“Well, no—”
“Where is the vial you found on his person?”
“I didn’t, but I saw him throw something—”
“You have no legitimate reason to suspect this, then, do you, Oswald?”
I like this nobleman.
There’s a long pause, and then, “No, my lord.”
Rengard shifts his focus to Pan. “Are you eighteen yet, boy?”
“Just turned, my lord. A week ago,” Pan says.
“So you will be included in the next Presenting Day.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And are you the only servant in Oswald’s household?”
“Yes, my lord. My ma passed the day before my birthday.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Rengard maneuvers off his horse, his boots hitting the cobblestone. “I’ll tell you what I think, Oswald.” He approaches slowly.
I edge in closer to Jarek’s back.
He peers over his shoulder and whispers, “Subtle,” but at least he doesn’t shoo me away.
“I think you are without extra coin and down to one servant—a gangly boy who you feel might not fetch much for you come auction time—to live off until next spring. Our law states that should any upstanding keeper find themselves without a tributary due to untimely death, they can plead for compassion in my great hall and be awarded a new one outside of Presenting Day at a fraction of the cost. You, Oswald, saw an opportunity.”
“My lord, I did not—”
“Did you honestly think my court clerk wouldn’t tell me when someone has been lurking around his office, asking about available female tributaries of childbearing age available in the case of special recompense?”
“Yes, my lord. I mean, no, I did not think he would tell you, my lord,” Oswald stammers.
With a heavy sigh, Rengard climbs up beside Pan on the wall, turning to address the crowd.
I shrink farther behind Jarek, until my face is practically buried within his back.
“Seeing as I have half of Bellcross here now, and I know most of you have heard about the poison that travels in evil hands through Islor, let me be very clear. The king of Islor has declared any mortal found with the poison on their person or who has ingested said poison and caused death shall face swift and severe punishment.” He pauses. “I support this mandate. What I will not support, under any circumstances, are keepers taking matters into their own hands without legitimate proof of said crimes. Boy … what is your name?”
“Pan, my lord.”
“Pan, have you ingested poison to kill your keeper?”
“No, my lord.” He punctuates that with a head shake.
“And you would allow me to take your vein to prove your keeper wrong?”
“You, my lord?”
“I would not sacrifice another of my people if you are lying.”
There’s a pause. “Of course, my lord. If that’s what you’d like to do, I mean, I can’t stop ya.” He’s fumbling over his words, his nervousness increasing tenfold. “It’s like I told Lady Diana, who was trying to stop Oswald from killin’ me, I was only throwing a coin in the river for my ma’s memory.”
“I’m sorry, who?”