincing her that she’d asked something unreasonable of you, and then the defiance part came pretty naturally.”
Smiling at how loyal to characteristic that sounded, Godren envisioned the princess casting off her habit and rebelling against the nunnery. Then he sobered. “She won’t tell them you were involved,” he told Seth, remembering his friend’s concern.
“They can still find out. The convent saw my face. The guard that accompanied us saw my face.”
“Where did he come from?”
“He caught us in the act and tried to obstruct us, but the princess told him to either come along and fulfill his duty of protecting her or stay behind and fumble to compile some heroic attempt of retrieval that would only earn her wrath for the rest of his life, but the gods had spoken and we weren’t waiting. I think he chose wisely. The princess promised to report that he’d tried his best to redirect her but had been left without a choice.”
“Hm,” Godren chuckled. “You know, if she said ‘the gods had spoken’, I don’t think the convent will give you any trouble. If she discloses to them the manner of inspiration that drove her, I don’t believe they’ll raise any opposition against her case. Loyal to the ruler of their nation they may be, but the gods earn their superior dedication in a controversy.”
“But will she think to tend to those loose ends in my interests?”
“I’m sure she will, Seth.”
“I just don’t think I came out very much on top of this one. I know I jumped in willing to make sacrifices, but now you’ve been pardoned and my fate is still up in the air.”
His despair rang true, stirring a loose end of anxiety in Godren. How can I settle for this? he wondered. His predicament had been terrible, but Seth had not had to do the things he had done, and now he ended up in a worse position than Godren? It wasn’t right. Godren could not accept an injustice to his friend when Seth had sacrificed so much to right his own.
“You’re right,” he said. “This is not the deliverance you’ve earned.” He turned to Seth. “I will go to her, and obtain your pardon.”
“We all heard the king, Godren. You’re forbidden to show your face.”
“It doesn’t matter. You would do it for me – have already done an inexcusable amount more. I will not settle for being excused if you aren’t.”
Seth swallowed, stuck between objecting again and expressing a desperate heartfelt thanks.
Godren just nodded once in resolution to close the matter, and then picked up a rock. “But let’s not take the opportunity to relive the old days for granted. Shall we break the surface of memory?”
Letting himself grin, Seth fingered the stone in his hand, and then skipped it across the water.
*
On the next occasion the king was scheduled to hold court, the sun dawned fair and warm on Raven city. Winter was learning to cower once again, as spring taught it every year. The sun itself felt almost foreign to Godren, an element that had paled to distant shores of time as nocturnal habits forced it to dissipate from memory. Sunshine had not been his territory for so long.
He felt strange and self-conscious walking unwanted through the streets, unable to resist ducking his head whenever he passed someone. Pardoned or not, it wasn’t as if measures had been taken to ensure everyone in the city knew it. After all, the king had told him not to show his face again. He wasn’t even expected to be here.
Perhaps it was the fact that he was cleaned up, or that there were too many people to process, that prevented the guards from recognizing him. Or maybe they had caught wind of his pardon, but not his further restrictions. In any case, they checked him for weapons and waved him on through, and he followed the line toward the entrance of the throne room.
Not wanting to disrupt the flow that was processing the civilians and issues they had all come to address, Godren fell into foregoing his place in line to give them all their fair chance at an appointment. He could wait until the demand had dwindled. In the mean time, he watched the king through the doors, analyzing his mood, trying to form an ideal plea. He really only had one effective bargaining chip, and it required he reattach himself to his greater ambitions. But if he was risking being here anyway, he might as well go for it all. He nearly hummed with nerves, unable to believe he was standing there armed with such a proposition.
The day matured until his focus was hazy and the sun angled in through the western windows. Traffic dwindled, the crowd thinned, and soon there were only a few people left. Aside from the man addressing the king, only one other stood between Godren and the throne room. Suddenly the man’s hand went to his pocket, and then he rummaged briefly around his person.
He cursed mildly. “I’ve forgotten me contract. Well, go ahead,” he said, nodding to Godren. “There’s no use now, not without me contract.” Relinquishing his place in line, he took his leave, muttering tiredly to himself as he left – something about legal affairs dragging on with complications but at least there was Matilda’s stew waiting for him at home…
Godren was about to allow the woman behind him to step up, but the guard at the door waved him forward.
“Next; go ahead and wait inside.”
Unable to put it off any longer, Godren clenched his stomach against the butterflies that took flight and moved through the ominous frame of ornate doors. At first, as he stepped over the threshold, nothing happened – then some informed member of the dais gasped slightly, heads swiveled, and the throne room progressively fell silent. As the king’s eyes focused past the man addressing him, the civilian cut off and looked over his shoulder.
At the end of the runner, framed by the doors, Godren stood with the entirety of the throne room’s eyes on him. On the dais, the princess’s posture shifted, becoming erect. The nobles lining the edges of the room began to whisper.
Feeling the sudden tension in the room, the interrupted civilian stepped back off the runner, removing himself from any central point of attention.
“Guards,” the king engaged without waiting for further explanation.
“I’m unarmed,” Godren announced.
“So? You have a face, boy. All I said was ‘do not show your face’ – I don’t recall saying anything about weapons.” He indicated the guards should continue.
“I come as humbly as anyone else, if not much more so,” Godren said as the guards moved to contain him. “Please – I wouldn’t have come if there was not something left unresolved. I am obligated to bring this to you.”
Raising a hand to halt the advancing guards, the king considered him. His eyes became calculating, keen and unnerving – and yet sparking an inkling of meek hope to dare exist again in the fields of Godren’s disheartened optimism.
“Let him make his case,” Talivor decided, and the guards relented.
Feeling awkward and grossly lucky, Godren moved down the runner to the king’s dais, bowing to pay his respects. “Your majesty,” he began as he straightened, “you expressed very clearly that there would be consequences for showing my face again, and I know I have no right to abuse the mercy you showed me by knowingly sabotaging the conditions. But I come in the interest of a friend. I would not even be here to accept your mercy except for him and the sacrifices he has made, and so I am obligated to ensure he is cleared as well – and if not as well, then instead of me. This is not merely a matter of conscience, Sire, but of debt. I will accept your judgment of my disobedience to see him freed.”
Though it was impossible to say that the king softened toward his defiance upon hearing the reason for it, a certain amount of comprehension and respect grew in his wise eyes. “While it doesn’t exc
use you, I can appreciate such an obligation,” he granted, nodding in understanding. “This is Sethos you speak of?”
“It is.”
“Wesley, consult Captain Ebrial and bring in the file for one Sethos of Wingbridge,” the king addressed his runner.
Bowing away, Wesley hurried from the room.
“You do understand that making exceptions for criminals in my city is a delicate issue,” Talivor wanted to stress. “It cannot come lightly. Unfortunate circumstances or not, I have to deliver consequences. There is a balance of discipline I have to maintain. Somebody…has to be responsible.”
Godren swallowed. “I do understand.”
“And you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him? For Sethos?”
“I will pay what is due.”
“So be it.”
The sick feeling of despair that could never prove to be countered whispered in its sleep where it had finally rested inside him, opening its eyes again to be his companion – but it was curbed by a dwarfing sense of honor, and a sacrifice that appeased him. Leaving him utterly weary, perhaps, but appeased.
When Wesley returned, he offered a sheaf of scrolls to the king, and Talivor arranged them in his grasp for consideration. He looked them over seemingly just to make certain there was nothing inexcusable written in the margins, and then he stood, crossed the room to one of the scented candles that was burning in its mounted holder, and touched the edges of the scrolls to the small flame.
Freedom burned over the parchment, vanquishing the condemnation.
Returning to his throne, Talivor lowered himself into his seat, and then looked meaningfully at Godren. “It’s done.”
Godren swallowed again, drinking in the significance. “Before you…sentence me from the light of day…there is another matter of obligation. Something else I should bring to your attention.”
Waiting expectantly, Talivor made no condemning interruption.
“Regarding the balance which requires someone to take responsibility… Well, Sire, upon our last meeting, you effectively threw into sharp perspective everything I have done. I’ve no argument there. But what didn’t enter the equation is what I can do. And now I stand before you obligated to bring to your attention… I can drive Mastodon out of your city.”
If the throne room had gone silent before, it went utterly still at that revelation. Nothing stirred but the afternoon shadows slowly creeping across the floor.
The king was the first to recover. “That is a very ambitious claim, boy.”
“I realize,” Godren granted. “But I do have the power to put her out of business.”
“How?” Talivor challenged him.
“By marrying your daughter.”
Murmurs spilled around the room amongst the nobles. They must all think him crazy, he knew, but he stood his ground.
The king’s façade did not crack, but his face did not show good humor, either. “By what?” he said flatly.
“My contract with Mastodon followed the terms that I fulfill a service to her and she provide me with shelter while I was employed, and upon parting I was to avoid interfering with her and hers, and she would refrain from interfering with me and mine. If I marry your daughter, sire, the royal family will be mine as much as any other would, and the royal family’s people would in turn be equally my flock. ‘Me and mine’ would account for the entire nation. Mastodon could not touch anyone. Continuing any crimes would oppose the men of the law that I made my own. She would have no choice but to move her sedition elsewhere.”
Talivor stared at him. There was no telling what he was thinking, but he stared like Godren had never been considered before – perhaps appalled, perhaps thoughtful, or perhaps offended or calculating or outraged with intrigue.
Have I spoken brilliance or madness to him? Godren wondered as he waited for some kind of response.
Finally, Talivor dared to collect his thoughts and voice a reply. “You have the most galling quality I have ever seen in a man,” he announced. “It defeats the purpose entirely to have to sacrifice my daughter to one criminal only to stave off another.”
“Have you ever committed a crime, your Majesty?”
A shocked intake of breath hissed from more than one area in the room at the less-than-tactful question.
Talivor maintained his eye contact with the man who had the gall to address him so, his composure absolute. His manner, however, did change. It took on what could have been mistaken for the smallest amount of budding respect.
Godren waited for a reply.
The king did not seem to have one. He did not squirm or fidget or clench his jaw or show any signs of discomfort at the question, but he didn’t answer.
“Everyone has,” Godren answered for him. “As surely as we have all sinned against the gods, so have we all failed to follow the law’s every requirement. This man, whom you would grant an audience to and attempt to bargain with without question – he has, at some point and in some way, defied your laws,” Godren said of the civilian trying to avoid the spotlight, much to his speechless objection. “Your guards have, your servants have – the gods know the nobles have” – and to this the sidelines erupted into one sheepish murmur of protest – “and I daresay your daughter has.”
At that, the king’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but he couldn’t deny it.
“Your majesty, I don’t claim to be perfect – in fact, I humbly and wholeheartedly acknowledge I am far from it – but there is a difference between a criminal and being a casualty of corruption. I know it is not standard, but I wonder if I could not request you dismiss the crimes against my character in a greater sense than a mere pardon. Why pardon me if you do not forgive me?”
“Do you always question your luck?”
“Do you never question yours? You are lucky Mastodon hasn’t taken your city from you, but then again you have no idea the extent to which she has infiltrated the undercurrents of your society. It was her men who abducted the princess, for the gods’ sake.”
A few of the nobles gasped. It seemed they required themselves to adopt dramatic character in the midst of a scandal.
“Yes, I worked for her, but I defied her completely to return your daughter to you. Is that not proof of where my loyalties really lie?”
“For one merely obligated to inform me of a capability you possess, you seem fiercely set on haggling my daughter from me,” Talivor observed. “Perhaps you would care to elaborate on your ambitions? I don’t feel you are being completely honest with me.”
“Your Majesty, I love her.”
Another shocked murmur circulated around the room at the scandalous revelation. This time, even the king looked taken aback.
“I beg your pardon?”
Godren swallowed. “Fate has seen us thrown in with each other more than you are aware.”
“You’ve been fraternizing with my daughter?”
“Father,” Catris spoke up for the first time. Whatever had kept her quiet thus far, it no longer kept a valid claim on her tongue.
Talivor looked to his daughter.
“May I have a word?” she asked.
Considering a moment, Talivor decided to oblige. “Everybody out,” he commanded, and, after a small reluctant hesitation, the nobles began to file out of the throne room. “See these two to the antechamber,” he instructed his guards, indicating Godren and the displaced civilian. The guards complied, escorting their charges from the room and settling into supervising them in the adjoining antechamber.
Godren set about pacing, and the civilian wrung his hat in his hands.
“You worked for the crime queen?” the man finally piped up.
Godren looked at him, and nodded.
“You do realize you just asked for the princess’s hand in marriage, don’t you?”
“I do,” Godren said a little dazedly, starting to feel the effects. “Do you think I’m crazy?”
A twinkle flickered to the man’s eyes. “I’m just glad I was here to lay eyes
on it. It’s not every common day one of Mastodon’s men waltzes into the palace on civilian traffic and asks to marry the princess. You have my respect, son. Indeed you do. People will be talking about this for quite a time to come.”
It seemed like an eternity of slowly-stretching afternoon shadows and maddening silence from beyond the doors before one of the idle doors clicked open and Talivor himself entered the room.
“Leave us,” he said, and the guards withdrew. Engaging in a series of fumbling bows, the civilian edged from the room as well.
Putting a hand on his pacing, Godren faced the king.
For a long time, Talivor considered him, saying nothing. And then, finally, he spoke; “No one has ever,” he said, “walked in off the streets and asked to be admitted into the royal family, and certainly no one has had the gall to walk in off the streets and ask a king for his daughter’s hand in marriage. It isn’t done.”
Godren swallowed. “I realize, Sire.”
“The notion is preposterous.”
Unable to stop himself, Godren felt his eyes shift down and away from the king’s.
“You are a commoner, son of a widowing woodcutter who dabbled in smithery, reborn of a criminal life. Your lifestyle is, at best, crude but humble. You are scarred, jaded, and unfashioned. And yet…what does it matter?”
Looking up in surprise, Godren found the king scratching his chin in bemusement.
“She claims to love you. By the gods, I don't know where she found time or opportunity for that, but I don't suppose I want to.” An absent look overcame him as he thought about what he was saying. “On the one had, I should not even consider your proposition. It is ridiculous, and I should throw you out just for showing your face again. But on the other hand, the man who risks all and has the gumption to even approach something so far out of his reach… Shouldn’t I be opposed to the idea of my daughter going to anyone less determined to prove his dedication? I still think your proposition is outrageous, but if the only objection my daughter has is that she loves you, the only harm you’ve ever brought to her is to have saved her life more than once, and it cancels a great threat in my city point blank… What do I have to lose? I could marry her to a prince to ally our nations, but what frilly prince who’s never tasted true grit in his life would plunge into the promise of the brutal fray to save Catris from an uncertain fate, and who would let him? And if there is still an infection inside my nation, what good is allying myself with another? I would only be encouraging the infection to spread.”
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