CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Gwen walked beside Godfrey, her mind reeling from her encounter with Gareth’s dog, with Steffen. She could still feel the scrapes on her knees and elbows, and felt traumatized as she thought how close she had come to dying. She also felt traumatized to think that she had just killed a man. Her hands still shook, as she relived her swinging that iron staff again and again.
Yet at the same time, she also felt profoundly grateful to be alive, and profoundly grateful to Steffen for saving her life. She had badly underestimated him, underestimated what a good person he was, regardless of his appearance, his role in his master’s murder, which was clearly deserved and self-defense. She was ashamed at herself for judging him based on his appearance. He had found in her a friend for life. When all this was over, she was determined to not let him wallow away in the basement anymore. She was determined to pay him back, to make his life better somehow. He was a tragic character. She would find a way to help him.
Godfrey looked more concerned than ever as the two of them marched down the castle corridors; he had been aghast as she’d recounted to him the story of her near assassination, of Steffen’s rescue-and of Steffen’s revelation of the dagger. She had brought it to him and Godfrey had examined it, too, and had confirmed it was Gareth’s.
Now that they had the murder weapon, the two of them knew instantly what they needed to do: before going to the council with this, they had to get the witness they needed. Godfrey had recalled Firth’s involvement, his walking with Gareth on that forest trail, and he figured they needed to corner Firth in first, get him to confess-then, with the murder weapon and a witness, they could bring this to the council and bring down their brother for good. Gwen had agreed, and the two of them had set off to find Firth in the stables, and had been marching ever since.
As they went, Gwen still held the dagger in her hands, the weapon that had murdered her father, still stained with his blood, and she felt like crying. She missed her father terribly, and it pained her beyond words to think that he had died this way, that this weapon had been thrust into him.
But her emotions swung from sadness to rage, as she realized Gareth’s role in all of this. This had confirmed her worst suspicions. A part of her had clung to the idea that maybe, after all, Gareth was not as bad as all of this, that maybe he was redeemable. But after this latest attempt on her life, and seeing this murder weapon, she knew that was not the case-he was hopeless. Pure evil. And he was her brother. How did that affect her? After all, she carried his same blood. Did that mean that evil lurked somewhere inside her, too? Could a brother and a sister be so different?
“I still can’t conceive that Gareth would do all of this,” she said to Godfrey as they walked quickly, side-by- side, twisting their way through the corridors of the castle, heading towards the distant stables.
“Can’t you?” Godfrey said. “You know Gareth. The throne has been all he’s ever lived for.”
“But to kill our father, just for power? Just for a title?”
Godfrey turned and looked at her.
“You are naive, aren’t you? What else is there? What more can someone want than to be king? Than to have that kind of power?”
She looked at him, reddening.
“I think you are the one who is naive,” she said. “There’s a great deal more to life than power. In fact, power, ultimately, is the least attractive thing. Do you think our father was happy? He was miserable ruling this kingdom. All he ever did was complain, and pine for more time with us.”
Godfrey shrugged.
“You hold an optimistic view of him. He and I didn’t get along nearly as well. In my mind’s eye, he was as power-hungry as the rest of them. If he wanted to spend time with us, he could have. He chose not to. Besides, I was relieved when he didn’t spend time with me. He hated me.”
Gwen examined her brother as they walked, and for the first time she realized how different their experience of childhood had been. It was as if he grew up with a different father than she did. She wondered if it was because he was a boy, and she a girl; or if it was just a clash of personalities. As she thought of it, she realized he was right: her father had not been kind to him. She didn’t know why she didn’t fully realize it before, but as she did, she suddenly felt terrible for Godfrey. She understood now why he spent all his time in the tavern. She had always assumed her father disapproved of Godfrey because he wasted his time in the alehouse. But maybe it was more complex than that. Maybe Godfrey sought out the alehouse to begin with because he was the victim of their father’s disapproval.
“You could never win father’s approval, could you?” she asked, compassionately, beginning to understand. “So then, after a point, you didn’t even bother to try.”
Godfrey shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant, but she could see the sadness in his face.
“He and I were different people,” he said. “And he could never accept that.”
As she studied him, she saw Godfrey in a different light. For the first time, she didn’t see him as a slovenly drunk; she saw him as a child with great potential, who was poorly raised. She felt anger at her father for it. In fact, she could even see traces of her father in him.
“I bet that if he treated you differently, you’d be a different person,” she said. “I think all of your behavior was just a cry for his attention. If he had just accepted you on your own terms, I think that, of all of us, you would have been the most like him.”
Godfrey looked at her, surprised, then looked away. He looked down with a furrowed brow and seemed to ponder that.
They continued walking in silence, opening one door after the other down the long, twisting corridors. Finally, they burst out of the castle, into the cool Fall air. Gwen squinted at the light.
The courtyard was abuzz with activity, the masses excited, bustling to and fro, people drinking in the streets, an early celebration.
“What’s happening?” Godfrey asked.
Suddenly, Gwen remembered.
“The Legion returns home today,” she answered.
With everything else that had gone on, she had completely forgotten about it. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought again of Thor. His ship would be coming home soon. She ached to see him.
“It will be a huge celebration,” Gwen added, joyfully.
Godfrey shrugged.
“They never accepted me into the Legion. Why should I care?”
She looked at him, upset.
“You
Godfrey turned and looked at her.
“You like that common boy, don’t you?” he asked.
Gwen blushed, silent.
“I can see why,” Godfrey said. “There is something noble to him. Something pure.”
Gwen thought about that, and realized it was true. Godfrey was more perceptive than she’d realized.
They marched across the castle grounds, and as they did, Gwen felt the knife burning in her hand, and wanted to throw it as far away from her as she could. She spotted the stables in the distance, and increased their pace. Firth was not far now.
“Gareth will find some way out of this,” Godfrey said. “You know that, don’t you? He always does.”
“Not if we get Firth to admit to it, and to be a witness.”
“And even if so, then what?” Godfrey asked. “Do you really think he’ll step down from the throne that easily?”
“Of course I don’t. But we will force him. We will get the council to force him. With proof, we can summon the guards ourselves.”
Godfrey shrugged, skeptical.
“And even if that should work, even if we should depose him-then what? Then who will rule? One of the nobles might rush to fill the power vacuum. Unless one of us rises to the throne.”
