The Runaway King

Page 15

Nila didn’t know where her grandfather lived, only that he had a big farm and that people paid him from their crops. I had audibly groaned when she told me. It meant he was probably a noble. One of the useless snobs I detested.
I wondered if he had been in attendance at my family’s funeral. If so, perhaps he was still in Drylliad. I wasn’t sure whether to hope for that or not. Because if he’d already returned to Libeth from the funeral, he was sure to recognize me. But if he was still in Drylliad, what was I supposed to do with Nila?
A couple of hours earlier, Nila had finally begun acting sleepy, so I put her in front of me where I could prop her with my arms. Now as we entered the small town square, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. “I remember this place,” she mumbled.
“Do you know where your grandfather lives?”
“No.”
We stopped near a stall where a woman had a variety of meats on display. I glanced at a roast and couldn’t help but think of the time I had tried to steal one and nearly gotten myself killed by the butcher. It hadn’t been my best idea ever. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been my worst either.
“I am looking for this girl’s grandfather,” I said to the woman in the stall. “I think he’s a —”
“Nila?” The woman ran from behind her stall and held out her hands for the girl, who fell into her arms. “What are you doing here?” Then her eyes narrowed as she looked at me, covered in dirt and dried blood. “What happened?”
“Do you know her grandfather?” I asked.
The woman nodded and pointed to a home that was high up on a hill at the far end of town. “Master Rulon Harlowe is her grandfather.”
I slid off Mystic and held out my hand as an invitation for her to ride with Nila. “Will you take me there?”
Someone I hadn’t noticed took the woman’s place in the stall. Then with my help she lifted Nila back into the saddle and climbed up behind her.
I tried to get information from the woman as we walked, but she shushed me and gave her attention to Nila. So I listened as Nila described what had happened to her family. From what Nila said and the woman’s questions, I gathered that several younger families from Libeth had gone into the countryside to try to build their own farms, away from any nobles who might tax their lands. As their farms began to prosper, Avenians had started raiding. At first it was for simple thievery, of crops or cattle. When the farmers began fighting back, the raids turned violent. Things had quieted over the winter but with the melting snow the raids returned. Nila had seen her father shot by arrows while her mother raced her away. Her mother had been cut with a sword shortly before I arrived last night. It seemed that Nila had seen far too much death for someone her age.
“Do you know if King Eckbert knew about these troubles?” I asked.
The woman scoffed. “What did the king ever do for us? Master Harlowe was denied a meeting with him, but spoke to one of his regents.”
“Who?”
“Does it matter? The master was told that we needed to keep the peace with Avenia, and the farmers would just have to leave and move farther inland.”
I shook my head, hoping that what was happening here had never reached my father’s ears. Because if he knew and did nothing — no, I couldn’t think of that. The more I learned of my father’s reign, the less I felt that I had ever known him.
Harlowe’s estate was nothing compared to Farthenwood, but it was grand compared to the cottages we had passed on our way. It was a square-cut home of maybe fifteen or twenty rooms, and felt sturdy and commanding. Broad steps led to a wide porch and dark-stained double doors. I stared at them, torn between desperately wanting to ask Harlowe whether my father had known about the Avenian thieves, and knowing there was a greater need to continue on to Avenia. I opted for the latter.
The woman with Nila refused my offer to help her down, so after she dismounted I held out my arms for Nila to fall into. But the woman pushed past me. “I can manage with the child,” she said. I backed up and she added, “No offense to you because of what you did, but you’re clearly not someone —”
“Joss will carry my granddaughter,” a man behind me said. Harlowe obviously. He was as tall as Mott and probably in his early fifties, though with the strong build of a much younger man. He had a thick crop of hair that was more gray than black and eyes with long laugh lines at the corners. With him was the servant Joss, who stepped forward and took Nila off the horse. Harlowe tenderly brushed a hand across her dirty forehead, and for the first time I saw tears fall on Nila’s cheeks. Then, with a nod from his master, Joss took her inside.
“Now about you,” he said, turning my way.
My eyes shifted, but the woman who had brought me here spoke first. “Master Harlowe, as you can plainly see, this boy —”
“Looks exhausted.” He put a firm hand on my shoulder. “Can you tell me where Nila’s parents are?”
I searched for an answer, but by my hesitation, he knew. Large tears flooded his eyes. “I see. There’s no way I can ever thank you for bringing Nila. You . . . you . . .” He tried to say something more but choked on the words. Finally, he said, “Come with me.”
Instinctively, my knees locked against the pressure of his hand.
“It’s all right,” he said gently. “Please come. I know you’re hungry.”
Until he said so, I hadn’t realized that he was right. Suddenly, nothing sounded more desirable than a solid meal. So we entered his home, tastefully decorated but not overly ornate. We entered a hallway on the left and passed a small room that looked like his office. He led me from there to a modest dining room where a servant was already waiting with a platter of fresh-baked bread and a bottle of milk.
“We don’t eat fancy here, but you’re so thin I doubt you eat much at all,” Harlowe said.
“Not lately.” But the bread smelled good, and for the first time since I’d been made king, I was hungry.
“Forgive me for leaving you alone, but I must check on Nila,” Harlowe said. “I’ll be back before you’re finished.”
True to his word, Harlowe returned to the dining room as I was downing my third cup of milk. He smiled, obviously pleased that I had enjoyed the food, and then sat across the table from me. I slouched when he looked me over. Now was not the time to be impressive.
He studied me a moment before speaking. “Nila’s father — Mathis — was my son. Stubborn boy, always had to do things his own way, no matter how foolish. I loved him and begged him not to leave Libeth.” He pulled a gold pocket watch from his vest, bearing the marks of age and use, but no doubt invaluable to him. “When Mathis left two years ago, he gave this to me. He told me that where he was going, he’d know the time of day by the sun overhead.”
I had stopped eating while he spoke. There was so much sadness on his face, but in it was a resolution to carry forward. He looked the way I had felt when I found out about my family’s deaths. I said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent your son’s death. I didn’t know what was happening here.”
He tilted his head, unsure of my full meaning, then said, “Forgive me for prying, but you’re obviously a stranger to these parts. What were you doing out there so late at night?”