He knew it was nothing more than a last ditch attempt to save him, but he couldn’t help entertaining the idea for a moment. If he was Raleigh’s son, it would explain his ability to summon – found so rarely in commoners who were unrelated to the nobility. The timelines added up, more or less. But that was all. Just like Arcturus’s theory that he was his half-brother, there were huge holes that needed to be explained … as Rook was eager to point out.
‘This is laughable,’ Rook said, as the noise died down under the steely gaze of King Harold, who had stood once again to silence the crowd. ‘Even if we were to believe you – and we have reasons to suspect you would lie to protect Fletcher – why would that baby have ended up on the northern border, when Raleighshire is the most southern point of Hominum? What possible reason could Edmund Raleigh have to send his child there?’
‘Because he didn’t know who to trust!’ Sir Caulder growled, slamming his fist against the pulpit. ‘Somebody wanted his family dead, some ally of theirs had led the orcs right to their door. Lord Raleigh knew his son wouldn’t be safe anywhere in Hominum, so he sent him to the only place he knew that even the king himself couldn’t touch. To the elves.’
‘And then? The demon left him in Pelt because it got lost?’ Charles scoffed.
‘Lord Raleigh had died. The gryphowl was fading back into the ether, as all demons with dead masters do, no longer tethered to our world. It wasn’t going to make it to the elven border; I bet it was lucky to get as far as the Beartooth Mountains,’ Sir Caulder stated plainly, and Fletcher could see several nobles nodding in agreement. ‘So it left the boy as close to the border as it could, in a place where he would be discovered – just outside the gates of Pelt. Naked and alone, but crying loudly enough for a local blacksmith to find him.’
It made sense, Fletcher realised, if you took a leap of faith. But the boy could have been sent anywhere – an orphanage, a friend’s house. Would Lord Raleigh truly have sent his son to the elves? And that was if Sir Caulder was telling the truth in the first place. Fletcher shook his head. It was not enough, even if he hoped in his heart of hearts it was true.
‘Why?’ Charles blurted. ‘Why would you not tell anyone about it? About the baby, the secret entrance, all of it!’
Sir Caulder sighed and lowered his shoulders, avoiding Fletcher’s eyes. He hung his head, the courage gone out of him.
‘I was afraid. Afraid that if I tried to tell anyone, the betrayer would kill me to avoid suspicion. Afraid that if they found out the boy had escaped, they would go looking for him. That was why I took the post at Vocans, in the hope that he would somehow find his way to the Academy. And he did.’
There were cries of alarm as Zacharias stood suddenly, shrugging off King Harold’s hand as he advanced upon Sir Caulder.
‘I don’t believe a word of it. You’ve concocted this story to save your friend’s skin, at the expense of my dead friend’s memory!’ He bellowed the last words into Sir Caulder’s face, slamming his hands on either side of the podium. Sir Caulder did not even blink, instead calmly wiping a fleck of spittle from his face.
‘That is up to the king to decide. He can believe Fletcher is a noble and pardon him from this trumped up charge for the sake of his parents. Or he can do nothing and let him die,’ Sir Caulder said. He met Zacharias’s gaze, until the noble turned away in disgust.
‘Do you believe this, Harold?’ Zacharias asked in disbelief. ‘The man is clearly mad. Do not besmirch Edmund and Alice’s memory so this old crackpot can save the life of a murderer.’
Fletcher could see hope in King Harold’s eyes as he stood and, with a deep sigh, joined Zacharias in front of the high table. Fletcher felt that hope reflected in his own heart.
Before Harold could speak, Sir Caulder made one last plea, his voice trembling with emotion.
‘My king. I loved the Raleighs as if they were my own flesh and blood. I owe them my life and more, for my failure as their protector. I do this for them, so their child may live, not out of loyalty to a student.’
Harold held up a hand, silencing the old man.
‘It is a tall tale, one that I wish I had heard many years ago,’ King Harold remonstrated. ‘We started a war over the events of that night. To tell an incomplete version of that story verges on treason.’
‘Hear hear,’ Zacharias said, nodding in agreement.
‘But … I cannot in good conscience kill the lad, even if there is no way of proving his heritage. You, Zacharias, of all people, will understand that. I deem the boy a noble, and give him a full pardon, for the sake of the memory of Edmund and Alice Raleigh.’
It was over. Sir Caulder’s ruse had worked. Fletcher felt a flood of relief and Othello’s hand thumping him on the back. His first thought was of Berdon. There was so much he needed to tell him. He felt faint with happiness. Somehow, he had won.
But then, a cold, wavering voice cut through the air.
‘There is a way of proving it.’