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“Bring in the captive.” My brother’s voice rang out, filling the hall with regal authority.
Instantly, the heavy wooden doors on the far right-side of the Great Hall burst open and a group of guards dragged in a young boy. He looked to be a few years younger than I was. His arms were bound tightly behind his back and his clothing was ripped and torn, revealing a back covered with the welts of a whip.
I felt the bile rise in my throat. Evidently Arthur had instructed his private guards to begin the boy’s punishment early.
But there was still hope. Perhaps the whipping would be the extent of the king’s justice.
I could tell right away that the boy possessed some fae blood, and evidently I was not the only one, for the Great Hall had erupted into a buzz of voices. His skin was tinged violet and his hair was an otherworldly shade of blue. Such vivid features were unusual but not unheard of.
I watched as the boy’s eyes darted around the vast room, his expression desperate and fearful.
Sitting on the Pendragon throne of the Rose Court of Camelot, my brother leaned forward. “What crime has he committed?”
The question was a farce. Arthur surely knew the answer already. But then, the entire thing was a spectacle of cruelty. With poor Kaye trapped up there beside Arthur on the dais, forced to watch and unwittingly condone.
One of the guards stepped forward. I did not recognize him. “He was caught stealing in one of the markets, Your Highness. He claimed he came into the city from one of the smaller villages to find work but was unsuccessful.”
The boy dropped to his knees and began to sob. “I took only an apple, Your Majesty. A single apple.”
I stepped forward involuntarily, but a hand gripped my arm. I glanced up to see Galahad shaking his head slightly. His face was pale.
Arthur ignored the boy. “A thief,” he mused, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his throne. “But that cannot be all there is to this. Tell me truly now, guard, he is a spy, is he not? Come to scout among us? Has not Rheged been sending more and more spies along our borders?”
The guard cleared his throat. Evidently this part of the performance had not been rehearsed, yet he had no wish to contradict his monarch. He was a coward. But then, if he was one, what did that make me?
“Indeed, my king,” the guard declared, loudly enough to be heard across the hall. “Quite so. Most likely from Rheged.”
I watched my brother’s lips twist into a cruel smile. “The punishment for theft is the loss of a hand, as all those assembled here know.”
The boy’s sobs became louder. The more I looked at him the more he seemed closer to Kaye in age, hardly more than a child. Where was his family? Did he leave them behind to seek out a better life for himself only to come to this?
I was sure this was not how he ever imagined he would glimpse the famed Great Hall of the Rose Court of Camelot, broken and bleeding on the stone floor.
Arthur went on. “But spying–now that is another matter entirely. And one with a much more severe punishment.” He paused, then raised his voice to carry more loudly. “One which we all know is death.”
The nobles and courtiers were murmuring more loudly now. I overheard one woman near us suggesting in a hushed voice to the man beside her that hard labor would be more fair and fitting for the boy. The man shushed her quickly, but I was pleased to see any indication of mercy amongst my fellow nobles.
The boy had his palms to the floor and was emitting the most heart-wrenching cries.
“I beseech you, my king,” he sobbed. “Have mercy. Am I not one of your subjects? I swear, I am no spy. Yes, I did wrong. Allow me to pay for it and accept my sincere remorse.”
He held out a trembling hand, his eyes closed.
My brother studied the boy in silence for a moment as the court quieted. “Well, a spy would say that, wouldn’t he?” Arthur looked around with an easy smile as if expecting everyone around him to smile back.
There was a tittering of laughter from the sycophants closest to the dais and I slammed my hand into the pillar beside me, grazing my knuckles.
“If I may, Your Grace...” Merlin rose slowly from her seat, her movements sure and graceful, and stood with her hands clasped on the edge of the dais looking down at the boy.
I studied Arthur’s face and could tell he was striving to remain composed. “Priestess?”
“If the boy is part-fae then his bloodline may mean he is an excellent prospect for an acolyte. As you know, many of the fae and human mixes contain traces of magic.” Merlin's voice was cool and lofty. She showed no hint of sympathy for the boy, looking at him with an expert's gaze and nothing more.
“And can you tell if the boy has any hidden talents by looking at him now?” Arthur asked, beginning to drum his fingers again.
I glanced at Galahad and saw the hope in his eyes.
“Not yet, Your Grace,” Merlin responded. “I would need to take him back with me to the temple. But in time...”
