Page 126 of The Thirteenth Child
I shrugged. “I’m an excellent listener. Sometimes the best thing you can do for your body is to unload your mind.”
Marnaigne chewed on the corner of his lip, as if reluctant to proceed. “It’s about tomorrow. The…execution.” He looked down, examining his fingernails. “I’m having second thoughts about it.”
My brows rose and a sound of surprise startled from me.
He looked up guiltily, his eyes finally finding mine. “I know it’s mad. I know all the treacherous crimes he committed. I know the horrors he caused. But…”
“He’s your brother,” I supplied, sensing the words that would not come.
“Half brother,” he corrected me hastily.
“Still.”
“There’s a dream I keep having, two, three times a night. I’m on the citadel’s platform. There’s a crowd below, watching and cheering. There are pennants and banners waving. There’s a beautiful blue sky overhead. But then the executioner comes out and recites the sentencing, lists all the crimes, and out comes his sword. And then the sky changes…. The angle of it goes wrong, terribly wrong, and I realize that I’m not watching the execution at all. It’smyheadthat’s been lopped off. I’m seeing the sky from the basket below the block.” His nose wrinkled. “You can’t imagine how terrible the realization is. The last thing I see is Baudouin’s face peering down at me. And then I wake up screaming.”
“That’s horrible. I…I could prepare a sleeping tonic for you. Something to help ease you into deeper slumber. It sounds as though you need rest.”
He shook his head, looking disappointed that I missed the purpose of his story. “Each time I see Baudouin, I want to ask him why. Why he would do such a thing to me. Why he wouldn’t offer mercy, forgiveness. But I can’t say that. I have no voice, no throat through which to speak. I want to scream it. Why? Why? Why not?”
With a sigh, Marnaigne ran his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp.
“And here I am,” he continued, his eyes flickering to the window, to his view of the citadel. “Here I am, able to offer that mercy, offer that kindness, but have I? Will I? I feel so trapped, Hazel. Bound by duty, tormented by loyalty. But he was not loyal to me. He sought my throne. He waged war upon my kingdom. Thousands of my people are dead because of him. Why should I show mercy to such a tyrant? I shouldn’t. I know that. But still…I think I want to save him. I think I want to try.” He glanced back to me, his eyes so terribly blue. “Does that make me a weak king?”
“Of course not, Your Majesty. It makes you a compassionate king, a forgiving ruler. There are ways Baudouin can be punished without death. There are ways to show your people that mercy can be a strength.”
He clicked his tongue, musing. “Do you truly think it could be done?”
Mutely, I nodded.
“We would still have to carry on as if the execution was going to happen. The public is expecting some sort of spectacle to take place.”
I reflected on this. “You could offer him clemency on the stage, in front of everyone.”
“He would have to be imprisoned after, of course.”
“But he would be alive. You would still have the chance for reconciliation. One day.”
Marnaigne nodded, considering my words. “You’re right. It does feel good to let go of built-up thoughts.”
“I’m glad to hear it, sire.”
We shared a smile before he cleared his throat, looking embarrassed by the depths of his admissions. “Are you looking forward to the ball, at least?”
“Of course,” I lied.
In truth, I was already exhausted. We’d been to so many balls already. They’d merged into one monotonous montage of decadence and music, dresses too tight, food too rich, and conversations too shallow.
My world-weary thoughts made me remember Leopold’s musing on court life, and I smiled.
The king immediately fixed upon my reaction. “Aha! I knew it! There must be a young man who’s caught your attention, is that right?”
I shook my head, smiling as bashfully as I knew he wanted me to. “Oh, no.I was just thinking of something the prince said earlier.”
Marnaigne continued to study me, his expression grown curiously hard. He seemed more alert, sharper somehow, a dog cocking its head to listen to whistles unheard by humans.
“You’ve seen him already?”
I nodded. “At morning meal, with several of the soldiers.”
