The Accused
THE ACCUSED
S omehow, Tabian managed to stumble back to the castle and up to his chamber, where he threw himself down on the bed and sank into a stupor. Now that Arabella had been ripped away, his life here held no meaning. Maybe he should go to another kingdom where no one knew him. He could make his way on his own without living in the shadow of his brothers. He would never again have to see the sorrow that darkened Father’s eyes when he looked upon the son whose birth took away the woman he loved.
There was no way that Tabian could bear to be around Arabella, knowing that she’d betrayed him to be with Lucien. Fleeing the kingdom was his only option.
Of course, that meant leaving Garrin, Elda, and Hans. His stomach knotted. They were his real family. They were the only ones who cared. It would break his heart to leave them. However, they would surely understand.
Around and around his thoughts went until he finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning, he awoke to the sound of a trumpet blast. He bolted upright, still in the same clothes from the ball. He barely had time to rub the sleep from his eyes before the frantic bustle of servants outside his door reached his ears. He stepped into the corridor and grabbed the arm of a passing servant. “What’s happening?”
“Another apple has been stolen,” the servant explained. “The King is making an arrest.”
Tabian blinked. “The thief was caught?”
“That’s what it sounds like, but I’m not sure.”
“Thanks.” Tabian released the man’s arm and allowed him to hurry away.
He made his way down to the Throne Room amidst the frantic bustling of servants scurrying past, their day disrupted by an unplanned royal summons.
He stepped into the back of the Throne Room, which was packed with people. The air was thick with murmurs and tension. His gaze swept the hall, taking in the vast stone walls adorned with crimson banners bearing the royal crest.
He looked up the aisle to see Father sitting on his throne, scepter in hand, features set in stone. Alistair and Lucien stood off to the side, their expressions unreadable. A dart of resentment shot through Tabian. Father had obviously taken the time to consult with his favored sons regarding the summons, but once again, he’d given no thought to including Tabian. He’d might as well be invisible.
His gut twisted when his eyes landed on Lucien, standing tall and confident. The events of the previous night slammed into him like a blow. Had Arabella taken her place among the nobles at the front? He didn’t dare look.
Feeling eyes on him, Tabian glanced around and realized that the people surrounding him were watching him with curiosity. He looked down, remembering that he was still wearing his fine clothes from the night before. Instinctively, he fingered the soft velvet fabric of his deep-blue tunic, feeling like an imposter. Perhaps these people wondered why Tabian was in the back with the common folk rather than taking his place near the front. He nodded and smiled briefly at the people before settling into a spot and focusing on the proceedings.
Father’s throne was on a high platform so that he could be seen by everyone in the large room. A herald stood at attention at the bottom of the steps. With a formal carriage, the herald strode over to the center of the room and played a fanfare.
Then he began in a loud voice, “Honored Knights and Squires, Lords and Ladies of the Court, we have been summoned here today at the request of our honored King Roderick Warwyk the Second. Please give him your full and undivided attention.”
A hush fell over the room.
Having performed his duty, the herald went back to his post.
All eyes were riveted on the King. His dark hair was threaded with silver, and his light eyes held the steely authority of one born to rule. Even Tabian couldn’t help but be awed at the confidence that Father wielded. If only Tabian could be bolder and more forthright. Perhaps then he could earn the respect of his family. It irked him that he was thinking along these lines, but there it was.
Father’s gaze swept over the crowd. “My honored subjects, it is with deep regret and sadness that I must announce—” He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “Another golden apple was taken this morning.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
The King lifted a hand, silencing them instantly. “This will not stand.” His voice shook with fury. “A guard was posted to watch the tree. This morning, he discovered that the apple was gone. However, something was discovered near the scene of the crime.” He narrowed his eyes to a glower. “A leather hat belonging to one Garrin Valehurst.”
A cry ripped through the crowd. Tabian realized it had come from his own throat.
“Bring the accused forward.”
Tabian’s head spun with the terrible knowledge that Orrin’s prediction the night before at the ball was coming true. Father must’ve been discussing the matter with his council members. This was bad. Very bad.
Guards emerged from a side corridor, leading Garrin between them. His wrists and ankles were shackled in chains, the metal clinking against the stone floor. A hot fury surged through Tabian as he saw Garrin standing before the King, his head bowed, craggy shoulders sagging in defeat. Garrin’s loose-fitting clothes were worn and stained with soil from working in the garden. The skin on the nape of his neck resembled leather from all his time in the sun. Normally, Garrin wore his hat, but today, his head was bare. His silver hair was so thin on top that his scalp showed through—making Garrin look even older than usual.
“How do you answer this charge?” the King demanded.
“Sire, I didn’t steal the apple,” Garrin rasped in a hoarse, wretched tone. His throat clogged with mucus as he coughed. “You, of all people, know how loyal I am to the throne—to you.”
Heat from a thousand fires blazed through Tabian. Of course, Father knew that Garrin was loyal to the core. Why was he treating Garrin like a common thief? Tears burned in Tabian’s eyes, blurring his vision. It slashed his insides to see the man who raised him subjected to this humiliation—brought on by Tabian’s own father, of all people. Wasn’t there any true justice in the world? What about mercy? Love? Qualities which Father knew little of.
Father tapped the tip of his scepter in sync with his words. “Why was your hat found at the scene of the crime?”
It seared Tabian’s eyes to witness this atrocity. In that moment, Tabian hated Father with an intensity that surprised him. How easy it was for him to sit on his throne and pronounce judgment on others. With one word, he had the power to wreck lives. But Father wasn’t infallible. He was wrong.
So. Terribly. Wrong.
Garrin was a good man—the best of the best. He didn’t deserve this. Tabian felt like his insides were being ripped out. Never before had he felt so vulnerable. His heart ached, not only for Garrin but also for Elda, Hans … himself. Tabian’s heart was beating so profusely that he thought it might burst from his chest. Sweat pooled across his forehead. His head swam as darkness crowded the edges of his eyes.
“Sire, I was in the garden last night. I slept by the tree so that I could keep watch over the apple. I must’ve forgotten my hat.”
That was a perfectly logical explanation. Surely, Father could see that. Garrin practically lived in the garden. Of course, he might leave some of his items behind. Why was Father coming down so hard on Garrin? Did he have a personal grievance against him? The thought sent shudders through Tabian as he clenched and unclenched his hands.
King Roderick looked to the side. As if on cue, a guard strode in and stood before the King. Father homed in on him with piercing eyes that commanded the man to tell the truth. “Dain, you were tasked with watching over the tree.” He pointed at Garrin. “Did you at any time see this man while you were there?”
Dain turned to Garrin. “Aye. As he said, he claimed he was there to keep watch over the tree.”
Father nodded as if satisfied with the report.
A sliver of relief went through Tabian. Maybe Father was just doing his duty. Surely, he could see that Garrin was innocent.
Father continued, “This morning when you realized the apple was taken, was Garrin there with you?”
“Nay. He was nowhere to be found.”
“Do you remember what happened? How the apple came to be taken?”
Dain lowered his head in shame. “I do not, Sire. Unfortunately, I have no recollection of anything that happened—other than when I first got to the garden, I spoke to Garrin, and we settled in to protect the tree for the night.”
Father shifted his focus to Garrin. “You claimed that you went to the garden to guard the tree.”
“Aye,” Garrin concurred.
He rested the scepter across his lap and sat back on his throne. “And yet, you were nowhere to be found in the morning. Where did you go?”
“I—I’m not sure. I can’t remember.”
He pounded his fist on the armrest of his throne, his voice going thunderous. “How can you not remember?”
Garrin began to shake all over. “I don’t know.”
“Dain, do you have any memory of what happened?”
“Nay,” the guard answered in a halting tone.
The accounts were eerily similar to all the rest. No one had any memories of the events that took place on the night leading up to the theft. It had to be some sort of trickery or magic.
Father glowered at Garrin. “I warned you what would happen if one more golden apple got stolen.”
Tabian’s blood ran cold. What was Father talking about? Had he threatened Garrin?”
“Please, Sire, I have a family?—”
“You should’ve thought about that before you committed treason.” Garrin made a noise of feeble protest, but Father talked over him. “You are hereby sentenced to the dungeon, where you will await execution.”
“No,” a woman cried.
Tabian recognized the voice—Elba.
This couldn’t be happening. It was a nightmare. Sweat beaded over his forehead as a roaring started in his ears. His knees went weak as he staggered.
“Are you okay?” the man beside him asked with a note of concern.
The guards began leading Garrin away.
It was time to act. There was no way Tabian could remain silent. And yet, to speak against his father—the King—was unthinkable. Tabian had spent his entire life trying to make himself invisible. He’d grown so accustomed to living off whatever crumbs Father and his brothers threw his way that he didn’t know how to behave any differently.
But he couldn’t stand for this.
A guttural sound formed in his throat. “Halt.” It was so muffled that only those closest to him heard. He tried again. “Halt!” Before he could fully process what he was doing, he left his place amongst the crowd and rushed down the aisle. A startled hush came over the cavernous room as he stood facing Father on the throne, his feet planted in a battle stance. He would later wonder where he got the courage to be so forthright. Straightening his shoulders, he looked Father in the eye. “This is outrageous.”
Both shock and fury streaked through Father’s eyes. “You are out of line.” He glanced at Lucien. “Take your brother out of here before he does something we’ll all regret.”
Lucien moved to do Father’s bidding, but Tabian held out a hand to stop him. “Do not touch me,” he said hotly. He turned back to Father. “‘Tis you who are out of line.” His accusation was met with a deafening silence. “You and I both know that Garrin had nothing to do with the theft. He’s a good man.” He steeled his jaw. “The best of men.”
Father punched a fist into the air. “As the royal gardener, Garrin has the responsibility to guard the apples. The situation is compounded by the fact that Garrin can’t explain why he left the garden or how his hat ended up beside the tree.”
Tabian furrowed his brows. “If you’re claiming that Garrin’s lapse of memory makes him appear guilty, then you would have to say the same about Dain, Alistair, Lucien, and everyone else who guarded the tree.”
“Enough,” Father roared.
“It’s okay.” Garrin offered him an appreciative smile—the same comforting smile he’d given Tabian more times than he could count. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but there are things at play here that aren’t apparent on the surface.”
“What does that mean?”
Garrin pressed his lips together and looked away.
“Garrin.” Tabian’s voice broke. “Talk to me. What else is at play?”
“You would do well to remain silent,” Father warned Garrin.
Tabian leveled a glare at Father. “It’s thanks to Garrin that my mother took up gardening and planted the tree in the first place. You should be thanking him for caring for Mother … and for looking after me when you wouldn’t.”
The King’s face turned crimson as the veins in his neck writhed. He pointed at Garrin. “That man took everything from me,” he hissed.
Confusion rolled over Tabian when he saw the silent exchange that passed between Father and Garrin. “What’s he talking about?” he asked Garrin.
Sadness wrenched Garrin’s face as he shook his head before looking down at the floor.
“Take him away,” Father said to Darian with a weary flick of his hand.
Invisible fingers clawed at Tabian’s skull. “Nay.” His words rushed out. “I’ll catch the thief.”
Lucien pushed out a jeering chuckle. “You? I don’t think so.”
“Give me a chance.” He caught eyes with Father. When he spoke, his voice was surprisingly confident. “Give me three days. I’ll guard the tree, and I’ll catch the thief. What have you got to lose?”
Father clutched the scepter in his hands.
“You owe me that much,” Tabian finished, his voice husky with emotion.
Something in Father’s eyes shifted—was it guilt? Remorse?
“Three days,” Tabian stated firmly. “When I catch the thief, you will set Garrin free.”
They locked eyes in a silent battle of wills.
Tabian felt the need to sweeten the deal. “Afterwards, I’ll leave the kingdom and never come back.”
“Sounds like a good deal, Father; I think you should take it,” Lucien smirked.
Father held up his hand to silence Lucien, whose face turned cherry red at having been rebuked.
“Nay,” Garrin murmured, shaking his head. He looked at Tabian. “This is your home. You cannot leave.”
Tabian straightened his shoulders, turning his focus back to Father. “I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see me again.” He couldn’t stop the slight tremble in his voice. “You’ll never be forced to look upon the face of the one whose very existence took the one you loved.”
Father’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he worked his jaw. He balled his fist and placed it over his mouth. One moment passed … two … three … Finally, he pushed out a heavy sigh. “Very well. You have three days.”
Triumph swelled through Tabian.
Father held up a finger. “At the end of the three days, if the thief is not caught, then Garrin will be executed, and we’ll finally put an end to this sordid ordeal.” He looked at Garrin as he spoke. Again, the two shared some sort of exchange.
Father was using the theft of the golden apples as an excuse to target Garrin. The question was: Why?