There was an awkward silence in the room, as Harold stared after the dwarf. Finally, the king sighed deeply and pulled up a chair beside Fletcher. He removed the circlet from the cap of golden curls on his head and put it on the table, before rubbing his temples.
‘I am going to tell you a story, Fletcher. A story that you may have heard some, but not all, of,’ Harold said, his eyes closed. He spoke in a low voice, as if wary of being overheard.
‘When I was but a boy, Hominum was in trouble. My father had raised taxes so high that the poor could barely feed themselves and even the nobility had to tighten their purse strings. He spent the money on frivolous things – great feasts, statues, paintings – he even built a sumptuous palace in the centre of Corcillum. The people were unhappy, the nobles even more so. It was not a question of if a revolt would happen, but when. So, he abdicated his throne to me, just as I graduated from Vocans. Taxes were cut, the common folk had a new king and peace was restored once more.’
Fletcher was vaguely aware of the tale, but he did not understand how this had anything to do with the trial.
‘You see, I am king in name alone. My father holds all the power. He controls the laws through the Judges and manages the army and nobility through the Inquisition. He can put down any troublemakers via the Pinkertons. When he gave me the throne, he believed I would do as I was told: and he had those three branches of government in place in case I did not. It was a publicity stunt, nothing more.’
Fletcher was stunned. In that instant, the king had diminished somehow. His presence weighed less heavily on the room.
Harold opened his eyes and gave Fletcher a level look.
‘My father is a bigot, a racist and a sadist. Yet, I … I grew up among tutors and scholars and was raised by my dwarven nannies.’
Fletcher had heard the stories about old King Alfric and the anti-dwarven laws that had existed during his rule. But to hear his own son speak of him in that way was shocking … the old king must be a real monster.
As Harold wrung his hands, Fletcher couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Why would the king tell him all this? He had no desire to be a pawn in someone else’s game.
‘I even spent a great deal of time with the elves on diplomatic missions, back when we were at peace,’ the king continued. ‘I am nothing like that man, though we share the same blood. Sometimes, I wonder if my mother’s death is what made him so hateful …’ Harold’s voice trailed off, and they sat in silence for a while longer.
‘I feel for you, truly. But I find it difficult to believe. What about the agreement with the dwarves, and the peace with the elves? What about the war? They say those were all your policies,’ Fletcher asked, unable to hold himself back.
‘The king’s council. It was my way of clawing back some power. I tricked my father into creating it, telling him the council would help deal with the boring, administrative tasks involved in running Hominum.’ Harold chuckled to himself and rapped his knuckles on the table.
‘A voting system was introduced, one that my father, Alfric, believed he could control, given his friendship with most of the council. But I had my own allies. As their parents died from old age and from protecting their borders, my younger friends inherited their positions. I managed to push through these new laws using that conduit. That was why last year’s Tournament was so important – it was my father’s idea to offer a council seat as a prize. If one of Zacharias Forsyth’s children had won, the balance of power would have swung in my father’s favour, for the Favershams and Forsyths remain on his side. I owe you thanks for preventing that.’
‘What does this have to do with Othello and our trial?’ Fletcher asked.
‘My father still believes I am as hateful as he and his friends are, that the laws I have introduced are for reasons of practicality, not morality, even if he disagrees with them. If he knew the extent to which I am against him … he would start a civil war and take power once again. I am trying to hold Hominum together, and the safety of its people balances precariously. We are barely holding off the orcs as it is. If there were civil war between my father and me, or if the dwarves were to rebel, or the elves to decide to invade, our armies would fall and the orcs would rampage across the Empire, slaughtering everyone in their path.’
‘So you can’t get involved in our trial, because your father would get suspicious if you did. You can’t give us a pardon?’