Chapter 20
Robin sat next to Ian on the velvet bench in the comfortable room where the royal family spent time together outside of their responsibilities. Onric and Erich were lying on the floor, playing a strategic game with small carved figures on a checker-painted board.
Aden, seated by himself, had his face buried in a book larger than the size of his head.
“I want to play!” Meena yelled. She held her wooden donkey over the game board as though she could use it as one of the pieces.
Erich quickly shoved her hand away. “You’re going to ruin it!”
“There’s nothing to ruin,” Ian mumbled. “They are not even following the rules of the game.”
Waiting for a pause in the conversation between the king and queen—she preferred to think of them as her aunt and uncle—Robin spoke loudly. “I think Lind has more than learned her lesson about deceit.” Her voice was loud enough to carry through the room.
Other conversations stopped.
She had instantly gained the king’s attention, but Ian refused to meet her eyes. “Should we not just lift her sentence and let her work in the kitchens as a palace servant, or allow her to travel back to Lockwood and her family?”
Ian jabbed Robin’s side with his elbow.
“These are compassionate words,” King Frederich responded, leaving room for her to continue.
Robin inhaled, gaining confidence at having his attention. “It does seem cruel to take away the one thing she’s never had.”
The king looked confused for a moment. “We’ve provided her with a home and safety far superior to that which she had before.”
Robin felt a stab of pain at the derision with which King Frederich easily spoke about her home. “And you’ve sentenced her to a year without food.”
Frederich raised his eyebrows slightly.
A small part of Robin’s mind told her to back down. She was talking to the king, after all. But she moved forward anyway. This king was a personal friend of her father’s, and she was now seated in his private salon.
“Good food,” Robin emphasized.
“Good food for the girl who betrayed you and tried to feed poisonous food to your donkey?”
“I think you’ve appropriately made your point. She will not dare to attempt either thing again. She was just hungry.”
Silence.
“What harm could it do to let her at least go back to Lockwood with her family? It would not hurt anything to forgive her sentence.”
“Your heart is kind, Robin,” Frederich replied, his voice gentle and fatherly. “But your logic is not sound.”
Robin scrunched her forehead at the response, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.
“You have not considered the harm which would occur to justice if I were to go back on my word,” the king continued. “My councilors would lose their trust in me, thinking I could not save them from an assassin in my own castle.”
“She’s not an assassin,” Robin cut in, emphasizing the last word.
“If she had succeeded in murdering Humphrey? What would that have made her?” Frederich responded.
Robin pinched her lips shut. He had a point. “A hungry servant trying to ensure her own safety, even if it was not by the best means,” she finally said.
“No.” King Frederich’s voice took on an authoritative tone. “Her intent was harmful, and she will carry out the rest of her just sentence in the palace kitchens.”
Robin stood, anger coursing through her. “I think you are wrong.” Then she turned and fled from the room.
Footsteps followed her, and she slowed when she saw Ian over her shoulder.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
Robin shook her head, squeezing back tears of anger and frustration and embarrassment.
“He’s doing the best he can,” Ian said. “I understand it feels harsh, but he can’t go back on his word. Our people will notice and attempt to take advantage of that.”
Robin widened her eyes. Ian was generally a logical thinker, but he didn’t seem to grasp the depth of this situation. “He’s worried about what people will think of him?”
“My father is known for being a just man.” Ian crossed his arms.
“IS he a just man?” Robin spat back. This was her king she was speaking of. But it was easier to question his rulings behind his back.
“Of course he is!” Ian said. “He’s the most just king the five kingdoms have ever had. Why are you so adamant about this, anyway? Don’t you remember what that girl did? She hurt you. Deliberately.”
“And you’ve never hurt one of your brothers in a brawl?” Robin countered.
“I’ve never tried to kill an innocent animal.” Ian crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’ve also never gone to bed hungry,” Robin pressed, still speaking more loudly than was necessary. “Or worked the frozen ground to coax life out of it, or watched your family die from sickness?”
Ian crossed him arms. “You talk as though I’ve never experienced hardship, which is unjust.”
“You haven’t experienced hardship to the point of desperation,” Robin said. “And you want to know what is unjust? Sentencing a desperate peasant to a year of eating turnips.”
Robin turned and walked away from Ian. She was done fighting him over this. She didn’t know what to do about the situation, but something about it felt desperately wrong.
“Have you already forgotten what she did to Humphrey?” Ian called, following behind her.
“No!” Robin yelled. But her heart betrayed her, fluttering uncomfortably in her chest. She had the overwhelming desire to rush to the stables and see that her donkey was safe and well.
Lind had deliberately tried to kill him.
Robin clenched her fists as fresh anger flooded through her body. How could anyone be so cruel to an animal?
“No!” she yelled again, emotions warring inside her. “This isn’t just. I can’t explain it, but I know it.”
“It might be a little unjust,” Ian admitted. “But it is not all that bad. And there is nothing we can do about it now.”
“There’s always something that can be done,” Robin replied.
Robin pushed open the door to Bernard’s study, Ilida behind her. The steward had requested her presence to discuss a matter of great importance. Robin assumed that this matter was related to the dire state of the manor’s coffers if it was taking place over Bernard’s desk.
For a moment, she was surprised to see Ian standing in room, his arms crossed.
As the treasurer for both Lockwood and River’s Talon, Bernard kept both the coin and the lending log under lock and key.
But seeing as Ian had earned the trust of everyone else at Lockwood, she shrugged away her surprise.
Ian, however, appeared slightly surprised to see her. “Robin!” he said, holding up his hands. “I did not agree to this ambush.”
Ilida closed the door behind Robin. “It is not an ambush,” the steward said. “I told you this is the only way to get her to listen.”
Robin turned around to see Ilida physically leaning back against the door, effectively locking Robin in the room.
Crossing her arms, Robin looked between the three of them. “So what is it that you need to tell me?”
Bernard lifted his hands, as if freeing himself from any responsibility.
“Not me,” Ilida said. “Ian.”
Robin knew the gaze she sent toward Ian was far from friendly.
“Again, this was not my idea,” Ian said. “I was just helping Ilida look over the accounts yesterday—”
“And he thinks I am right!” Ilida cut in before Robin had figured out what they were discussing.
“About what?” Robin asked.
Ian inhaled. “There is a possibility that the village of Doulast is taking far more food than they need.”
“And you discovered this by simply looking at some accounts?” Robin asked.
“I joined Ilida in distributing the food yesterday,” Ian said. “We counted how many villagers took an additional share of food. Then we looked at the accounts this morning.”
“There is no way to verify that,” Robin said quickly. “Many villagers take more than a single share. They might be picking up supplies for multiple people in their family. We do not know how many young or old they are also feeding.”
Ian nodded along, listening to her words. His face appeared attentive, but Robin still felt the need to raise her voice.
“We even ask how many are in the household so we can distribute the food evenly,” Robin continued, feeling defensive of their process.
“I understand,” Ian said. “I saw how the process worked. It is well set up and operates justly. But I did notice a few things that Ilida . . . that I want to discuss with you.”
Again, Robin looked between the three of them. Ian seemed to be waiting for acknowledgment from her before he continued. Ilida looked far too smug. And Bernard pretended to be focusing on the parchment of numbers in front of him.
Robin gave Ian no encouragement to continue. This was their ambush. She would listen, but she did not have to enjoy it.
After a few more moments of silence, Ian continued.
“Ilida has kept detailed records of how much food it takes to feed your community here at Lockwood, and the Majis community as well. These records include the number of people you are feeding as well as the monthly amounts of food you are growing and purchasing to support each.”
Robin nodded. She knew this.
“The village of Doulast has a documented population of about one hundred and twenty,” Ian continued. “But they are consistently taking supplies for over two hundred people.”
Robin squeezed her shoulder blades together, straightening her back as she felt a touch of anger. That was a larger discrepancy than she had anticipated.
“And,” Ilida said, jumping into the conversation and finally moving away from the door she had been blocking. “We noticed something else about the people who claim to have the largest households.”
Robin turned to her steward, her own interest actually piqued. She raised an eyebrow.
“They are all servants of the village reeve!” Ilida shouted triumphantly.
Robin uncrossed her arms, considering this. “What are you saying?” she asked, although she had a pretty good idea.
“We think it is highly possible,” Ian said, “that the reeve is using his position of power to have his servants and staff collect extra food.”
“He’s hoarding it for himself!” Ilida cried.
“You are sure that Doulast is taking nearly double the necessary supplies?” Robin asked.
Ilida nodded.
“Even Bernard confirmed that the census numbers for the village are correct,” Ian said.
Bernard looked up for a moment, catching Robin’s eye. He nodded a single nod.
Robin trusted Bernard’s numbers. “You might be right,” she said.
Ilida’s eyes went wide.
“Do not look at me like that,” Robin said, her mouth twitching with a small smile despite her hurt pride. “I am happy to admit when I have been proven wrong. However . . .” She looked back to Ian. “I have not been fully proven wrong yet.”
“How else would you like us to prove it?” Ian asked.
“I suggest that we have a look inside Reeve Vahnell’s cellar.”