A Feast of Dragons

chapter ELEVEN

Gwendolyn ran through the back streets of King’s court, twisting and turning, trying to remember her way to the alehouse. She had only been here once in her life, when trying to retrieve Godfrey for some occasion, and she had never frequented this part of King’s Court since. It was too seedy for her, and she felt uncomfortable from all the stares as the streets became populated with unruly types. It saddened her that Godfrey had wasted so much of his life here, in this place that was beneath him. It had put a stain on the honor of the royal family, and she knew he was better than that.

Tears still poured down her cheeks and her heart still pounded as she ran through her mind, again and again, what had just happened at the river. She reached up and felt the small cut on her cheek, still stinging, still fresh, and wondered if it would scar. Gwen looked down at her hand and saw it was covered in blood. She had not taken time to bandage it—but that was the least of it now. She realized how lucky she was not to have been killed or maimed; she thought of Ephistopheles, and felt certain her father had saved her. Looking back, she should have heeded her dream more carefully. But how? Dreams were still a mystery to her. She never quite knew the right course of action to take, even when it seemed clear.

She knew of Gareth’s dog’s reputation for butchery, knew how many people he had maimed for life and marveled that she had escaped. She grew cold thinking that Gareth had sent him to her. Her mind spun with the implications. Obviously he would not have sent him unless he had something to hide about their father’s murder. She felt more certain of it than ever. The question was how to prove it. She would not give up until she did—even if it meant risking her own life. Gareth must have thought that that man would scare her away—but the opposite was true. Gwen was not one to back down. And when someone tried to scare or threaten her, she always fought back twice as hard.

She turned yet another corner, and finally saw the tavern, crooked, sagging on one end, the structure way too old and never tended well to begin with. The door was partially open, and two drunks stumbled out of it, one of them lighting up at the sight of her.

“Hey, look here!” he said, elbowing his buddy, who, more drunk than he, turned and belched at her.

“Hey miss, going our way?” he yelled, and shrieked with laughter at his own joke.

They lurched towards her, but after what she had been through, Gwen was not afraid. She was in no mood for everyday cretins—and she pushed them roughly out of her way. Caught off guard, they stumbled back, drunk.

“Hey!” one screamed, indignant.

But Gwen hurried past them, unafraid, right into the open tavern. In the mood she was in, if one of them followed her in, she would find an empty glass and smash it on his head. That would make them think twice about addressing a member of the royal family so disrespectfully.

Gwen strode into the tavern, the smell hitting her, and as she did, the rowdy atmosphere fell silent, all heads turning. There were dozens of seedy types in here, all drinking, all slovenly; she could scarcely believe how many people were so deep into drink so early in the day. It was not a holiday, at least as far she could recall. Then again, she supposed that for these people, it always was.

One man, seated at the bar, was slower to turn than the others, and when he did, his eyes opened wide at the sight of her.

“Gwen!” he called out, surprise in his voice.

Gwen hurried over to Godfrey, feeling all the emotion pouring out of her. Godfrey looked at her with real concern, stumbled up from his barstool, and hurried over to her, laying a protective arm around her.

He guided her away from the others, to a small table in the corner of the tavern. His two friends, Akorth and Fulton, kept others at bay, and created a wall for their privacy.

“What happened?” he asked, quietly and urgently, as he sat beside her. “What happened to your face?” he asked, reaching towards her cut.

Her back to all the others, she sat beside her brother, and finally felt all her emotion pouring out. Despite her best efforts, she broke down sobbing, covering her face in her hands, in shame.

“Gareth tried to kill me,” she said.

“What!?” Godfrey exclaimed, horrified.

“He sent one of his attack dogs after me. I was bathing, in King’s River. He surprised me. I should have been more vigilant. I was stupid. I was caught off guard.”

“Let me see,” Godfrey said, pulling back her hand from her scar.

He looked at her cheek, then turned and snapped his fingers at Akorth, who ran off behind the bar and returned shortly with a clean, wet rag. He handed it to Godfrey, who wiped her cheek carefully and thoroughly. The cold water stung as he did, but she was grateful for his help. He handed her the rag and she held it to her cheek.

She saw his genuine concern, and for the first time in her life, she felt a real brotherly love for him, felt proud that Godfrey was her brother, felt that he was someone she could rely on. It broke her heart that he stayed in this place.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “I looked for you everywhere, and I was told that you’d come back here. You promised. You promised your drinking days were over.”

Godfrey looked down at the table, crestfallen.

“I tried,” he said, crushed. “I really did. But the pull of drink was too strong. After today, after our failure in the servant’s quarters…I don’t know. My hopes got so high. I was sure Steffen would give us the proof we needed. But after that failed, I lost hope. I got depressed. And then I heard the news of Kendrick, and that pushed me over the edge. I needed a drink. I’m sorry. I couldn’t control it. I know I shouldn’t have come back here. But I did.”

“What news?” Gwen asked, alarmed. “What news of Kendrick?”

He looked at her, surprised.

“You haven’t heard?”

She shook her head, welling with anxiety.

“Gareth had him arrested. He’s been charged with our father’s murder.”

“What?” Gwen called out, horrified. “Gareth can’t get away with that! That is ridiculous!”

Godfrey looked down and shook his head slowly.

“He already has. He is King—he can do whatever he wants now. It is heresy to question the King’s judgment, isn’t it? And worse: Kendrick is set to be executed.”

Gwen felt a pit in her stomach. She didn’t think she could feel any worse than she had this morning. But now she did. Kendrick, who she loved more than anything, imprisoned, set to be killed. It made her physically sick to think of it, to think of him, such a fine man, wallowing away in the dungeon, and executed like a common criminal.

“We must stop it,” Gwen urged. “We can’t allow him to die!”

“I agree,” Godfrey said. “I can’t believe Gareth tried to harm you,” Godfrey said, looking really stunned.

“Can’t you?” Gwen asked. “It seems he will stop at nothing until we’re all dead. We’re all obstacles, don’t you see? We’re all obstacles in his mind. He needs us out of the way. Because we know his true nature. He is guilty of our father’s murder. And he won’t stop until the rest of us are dead.”

Godfrey sat there, shaking his head.

“I wish we could do more,” Godfrey said. “We have to stop him.”

“We both do,” Gwen answered. “We can’t wait any longer.”

“I was thinking, this morning,” Godfrey said, sitting up straight, eyes lighting with excitement, “of something that happened the other day. In the forest. I crossed paths with Gareth. He was with Firth. There is supposedly a witch’s cottage not far from there. I’m wondering if that’s where he was coming from. I was thinking of going to see if I could find this cottage. Perhaps I can discover something.”

“You should go,” Gwen answered. “It is a good idea. If not now, when?”

Godfrey nodded.

“But first, you need to stop all of this,” she said, looking around the bar.

Godfrey looked into her eyes and he must have saw her meaning, as she looked around the tavern. She meant that it was time for him to stop his ways. To stop the drinking, once and for all.

Something shifted in his eyes as he looked at her, and she could almost see the transformation happening before her eyes. She could see his resolve. It seemed real this time.

“I will,” he said, with a confidence unlike any she had ever heard. She felt it, and she really believed him.

“And I will go to our brother,” Gwen said. “I will find a way to get to Kendrick in the dungeon, and I will find a way to get him out. Whatever I have to do. I cannot let him die.”

Godfrey reached out and laid a hand on her wrist.

“Protect yourself,” he urged, “Gareth will come after you again. You are the weakest link. You cannot walk around unprotected. Take this.”

Gwen heard a clank, and looked down and saw him slide forward a small piece of wood on the table. She examined it, puzzled.

Godfrey reached over, and showed her the trick to it. He grabbed the wood and pried it open, an invisible crack down the middle, and both sides split in half, and there emerged a hidden dagger.

“It is the weapon of choice in the taverns,” he explained. “Easy to hide. Untraceable.”

Godfrey turned and looked at her meaningfully.

“Keep it close. And if anyone comes near you again, don’t ask questions. Plunge it into their heart.”