Eat the Poor

XXIX

I watched the color drain from my mother's face.

A chill hooked its claws deep into my bones. Outside, the rain pattered on, showing no signs of slowing. Tomorrow, the path would be slick with mud until the blazing sun returned to scorch the land.

"Auden..." My mother stood completely still, as if the slightest movement would cause her to break. "I don't understand."

"Mama." On instinct, I rose and pulled her into an embrace. She didn't move, just stood in place and trembled, rapid breaths dissolving into a small whimper. "Mama, it's alright."

I still remembered the summer I grew taller than her. My brothers had all shot up like weeds while I, the youngest, lingered behind in the woes of smallness. Then one day, after years of waiting, I noticed triumphantly I had finally surpassed her in height.

Artwin might have been the tallest out of all six of us. But his lame foot and the crutch he used to walk kept his back stooped at an awkward angle. And so that title went to Ronan, the tallest, the strongest, the bravest. At thirteen, my father's favorite. At fourteen, the man of the house.

"I don't understand," she repeated. "You mean to say he is... that boy is the..."

"I'll wake him up," I said. "We'll explain."

"No!" Her harsh whisper cut the air between us. "Don't wake him. By Christ, Auden." She palmed her face and gave a little grunt. "I don't believe this."

She slipped from my arms and drifted across the room, mumbling unintelligibly about needing to sit. I hurried to fetch her a cup of water as she collapsed onto her bed.

"Mama..." I held the cup out to her, but she did not take it. "We are sort of... friends... him and me."

She lifted her head. Every few heartbeats her gaze would flick to Philip, as if to ensure he was still there. "How does one befriend a king?"

I laughed. "Stupidity and throwing pebbles."

"Why is he here?" Her voice had gone hoarse. Her thin hands wrung in her lap.

That question was harder to answer. "We were out at the tavern. I rode along as his servant. He was pretty sloshed," I lied. "I didn't think he'd make it all the way back to the castle. So we came here."

"To my house?" Now the blaze had returned. "You brought him into my house? This place is a shamble! A disgrace! Not fit for a farmer, let alone a king!"

She clapped a hand over her mouth in horror as Philip stirred in his sleep. I glanced uneasily between them. "He wanted to come here. Listen, Mama-" I took a seat on her bed, something I'd never done before. "You needn't act any sort of way with him. Just treat him how you would anyone else."

"Have you lost your mind?" she hissed.

"It's what he wants. You'll see, Mama. Give him a chance." I held her hands in mine and tried to still the shaking. "Please."

Across the room, Philip slept on, oblivious to her terror. A lamb with a crown of a lion. What was I thinking? No one would see him the way I did.

I was falling in love with him, and that stood in the way of everything else.

"You think he did it?" she asked suddenly. I looked at her, confused. She was watching him too. "Pushed him off, like?"

Philip III's death. I tried to remember every detail from that morning in the courtyard. The King's bloated face. Fat fingers gripping the scepter. The crack as his weight slammed against the stone pillars. "He wasn't pushed," I said. "The railing broke."