“What?” Alric asked.
“I thought we discussed the importance of keeping a low profile.”
“Oh, please.” The prince waved a hand at the thief. “I don’t think it will get me killed if this monk knows I’m the king. Look at him. I’ve seen drowned rats more formidable.”
“King?” Myron muttered.
Alric ignored him. “Besides, who is he going to tell? I’m heading back to Medford this morning anyway. Not only do I have a traitorous sister to deal with, but apparently there are things going on in my kingdom that I know nothing about. I need to address this.”
“It might not have been one of your nobles,” Royce said. “I wonder … Myron, did it have anything to do with Degan Gaunt?”
Myron shifted nervously in his seat as an anxious look came over his face. “I need to string a clothesline to dry my robe,” he said while getting up.
“Degan Gaunt?” Alric inquired. “That deranged revolutionary? Why do you bring him up?”
“He’s one of the leaders of the Nationalist movement, and he’s rumored to be around this area,” Hadrian confirmed.
“The Nationalist movement—ha! A grandiose name for that rabble.” Alric sneered. “They’re more like the peasant party. Those radicals want the commoners to have a say in how they’re ruled.”
“Perhaps Degan Gaunt was using the abbey for more than just a romantic rendezvous,” Royce speculated. “Maybe he was meeting with Nationalist sympathizers as well. Perhaps your father did know, or it could have had something to do with his death.”
“I’m going to gather some water to make us some breakfast. I’m sure you are all hungry,” Myron said as he finished hanging his robe and began collecting various pots to set out in the rain.
Alric took no notice of the monk as he focused on Royce. “My father never would have ordered such a heinous attack! He’d be more upset at the Imperialists invading the abbey than the Nationalist revolutionaries using it for meetings. Those revolutionaries’ dreams are just that, but the Imperialists are organized. They have the church behind them. My family has always been steadfast Royalists, believers in the god-given right for a king to rule through his nobles and in the independent sovereignty of each kingdom. Our greatest fear isn’t from some rabble thinking they can organize and overthrow the rule of law. Our concern is that one day the Imperialists will find the Heir of Novron and demand all the kingdoms of the four nations of Apeladorn pledge fealty to a new empire.”
“Yes, you prefer things exactly the way they are,” Royce observed. “But being the king, that doesn’t seem terribly surprising.”
“You are no doubt a staunch Nationalist, in favor of lopping the heads off all the nobles, and the redistribution of their lands, to peasants, and letting them all have a say in how they are ruled,” Alric told Royce. “That would solve all the problems of the world, wouldn’t it? And that would certainly be in your favor.”
“Actually,” Royce said, “I don’t have any political leanings. They get in the way of my job. Noble or commoner, people all lie, cheat, and pay me to do their dirty work. Regardless of who rules, the sun still shines, the seasons still change, and people still conspire. If you must place labels on attitudes, I prefer to think of myself as an individualist.”
“And that’s why the Nationalists will never organize enough to be a real threat.”
“Delgos seems fairly well run and it’s a republic—ruled by the people.”
“They’re nothing but a bunch of shopkeepers down there.”
“They might be a bit more than that.”
“It doesn’t matter. What does is—why do Imperialists care so much about a few revolutionaries having meetings in Melengar?”
“Maybe Ethelred thought his marquis was plotting to help them—how did you put it?—lop off all the nobles’ heads.”
“Lanaklin? Are you serious? Victor Lanaklin isn’t a Nationalist. Nationalists are commoners trying to steal power from the nobles. Lanaklin is an Imperialist, like all those Warric nobles. They’re religious fanatics who want a single government under the control of the Heir of Novron. They think he will miraculously unite everyone and usher in some mythical age of paradise. It’s as much wishful thinking as the Nationalists’ dreams.”
“Maybe this whole thing was just a romantic affair,” Hadrian suggested.
Alric sighed and shook his head in resignation. He stood up and held his hands out to the fire. “So how long before breakfast is ready, Myron? I’m starving.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer you,” Myron said. He set up a small elevated grate over the fire. “I have a few potatoes in a bag in the corner.”
“That’s all you have, isn’t it?” Royce asked.
“I’m very sorry,” Myron replied, looking sincerely pained.