The Raven Girl

Chapter 38

"That was when my brother held the throne," Rickard said, sternly. When Filip, an overly joyous optimist of a man had doubts, it certainly shone a new light over an idea and he didn't need that now. Nor did he need reminding of things he already knew well enough. "It was also advised to have your money taken away so you would not squander it on dice and wine."

"Don't get me wrong – I like change. For those who can adapt to it, there is profit to be made while others adjust. I just fear that the stone-faced sops among us might not bother adjusting and a pay a hired killer to crawl through the castle gates and kill you in your sleep." He smiled.

"It's that kind of name calling that would get us in this situation of yours."

"I'm just putting it out there. I know you're no fool, though, Rickard; you obviously thought this through, so why is it that you've gone to the trouble of helping her? If it was for the reason you gave, you would have pardoned the whole Ravner family, yet I distinctly remember you only mentioning the girl."

"She is trustworthy. I do not know the rest of her family and, on her word, I would have it stay that way."

Filip smirked. "Well, I can't say the common folk won't be cheering for their new king. You've proven yourself to be generous and forgiving, you'll just need to prove you're not too trusting to those who visit court."

"You yourself know I don't trust easily, Filip. Even as a boy."

"Aye," laughed the man, "that's true! You were a very morbid child, if I remember rightly. Eirik and I would run about the corridors with our wooden training swords and you would glare at us the whole time, but you were friendly enough when we took the horses out, explored the hills and cliffs beyond the castle." He paused. "So I have nothing to worry about."

"That makes one of us."

"What next, then? Gods, those stone-faced sops are so melodramatic: perhaps, if it were not her becoming a lady but your queen, their outrage might be a little more justified, yet, as it is, it will change nothing. No, I'm wrong – there will be an extra seat at our table tonight, I expect."

"Yes. I'll admit I shall be glad to see the lords leave so I can eat in peace."

Filip laughed again, throwing back his head in merriment. "When can I see her then?"

"At dinner," Rickard said. "I thought we'd established that."

"I won't be able to see her over all the food and wine. I want to see why it is you put your reign at risk."

Rickard rolled his eyes. "Well, I expect you'll find her in the kitchens. Why don't you be the first to tell her the news? You could have a room prepared for her, appoint a servant and a seamstress."

"I said I wanted to see her, not run errands." Said Filip, huffily, but he did so all the same and went off to track down Asta, who happened not to be in the kitchens, but on her way back from that same well the cook liked to send her to when she was getting under foot. Her kneading skills were, according to him, feeble at best and it would be far more useful for her to replenish the already full water supply. She took the hint and was, to be honest, glad for the excuse to go outside and take some air before returning to the unbreathable heat of the fires.

"You're not working." Remarked a small voice, and she turned round to be greeted by a little boy, no older than seven or eight, with a face coated with a thick layer of grime and plastered with a grin.

"Neither are you." She pointed out, returning his smile.

"Ah, but working's no fun." He laughed. "I love horses, but the stable master's crabby as hell today. I knock over a pail and he claps me round the head, I go too slow and he yells at me, I speak and he gives me a look that says he'll throttle me – someone's coming, I'll be off."

The boy ran in the opposite direction, limbs flailing as he sprinted away from Filip. Asta picked up the water and began to head back to the kitchens, amused at his not all too misplaced fear of those elder and richer than he.

"Rickard was wrong then." Said Filip, falling into stride with her, and he ignored the confusion that crossed her face like a sudden shadow over the moon. "He told me to go to the kitchens. It's just good I knew roughly what I was looking for."

"Why were you looking for me?"

"Is it not the done thing to ask who would look for you first and their reasons later?"

"Why would I care about what 'the done thing' was?"

"Again with the wanting of reasons – you're too rational minded for your own good. You seek explanation before you even have something to explain."

She shook her head and took in the man that walked beside her. He was no servant, that was certain, and no small lord, either. His wealth seemed, more or less, on a par with Rickard's, yet she had never seen his face before.

"Lord Filip Hagebak: close friend of King Rickard." He paused. "Now I'll answer your first question: you've been pardoned. You're to join the royal court (you can put the pail down, if you want)."

He watched her face. For a moment, it did not change and a sceptical frown glazed her eyes, but after examining how genuine his expression remained, the frown broke into a grin. She hadn't expected it to be so soon, yet if he spoke the truth, then she would sleep in a bed that night and not in the straw. If he spoke the truth, she could hand over the bucket to the cook, empty or full, and waltz out without another word.

"Truly?" she asked him, eyes alight with excitement. Rickard had kept his word, as promised.

He nodded slowly. As if he could make that up – he would never have thought to pardon a Ravner, no matter how innocent they were, because that wasn't what anybody in the country wanted. To introduce something so controversial so early on in one's rule would have been a risk Filip was unwilling to take. In short, it was madness. He only hoped Rickard knew what he was doing, else he would end up as dead as his brother and as hated as the Ravner family, without the chance to prove his competence.

Perhaps he was the best king their country could have hoped for. Perhaps he was not. Nevertheless, it wouldn't matter if he didn't live long enough to show it.