“I hereby strip my son, Lionheart, of all right of rule, both now and evermore. Leave my presence, my son.”
Lionheart got to his feet. He could hear by the baron’s breathing that Middlecrescent was not asleep. He could almost feel the baron’s enormous eyes watching him. Surely not even an old bloodsucker like Middlecrescent could see in the dark. Could he?
Pretending to be unaware of the baron’s gaze, Lionheart crossed to the tower window. It was little more than a lighter patch of darkness, for the sky was not only heavy in the small hours after midnight, it was also cloud covered, making it darker still. Not even the relief of the moon’s silver eye could be had on a night such as this. But the Eldest’s City was alight with fear and uncertainty, lanterns burning like the fallen children of Hymlumé. And directly below in the courtyard, torches were lit, and Lionheart could see the shadows of angry men going to and fro.
“You know the truth.”
Lionheart stiffened at the sound of the baron’s voice but hoped he did not betray the icy chill down his spine. He refused to turn but continued looking down into the courtyard.
“The crown should be mine.”
Lionheart heard the baron shifting in his bindings behind him.
“Your cousin is a fool at best. A weak man. Not the leader Southlands needs in this time of crisis. It was a blessing, not a curse, when he disappeared those months ago. Indeed,” and the baron’s voice shifted to a smooth, softer lilt, “I was tempted to bring it about myself.”
“Tempted to murder?” Lionheart said, making no attempt to disguise the disgust in his voice.
“Tempted to make the hard decision for the good of the nation. As every true king must.” The baron rose heavily to his feet. Lionheart had given his captive enough rope to allow him to stand, but not enough that he could take so much as a step away from the iron ring in the wall. Middlecrescent drew himself up to his full height and breadth and spoke with an earnestness Lionheart had never before heard from him.
“You know the truth, deep in your heart. You’ve known it for years now. When the Dragon fell from the sky, who kept Southlands strong? When your father, your mother, and your fool cousin Foxbrush were imprisoned in this very house at the Dragon’s mercy, who maintained unity among the barons? Who dealt with shortened resources, with isolation, with panic and gradually spreading anarchy as poison filled every beating heart? Who was it, Lionheart? Tell me, who?”
Lionheart did not answer. He put out a hand to support himself against the wall, glad once more for the darkness. A burden of fear and guilt weighed him down, and though he listened, he could hear no song or leading. Only the baron’s words like daggers in his back.
“Your mother would have known. Had she been alive when the Council made its decision, she would have backed me. She would never have let Hawkeye name such an imbecile his heir. The hope of Southlands? Bah!”
“That’s . . . not true,” Lionheart said slowly. “Mother always liked Foxbrush.” Actually, his mother had always seemed to prefer her nephew to her son, which had done nothing to foster good feeling between the cousins. Somehow, Queen Starflower, stern and masterful as she was, had seen something in Foxbrush that she believed her son lacked. Had she survived the Occupation, Lionheart did not doubt she would have supported her husband’s decision to instate Foxbrush as heir.
The thought was a bitter one. Lionheart bowed his head.
“Then she was a greater fool than I’ve always believed,” said the baron. “She knew what Southlands needs. A strong Eldest. A ruthless Eldest, even. A man who can bring it back from the brink of collapse and see it thrive once more!”
Lionheart did not answer, and silence fell for a little while. Even beyond the door, all was quiet. Were guards still stationed there, they might have fallen asleep for all the sound they made.
“You know this is true, Lionheart. You know it as well as I.” The baron shifted, tugging uselessly against his bindings. “So why are you giving up your life for the sake of a cousin you know will never be fit to sit on your father’s throne?”
It was a fair question. As much as Lionheart would have liked to ignore it, he knew it was fair. He didn’t want to see Foxbrush in his father’s—in his—place. Could there be a greater disaster for Southlands? Could there be a worse fate?
And could there be a keener shame than watching his cousin and rival take everything that had ever been meant to be Lionheart’s? Foxbrush deserved none of it!
Lionheart leaned his head against the window frame. The window itself was open, but though the high winds blew cold around the tower, they offered no relief. “My Path led me here,” he whispered.