Agata pressed her lips together tightly. The Allotment must be stopped.
Chapter Forty-seven
Froma lay in the mucky straw, her cheeks flaming as the cart bounced across the cobbles.
'How dare they!' she cursed under her breath. Didn't they know she was? She was a merchant's wife and a friend of the Duchess.
As the dusk rolled in, the round white face of the moon stared down at her in judgement. The streets were crowded with people late for the Blessing. They peered into the cart with curious faces. Froma ducked her head as the guards took the familiar path to the castle, through the Square and past the Old Man Tree. But rather than taking the steep Avenue to the main gatehouse, the cart continued straight ahead towards a gate she'd never noticed before, a door hidden at the base of the castle walls.
The two guards dragged her out of the cart, through a screeching iron gate and a third guard, pot-bellied and bug-eyed, led the way into the bowels of the castle. The stink of body waste, rotting straw and decay hit her as they hauled her down a sparsely lit corridor.
'I demand to see the Duke,' she said, lifting her chin as the fat guard jangled his keys and unlocked an iron-barred door. The guard cackled as he shoved her inside and locked the door behind her.
Froma stuck her head through the bars. 'Now. You hear. This is a mistake. You will be sorry once the Duke finds out.'
'Shut up,' yelled a man from another cell.
The guards disappeared into the darkness. Froma shook the door with all her might but it barely moved. She grunted. She bared her teeth. She slammed her fists against the bars and bellowed. But no one came.
Clutching the sides of her head, she slumped against the cold wall. A thin gap between the bricks cast a narrow strip of moonlight onto the straw floor and a hole in the wall let in a breath of sea air, a vague respite from the stench. But the rest of her cell was pure darkness. Something rustled in the shadows.
'Hello,' she said, her pulse quickening. What kind of ruffian would she meet in the castle dungeons? Someone who truly belonged here. Unlike her.
A fat rat scampered out of the dark and stopped in the rectangle of light to clean his whiskers. Froma shooed the rodent away with a flick of her skirts.
Alone again, she paced but as time passed and no one came to free her, the truth of her predicament dawned on her. Froma slid to the ground in the rotting straw and wrapped her arms around her knees against the chill. Here she was, imprisoned in the dungeon under the castle, facing a charge of murder by poisoning. Her own husband. Who would help her? Her chin trembled and the tears began to fall.
No one.
***
Kalin topped up the Duke's goblet with a gleam in his eye. 'I have a little story to tell. But no need to thank me. It's merely part of my job as your humble servant.'
The Duke chuckled and settled back in his chair.
'Since we returned home from Sulun, a few notes have arrived here at the castle--'
'Notes?' the Duke said, a golden eyebrow raised. 'More love letters from your pining conquests?'
'Not quite,' Kalin replied. 'Anonymous notes. Threats towards you.'
The Duke spluttered and cleared his throat. He barked out a laugh to cover his reaction. 'Me?'
Kalin shrugged. 'Some fool trying his hand at blackmail.'
The Duke's heartbeat galloped in his ears. He gripped his goblet tight. 'What do the notes say?'
'Some nonsense about "knowing what you did",' Kalin smirked.
The Duke's stomach plummeted. His nightmare was coming true. How much would this man demand for his silence?
'I do not need to know the full story, my Lord. Although if it involves that delicious red-head from Ledvor, I might insist on hearing all the details.'
The Duke forced another laugh. 'I am a married man.'
'And?' Kalin grinned.
'Have you caught him?' the Duke said, rubbing the back of his neck.
'I didn't want to concern you with such trifles,' Kalin said. 'After fighting all day, every day, and then the excitement and lovely distractions of Sulun...' He paused, a faraway smile on his face. 'I have to admit I was a bit bored and so I decided to find out the truth for myself. But no need to worry, the whole situation is resolved.'
'What did he say?' The Duke's heart thundered as he examined his friend's face for clues. Did the man reveal his cowardly secret? Did Kalin now know a pathetic pretender sat on the Ambrovnan throne?
'The problem solved itself, my Lord. It turns out the note writer died.'
'Died?' The Duke smiled as he let out a slow, quiet exhale. His rescuer was dead, taking the Duke's secret with him.
The room grew brighter, more sweetly scented than he remembered. The Duke's fingers and toes tingled, his whole body felt as light as a kite. He felt he could kiss his oldest friend but he grinned instead.
'His wife got rid of your problem for you.'
'He was killed by a woman?'
Kalin nodded. 'The blackmailer was Danis Plesec.'
The Duke squinted. 'Plesec? Big man? Thick lips?'
'Fish face. That's him. At the ford battle at Hambane.'
The Duke pictured Plesec's meaty face and his stomach dropped. Plesec was not the man who had saved him on the battlefield. His saviour was rodent-like, slight and fast, not a lumbering whale like Plesec. The Duke wheezed and clutched at his heart.
'He was probably deep in debt. It's always about coins with these merchants. I caught him hanging about the Seaweed Arms, an alehouse of ill repute in the Alleys, engaging others to do his dirty work, of course. But you are off the hook, my liege. Thanks to me.'
'What a relief,' the Duke produced a half-hearted smile. 'How did you discover it was Plesec?'
'Alley people turn on each other at the glimpse of a copper.' Kalin waved his hand.
The Duke downed his wine and held out his goblet for another. The real man was still out there. Perhaps he had been working with Plesec and was right now in the Alleys joking about the cowardly Duke.
'Cheer up, my Lord. I saved you from paying out a few coppers to a crooked churl. It's not the end of the world. And it's Spawning Festival tomorrow.'
The Duke swallowed. 'You are right. All this talk of death is bringing down the mood. Please lift my spirits. Tell me another of your tales.'
'Did I tell you about the camel merchant's wife in Oukib...'
The Duke's mind whirred as he settled back against the cushions and pretended to listen as Kalin treated him to another story. How long would it be before another letter arrived and Kalin realised he was wrong? How could he quietly stop this without anyone finding out the truth?
The Duke gulped down another wine and asked for more.
***
Froma patrolled her cell, her footsteps wearing a track through the straw. She blamed the Duchess, blamed Danis, blamed Sira and her sister. It was all their fault. They'd driven her to it. She could not be blamed.
Boots clumped down the corridor and stopped outside her cell. A pair of hairy-knuckled hands shoved a mug and plate through the iron bars.
'Wait.' She veiled her face and rushed to the bars. 'I am a rich woman. I can pay you.'
The fat guard ignored her and continued his delivery to the other cells.
'Shut your face, bitch,' said a voice further down the corridor. Someone else laughed.
Froma crammed her lips together. Then she noticed her cellmate, the fat rat, gnawing at her dinner.
'Curse you,' she said as she kicked and the round-bellied rodent scurried away.
She unwrapped her face and gulped down the sour-tasting water, gobbling down the stale bread in three bites. Then she sighed and rested against the cold wall. The distraction of food was over too quickly. She slid her heavy body down to the floor.
Eventually, Froma dozed off but Danis came for her in her dreams, howling for revenge, blood pouring from his mouth. He charged at her with hard knuckles. She jerked awake, panting, her chest damp with icy sweat.
It was not her fault.
After hours in the dark, a key rattled in the lock. Froma scrambled to her feet, replacing her veil as a torch lit up the cell and the fat guard stomped in. Another auburn-haired guard followed him inside.
'I knew you were cleverer than the others,' she said, attempting a welcoming smile. 'I tell the truth, I have silver,' 'One piece for each of you?'
They grabbed hold of her arms and bustled her along the corridor.
'Let me go,' she hissed. 'No one need know. I can make it worth your trouble.'
The fat guard spat on the ground. 'I don't take blood coin.'
'I am innocent. Master Tveldt was wrong.'
'That's what they all say,' he sneered.
The guards led Froma up a winding stone staircase and into a blindingly bright red-brick room that was filled with the warm smell of melting beeswax, and men.
Froma blinked as the guards thrust her into a wooden chair. Three men sat at a long table in front of her and five or six other terracotta uniforms stood in a circle behind her.
'Mistress Plesec,' said Lord Kalin, one of the three seated men. Kalin was a fine-looking man with his steel-grey eyes and dark hair fading silver at the temples but his expression was as severe as his reputation.
'You are under arrest for breaching a law of the Kingdom of the Four Rivers and the Duchy of Ambrovna. And in accordance with the laws of our land, you have been called before the Initial Council. The first step in this process is the hearing of your accusation. This is your chance to plea your case before the three. We are the Master of the Shield, a representative of the Fatherhood and a representative of the townspeople named by the Duke himself. Do you understand?'
Alongside Lord Kalin sat an unfamiliar Cousin. Like many in the Fatherhood, he was bald and dressed in a bronze-coloured tunic. His eyes were curiously small. The third man was the pointy-bearded Lord Egid, husband of Lady Reyna, the woman who had always been too refined to fraternise with a merchant's wife.
'If you do not confess and we determine the accusation has merit, you will be summoned to appear before the Duke for a full trial that will be open to the townspeople of Ambrovna.'
Froma's stomach churned as she pictured the town's tongues wagging, a guilty judgment already passed by every washerwoman and fisherman. Town gossip would sting more than cold stares of these men on the panel.
'At a trial, the Duke makes the final decision on your fate. Do you understand the accusation and how we will proceed, Mistress Plesec?'
'Perfectly, my Lord. But I have a question,' she said, narrowing her eyes. 'Is this how you treat grieving widows?'
'Such impertinence will win you no favours,' Egid scoffed.
'This is how we treat murderers, Mistress Plesec,' said Kalin. 'It is in your best interest to confess.'
Froma folded her arms across her chest and lifted her nose high. 'There is no proof.'
'There are accusations,' Kalin said. 'Claims of poisoning.'
'Tveldt,' she sneered and placed her hands demurely in her lap. 'A small-town physician. A more educated physician would recognise the red death.'
'Master Tveldt is a well-respected man.'
'If he's wrong and it was the red death, I would be carrying the sickness right now. At this moment. Spreading my illness to all the men here in this room. Including you, my Lord.'
The guards shuffled their feet and exchanged skittish glances. Froma smirked under her veil.
'He is a liar. My husband fell sick and died. Tveldt could not save him. He is covering up his incompetence. Or perhaps he murdered Danis himself.'
'What reason would he have to murder Master Plesec?' said Egid. 'Unlike you.'
'What are you implying, my Lord?' Froma said.
'Your husband was a wealthy man. And you would be a wealthy widow.'
'You do not appear upset, Mistress Plesec,' said the Cousin. 'Where are your tears?'
'I have not had a chance to grieve, Cousin. I am too busy protesting my innocence and being outraged at my treatment. I am too angry to be sad at this moment.'
Egid guffawed and shook his head.
'The Father does not look kindly on those who do not confess to their sins,' the Cousin said.
Froma compressed her lips. Hard.
'Think very carefully, Mistress Plesec.' Kalin said as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. 'You have a chance to confess. If you admit your guilt now, we can deal with this matter quickly. The Duke may show mercy.'
'Why would I choose to make a false confession?'
With a roll of his eyes, Kalin pushed back in his chair and waved his hand with a flourish. 'Then you will stand trial and be judged by the Duke with all Ambrovna watching. Is that what you want?'
Froma breathed out fiercely, her nostrils flaring.
'You are not from Ambrovna, Mistress Plesec? Are you?' Kalin said.
'Veigur is my hometown, my Lord. But I have been a resident for more than ten years.'
'So, you know our ways. Do you know the punishment for death by poisoning?' Kalin asked, his eyes stony.
Froma jutted her chin to hide her gulp.
'It is best if you confess, my child,' the Cousin said, compassion in his eyes. 'The Father looks kindly on confessors. If you are pious and confess all, you may still be granted entry into the Land Beyond the Sunset. You can redeem yourself.'
Froma began to sweat under the heat of their accusing eyes. She wiped her damp palms and exhaled slowly. 'What if he deserved it, my Lord? What if my husband was not the good man he should have been?'
'There is no excuse for murder,' Kalin replied.
'You show no respect, woman.' Egid furrowed his brow. 'Your husband was a man of good character. A war hero. I will not allow you to speak ill of the dead.'
Froma reached under her chin and unwrapped the veil from her face. As the fabric dropped, the Cousin gasped. Lord Egid averted his gaze and even Kalin let a grimace pass over his face. "Good character?" she said.
'A wife must obey her husband. As the Father teaches,' the Cousin said with a croak and Egid nodded.
Froma narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak but how could the Lords and the Cousin understand what she'd been through? They would never listen to reason. Froma shut her mouth and leaned back against the hard chair. There would be no justice for her today. But she would not let them win.
'I am giving you one last chance to confess before we bring you before the Duke.'
'What if I told you I did not act alone?'
'There are more of you?' Kalin baulked.
The room fell silent as every man leaned forward, eyes wide.
Froma tried not to smile.
'I can name three others.'
Chapter Forty-eight
Rabel stroked Jorn's honey coloured hair.
'Hungry, Ma,' he moaned.
Her little boy was not alone, Rabel's stomach also yowled. 'I know,' she cooed. 'Be a good boy and stay quiet for me? Food will be here soon.'
Jorn's lip trembled but he nodded.
Mistress Plesec had promised a meal but there had been no sign of her. The house was silent, now. A few hours earlier, it had been a ruckus with people coming and going, shouting and slamming doors. At the time, Rabel had hugged her children tight, expecting a Shield guardsman to discover them at any moment, but no one came to the shed.
With nothing to do but think, Rabel began to plan. She was a wanted woman. There was nothing left for her in Ambrovna. At dawn she'd sneak down to the quay and barter for berth on a boat, the destination did not matter. They'd leave the memory of Iwan and her poor Teo behind. Get a fresh start in a new town. Rabel sighed and clutched her chest as a million knives stabbed holes into her heart. Her boy. Her first-born.
But she couldn't leave without sending a message to Sira. Where was Mistress Plesec? One day she would repay everyone's kindness.
Voices bounced across the courtyard and Rabel flinched, herding her children into the corner. Boots clumped towards her
hiding place, growing louder and louder.
'Quick. Under the straw.' She wriggled down into the bales and covered their heads and bodies.
'Itchy, Ma,' grizzled Jorn.
'Shh. We're playing a game. We can't let them hear us. Understand?'
Jorn grumbled but buried himself deep into the straw. Rabel waited, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.
'In here?' said a young girl's voice. Irina. 'I haven't heard anythin'.'
The footsteps were right underneath her. Rabel held her children close, their little heartbeats clattering against her chest.
Someone started up the ladder. Rabel bit down hard on her lip and drew blood. The footsteps stomped on the loft's wooden floor. Rabel tensed so tightly, she began to shake.
'Nothing,' a man yelled.
'Look properly,' said another brusque voice. The first man grunted and kicked at the bales of hay.
Aula let out a little giggle and Rabel rustled through the straw, clamping a hand over her mouth. The footsteps came nearer. With a rush of air, the straw swept away from her face and she looked directly into the eyes of a smirking red-nosed guard.
'You're comin' with me,' he said. 'Got her!'
Rabel froze, her eyes wide. The guard grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to her feet. She let go of the children.
'Come on,' he said as he lugged her towards the ladder.
'Wait. My babes!' she yelled. 'Let me pick them up.'
Two bewildered faces half-buried in the straw stared at her.
'I only have orders for you,' he grunted.
'Mama,' cried Aula, her arms reaching out.
Rabel grabbed at the floor, the hay, anything to stop him from dragging her away but she failed to get purchase. 'Look how small they are! They need me.' She struggled and writhed, her fingernails scraping against the wooden floor.
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