Chapter Seventeen
Seventeen
THE DAYS WERE ALREADY growing short, and the sun was on its descent into the flaming leaves as we arrived back in the castle.
I went straight to the library with Enrique, who was reluctant to leave my side.
We found Moira inside, reclining by the fire, reading over my latest notes.
She glanced up, but I strode right past her and entered Raleigh’s study.
I hadn’t been in here since the day Raleigh first showed me the library.
It was worse than I remembered. His desk was piled so high with documents it was a wonder it hadn’t collapsed under the weight.
A row of relatively new drawers lined the back wall, dated and numbered – a sign that someone had planned to organise the chaos at one stage – but clearly the challenge had been abandoned midway.
I wondered why Raleigh didn’t simply burn the lot and start from scratch.
‘It’s all financial ledgers in here,’ Moira said, poking her head around the door. Enrique lingered behind her, anxiously straightening books on the shelf nearest the study.
‘I know.’ I lifted the slip closest to me and found it was dated 1642. My shoulders sagged. ‘Is there any system to this at all?’
‘Ask Raleigh …’ Moira trailed off as she caught a glimpse of my face. I hadn’t seen my reflection since my outburst in Triz, but my eyelids felt like sandpaper, and I could still feel the crust of dried tear tracks on my cheeks. ‘What are you looking for?’
‘Anything from Orlfen in the last ten – no, make that five – years.’
Moira’s brows lifted. ‘Oh, I know where he keeps those.’ She took me to the drawers along the back wall, opened a few half-empty ones, then found the one she was looking for. It was stuffed full, each section dated in unfaded ink. ‘Or you can ask me anything, if you’d rather save time.’
I shook my head. ‘I need to see for myself.’
The records were patchy, especially those from more than fifteen years ago, but it didn’t take long to find where the famine had started.
The first page was a letter from the mayor of another town nearby, pleading for aid.
My heart tore at how familiar his plight was.
I carefully filed it again. This sort of suffering was more important than tax records.
It needed to be remembered in years to come, if only so that Raleigh might prevent it from happening again.
I turned to the next page. My throat seized up.
I began to flick through the stack faster now, my blood growing colder with each nearly identical page I came across.
They were dated consistently over the past five years, some in Raleigh’s hand, some in Moira’s.
Each bore the same title, a nearly identical list. And each bore my father’s signature.
They were ration statements. Records of a delivery to Orlfen every few months with enough food to keep us sated through the famine.
Each delivered to my father personally, signed in his hand.
I knew his untidy scrawl too well to think it a forgery.
It was too inconsistent. A cunning fraudster wouldn’t dare such variance.
‘Raleigh sent aid to Orlfen.’ The words came out as little more than a whisper.
‘He never told you?’
‘Never,’ I said. Even if he had, I wouldn’t have believed him. I’d have thought him a liar, or delusional at best. Yet here it was, evidence verified by my father himself, that Raleigh had personally tried to keep us alive. ‘Why didn’t it help?’
‘Who knows? I used to bring a cart of supplies down to a spot just outside of town to meet your father.’ Moira waved a hand over where Father had signed. ‘What happened after that is anyone’s guess.’
It must have been when Father said he was going to the markets. But he was always gone several days, not several hours, and even after his most successful forays he hadn’t returned with a fraction of the supplies listed on these ledgers. The only way that could be true is if …
The mayor was up here every other month selling off the surplus food.
Father wasn’t buying supplies for the town.
He was selling our rations. The grain he returned with was only what he couldn’t turn a profit for in Triz.
The eggs, the butter, the sugar all listed on Raleigh’s ledger, none of it had come anywhere close to Orlfen.
No wonder Father was always able to procure something special when the time called for it.
No wonder we never had to resort to eating the horses.
No wonder Father held so much wealth, when Mother’s salary died with her. He was profiting from our starvation.
Everyone who suffered, everyone who died.
Raleigh wasn’t to blame.
‘I need to speak to my father,’ I said, more to myself than anyone. I turned to go, but Moira caught me in the study doorway.
‘Not so fast. You remember what happened last time you went to Orlfen.’
‘It won’t be like last time.’
‘You didn’t think last time would be like last time either.’
‘Enrique will chaperone me,’ I said. Then, ‘You’ll accompany me, won’t you?’
Enrique winced as though he was surprised to find we knew he was listening. He turned away from the shelf and pulled out his watch, a piece grander than most household staff could hope to afford if they saved for a lifetime. ‘I will if Moira cooks.’
Moira glared at him. ‘I seem to recall someone telling me that all of mankind would benefit if I never touched a stove again.’
He waved a hand as though brushing away her words. ‘This is more important than dinner.’
Moira couldn’t find the words to reply. I wish I could have appreciated the moment – that Enrique would find anything more important than dinner was a triumph I’d have to relish later – but I was getting impatient.
Every minute we lingered here was a minute of lost sunlight to guide me on the road.
The road to Orlfen was dangerous enough as it was, and I didn’t want to lose the rapidly narrowing window of light.
‘Fine, we’ll swap roles for the night,’ Moira muttered.
I didn’t entirely understand what she meant. ‘Tell Raleigh where I’ve gone,’ I said. ‘If we’re not back before midnight, he’ll know where to find me.’
‘He won’t wait that long.’
‘He won’t need to,’ I said. ‘Trust me. I have no intention of staying in Orlfen.’
Sovereign was starting to droop her head by the time we reached the Orlfen bridge, and we’d fallen behind Enrique, who rode a sleek black mare of Raleigh’s I didn’t know the name of.
Dusk had well set in and the poor beasts had already travelled all the way to Triz and back that day.
We tethered them by the bridge, giving them enough leeway to drink if they needed to.
I had learnt my lesson last time about bringing Sovereign into town.
Here she would be available for a quick escape if needed.
Some storefronts wore browning garlands of flowers, and with a jolt I realised they must have been left over from the harvest festival – I’d been so caught up in the anniversary of my mother’s passing I hadn’t spared a thought for the holiday.
I felt strangely lost at the thought of Orlfen celebrating while I lost track of time in the castle, though the date held so many mixed emotions.
As a child I’d loved the festivities; later, it became the day the prince had returned. Now, I didn’t know what it meant to me.
The door to my old home was unlocked, as it so often was during the day.
I barged in without knocking, pausing only when I noticed Enrique lingering in the threshold.
He always cooked with a generous dash of garlic, never flinched at the crucifix on my dagger, and hadn’t been bothered by the river, but this was apparently one limitation he had inherited from his father.
‘You can come in,’ I said.
From the stiffness of his nod, I could tell he was embarrassed.
My father was in his study when I barged in without knocking, surrounded by the three men he considered his council, though none held formal roles.
I knew them all well. Growing up, they had been like family, and I had once been grateful that all had survived the famine.
Now I couldn’t help but note their lack of jutting bones.
How few pyres we’d built for their families.
Father was annoyed by the intrusion. I could tell he thought I was Johanna, or someone’s annoyed wife.
He took his time, rolling his eyes before really looking at me.
Then, realisation clicked and he flew to his feet.
‘Clara?’ he breathed, as he began to come around from behind his desk. ‘Did the prince—’
I put out a hand to stop him. ‘Tell me about Triz.’
He froze. Looked to the council, then back to me. ‘You’ve been to Triz.’ He tried to smile, but it flailed about his lips and refused to stick. ‘When you were small, do you remember?’
‘I was there today.’ I spoke slowly, letting venom drip from my lips with every syllable. ‘And everyone had such lovely things to say about your visits to the market.’
He kept up the same blandly amiable expression, but a trace of hardness crossed his face, so subtle I doubted anyone but I would notice.
‘Could we speak in private?’ The words were plainly meant for the men around us.
So they didn’t know. Not fully, at least. I wondered whether they would still stand by him if they knew the truth, or if they thought whatever additional stores Father had offered them through the famine were worth looking the other way for.
The council took the hint and began to filter from the room. ‘Him too,’ Father said, nodding to Enrique. ‘This is a family matter.’
‘Enrique is here to avoid a repeat of last time,’ I said. Then to Enrique I added, ‘Please stay.’
Father sighed. He returned to his seat, conceding the first win to me. ‘Fine. Close the door.’ I did and remained standing. ‘Now, what is this about?’
‘Did Raleigh deliver aid to Orlfen during the famine?’