“Yes, that is correct,” she says slowly. She’s wondering where he’s going with this, as am I.
“And yet your vast orchard is overflowing with produce, not even a year later. Enough to feed the entire town for a winter, if needed, I would suspect. But instead, your lord is at the Cirilean fair this week, selling barrels of mead and baked delicacies.”
She laughs nervously. “But Your Highness, the law permits him to, does it not?”
“I am glad you would like to discuss laws.” Zander’s smile is outright wicked. “The law permits him to, yes. The law also requires that tributaries and servants are given adequate food, shelter, and clothing, and are cared for to the best of their keepers’ abilities.”
“We provide for our servants with the utmost care.” She snaps her fingers at the nearby stable boy, beckoning him. “Don’t we, Brawley?” Her smile for him is full of teeth and empty of sincerity.
“Yes, my lady,” he mumbles, hanging his head to cover the lie.
“Does that care include burning a small boy’s hand?”
She blinks, unable to hide her surprise that the king would be aware of Mika. “He stole from us.”
“A wormy apple off the ground because he was hungry. And what, pray tell, will your excuses be for using a pregnant woman as tributary? Or for collecting girls as payment for gambling debts, and outside of Presenting Day?”
Lady Danthrin’s mouth gapes like a fish out of water.
Her servant returns with a line of others following. Eleven in total—six women and five men, ranging in age from late teens to thirties, all with varying degrees of wariness to fear marring their expressions.
Eden trails at the end, her complexion paler than yesterday. Still, relief swarms me to see her.
“Is that all of you?” Zander asks the servant who fetched everyone.
“Yes, Your Highness.” She curtsies. “All those who didn’t travel to Cirilea with my lord.”
“Good.” Zander smooths a palm over his horse’s snout. “Lady Danthrin, you will relinquish all servants and tributaries to me and enough horses for their travel. We’ve taken the liberty of preparing them.”
Her face pales. “But, Your Highness! You can’t—”
“You have proven you cannot adequately care for them, so I will find them new keepers, ones who treat them with the respect they deserve.”
The servants’ eyes widen as they glance at one another.
Mine must match. Only last night, Zander insisted we didn’t have time to find a new keeper for Eden, and now we’ll be looking for keepers for eleven of them?
“Come!” He beckons them forward with a hand. “Choose your horse. Two riders to each.”
Lady Danthrin watches with shock as her servants rush away from her, diving in twos to clamber onto a horse.
Except for Eden, the odd number and last in line. But she’s moving too slow, as if each step causes her pain.
I hurry toward her. “What happened?”
Eden’s timid gaze darts to Lady Danthrin, but she says nothing.
I swing my attention to the noblewoman. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing outside the law.” Lady Danthrin lifts her chin. “Eden was not performing her duties and required a reprimand.”
I’ve seen a person walk like this before. A man who Korsakov punished for trying to force himself on me. I check Eden’s back—telltale blood spots seep through her linen dress, proving my fears sound.
My rage ignites. “You whipped her because she didn’t answer your bell fast enough in the middle of the night?” My words are nearly a growl, coupled with blooming guilt. I’m to blame for Eden’s suffering. It’s my fault she wasn’t there in the first place.
Adrenaline buzzes and heat builds against my finger as I decide how hard I can water-slap this vile Islorian without harming her baby.
A cool hand clamps around my forearm, stalling me.