Both men went back to the dance of two expert swordsmen, and G turned to his father, the clang of blades in the background.
“Perhaps, Father,” he said, “you will change your mind about who win will this scuffle in light of some recent news. The first is this: King Edward is fully recovered from your poison. I watched him kill the Great White Bear of Rhyl without even breaking a sweat. He’s no sickly boy. The second, which might be even more disconcerting to you: your beloved firstborn has fled.”
G jerked his head toward the spot where Stan had stood only moments before. Indeed, between the far buildings, Stan’s retreating form could be seen careening around a corner. He always did have the courage of a flea.
“I could go after him,” Jane suggested. “With my frying pan.”
“He’s not worth it, my dear. Save your frying pan for someone who matters.”
Jane hmphed but stayed where she was.
“And the final piece of news . . .” G suddenly swung the tip of his sword closer to that eagle nose. “Since you last saw me, I have spent every waking hour sharpening my fencing skills. I have sliced candlesticks and skewered straw dummies and sparred with some of the finest blades of France. I might not be able to beat a weapons master, but I can easily best an old, top-heavy, pusillanimous, two-faced, paltry, odious excuse for a man.” He pushed his sword forward until it was against his father’s coat. “Drop your sword.”
Lord Dudley, lacking in grace and honor—and at this point in time, any sort of backup—dropped his sword and fell to his knees, just as Edward disarmed Bash of his blade.
Bash put his hands together. “I will give you anything you ask of me, Sire,” he panted, and bowed his head.
“Fealty. Swear your fealty,” Edward demanded.
“My king, my sovereign, your smallest wish is my soul’s desire. Kill me if you need, but if you deign to let me live, I will be your humble servant, in whatever capacity you deem fit.”
Edward wiped sweat off his brow and looked to G. “Do what you will,” he said, nodding at Lord Dudley.
Now this was a matter between father and son.
G turned and placed the tip of his sword on his father’s chest. He pressed it with enough force to break through the topmost layer of fabric.
“Now, Gifford, think about what you’re doing.” Dudley’s voice was unnaturally high.
“Shut it, Father.” G spat the word in disgust.
“My son, please. I only did what I did for the good of the kingdom.”
“A kingdom you destroyed? Even now, at this very moment, men are fighting out there behind the walls, fighting and dying because of what you did. You’re a most notable coward, an infinite and endless liar, an hourly promise breaker, the owner of not one good quality.”
Lord Dudley held out his hand. “You just don’t understand politics. Have you learned nothing? Everyone involved in the running of a kingdom deserves to die at some point. It’s how the game is played. You win or you die.”
“You deserve to die.” G looked at his father’s outstretched hand and it made him sick that he shared the same blood as this man. (Or maybe not, because he didn’t have the nose.) With a flick of his sword, he cut a gash in Lord Dudley’s palm.
Behind him, Jane gasped.
Dudley fell to his knees. “My son. My boy. I understand you are angry. What can I do to make you spare my life? I’ll do anything. Anything!”
“Anything?” G said. “Will you give me your estate?”
“Yes! I will give you all that I have and more!”
“Will you stop telling people that I’m a half-wit and admit publicly that I’m an E?ian?”
“Yes!”
“Will you tell me that I’m just as good as Stan?”
Dudley hesitated. “Well, Stan’s exceptional.” He looked again at G’s sword. “But . . . yes. You are quite . . . good. Please don’t kill me.”
Jane’s small hand crept to his shoulder. G reached up to place his hand over hers. He let out a breath and looked up at the night sky. He already knew what he was going to do with his father. Yes, some would say that Lord Dudley deserved to die, but G was not the king, nor was he a judge, nor was he an executioner.
“I will leave you, Father, to the will of the people, who by this time tomorrow will all know of your treachery.”