Pain.

My body was on fire. My vision was a blur. I felt arms lifting me, a breeze cooling my face, water trickling down my throat. Then coursing back up.

Darkness.

Someone whispered to me. Caressed my cheek. My mother? An angel? The Devil, perhaps. I lay in cool sheets that rippled like water. Someone - an old man - wrapped my hand in white cloth.

Blood.

I tasted it in my mouth and felt the spray hit my face each night in my dreams. I saw Geoff's face and woke up screaming. Arms held me down as I hit and kicked everything within reach.

Sleep.

Deep, cold sleep. Sleep that lasted so long I wondered if I was dead. If this was what death was. Not Heaven, not Hell. Some sort of Purgatory. Perhaps that was the fate I deserved.

A voice.

A voice I recognized. A man sat beside me, leaning over me. Someone familiar. I could not remember his name for a time, and then all at once, shortly after my fever broke, it came to me. This man was Martin. My brother.

The room slowly came into focus. My brother sat in an armchair, a book in his lap. I was lying in a small bed. I recognized this place. It was the little gray room Philip had given me.

"Martin?" I whispered.

My brother looked up. He dropped his book and rushed to my side. Pain shot through my skull as he adjusted a cloth over my forehead.

"Apologies," he said. "The physician let blood at your temple."

"What are you doing here?" My voice came out weak as if I hadn't used it in years.

Martin drew back. On the bedside table stood a pitcher of water and two cups. He filled one for me. "I was summoned by the King. To bring you back."

I gulped the water. A long moment passed before I could speak again. "Back?"

"From wherever you went, brother. You were gone six days. The court physician refused to waste further time on you." Martin sank into his chair and broke into a wide smile. "But not me. I never lost hope."

Memories flitted through my mind, each one bringing a sharp pain like the slash of a blade. The courtyard. The blood on Henriette's dress. The Duc de Montpensier being devoured alive. The spray of blood as Geoff cut through my fingers.

I looked down. My left hand was tucked beneath the sheet, and when I drew it out I saw a thick white cloth wrapped around my wrist and up between my fingers. What was left of my index and middle fingers was bound tightly.

"Mama," I whispered.

Martin's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Does she... know? What happened to me?"

His eyes widened. "I'll write to her of your waking." His chair scraped the polished floor as he hurried to the table.

My stomach twisted. A letter would take too long. I should go home to see her myself. Home. How I missed it. The home I knew and loved. The home I had forsaken to live in a castle, to serve a king.

A king.

"Where's Philip?" I asked, words half-slurred. Panic swelled inside me. "The King," I said when Martin did not answer. "Where is the King?"

"I don't know."

I gripped his forearm. "What do you mean, you don't know?"

"C-Council, I think," he stuttered. "They have been discussing how to move forward after the rebellion."

"The rebellion," I said. "It is over?"

"Yes. It's safe now. Anyone involved... who was still alive... was imprisoned, I heard. A curfew has been imposed, but only until everything has been sorted out." He looked down, brown locks falling before his eyes as he shook his head. "I can't believe it... those people killed.. what happened to them..."

I frowned. It was difficult to feel sorry for a few dead nobles, especially when I feared the ramifications this ordeal would bring upon innocent citizens. "The tragedy was what led to this," I argued. "Our people were worked and starved to madness. What they should be discussing is how to never let that happen again."

Martin stared at me, his gaze disbelieving. "What are you saying? That you agree with the rebels? Auden, you fought against them. You killed their leader. You're a hero!"

"It's not that simple." I pulled the covers aside and stood, gripping the bedpost to steady myself as I adjusted to being on my feet again. I was barefoot, dressed only in a long nightshirt that hung to my knees. I pulled on a pair of trousers and began lacing up my boots.

"Where are you going?" Martin snapped.

"To see the King."

He blocked the door before I could leave, eyes searching for mine. Martin was five years older than me. His face was broader than mine, not quite as angular. Yet our eyes were nearly identical. Looking into them was like looking into a mirror.

"He gave me a study all to myself, you know," my brother told me. "Filled with all the books I could ever read. He said I could be the physician's apprentice and one day I might even hold that title myself. Can you imagine that? Martin Murray, the King's physician?"

I stared at him in dismay. How had he been blinded this quickly? Was this what Geoff had felt looking at me?

"They are not all bad, I'm saying." His voice was soft, almost pleading.

I let out a scoff. "You think I don't know that?" Before he could respond, I pushed past him and hurried down the hallway, as fast as my legs would allow.

"Brother!" he yelled. "Come back!"

I ignored him and ducked down the staircase. Martin chased after me, taking the steps two at a time. The study was closed while Council was in session, but the two guards outside made no move to stop me as I ran up and pounded on the door.

For a moment there was no response. I knocked again, harder.

The door wrenched open. A flustered man, presumably the footman, faced me. "What is the meaning of this interruption?"

I could barely hear him over the voices of several men arguing. The Council stood at a long wooden table, all in wigs and brightly-colored coats. They jabbed fingers and spoke over one another. "I say hang them," one declared. His fist fell on the table with a thud. "To set a-"

He paused at the sight of me. One by one, each man turned to face me. Silence fell over the room.

The King looked up.

He stood at the head of the table. He wore a bejeweled doublet with a collar of fine lace. His cloak was a deep chestnut, detailed with swirls of red and gold. The royal crown sat upon his head.

Martin entered the study behind me. The men did not shift their gaze. Nor did the King. A breath left me and with it, a hundred unspoken words, a darkness vanquished at the sight of him.

"Auden," Philip murmured.

At this, the men of the Council turned and sank into a collective bow before me. The pages followed their masters, some flashing glances up in awe. Faces I had never before looked upon, young and old, now lowered to show their respect. Gold rings glinted. My breath caught. At my side, Martin shifted closer to me, grinning.

"He saved the King's life," a page whispered to the boy beside him.

When I looked at Philip, he was smiling softly.

By God, you will bow.

My flash of pride froze like tendrils of ice in my veins. "Stop!" I shouted at them. "Stop bowing!" The men snapped up, confusion and alarm arresting their features as they looked to their King for direction.

Philip's smile fell, but he did not speak.

"Auden." My brother turned my arm to make me face him. "Auden, it's alright. They like us."

"Don't you understand?" I shouted. "Don't any of you understand why this happened?" They were so blind. So blind it insulted the dead. To be bowed to was to starve those bowing. And sooner or later, to be bowed to was to be eaten.

The men's confusion slowly changed to anger. One of them raised a finger and opened his mouth to protest.

"He is right," Philip whispered. His gaze rested solemnly on the Council table. "Do not bow."

Nauseous, I stumbled past Martin out of the study. I pressed my hand to the wall to steady myself. The thick white bandage caught my eye and reminded me of all I had lost that day. My ring. My family crest. My people.

The servants, the peasants, the hungry were no more my people than the Council members surrounding the King, uncertain whether to bow to me. Not anymore.

Footsteps sounded behind me. I didn't look up. I stared at my own hand, cleaner now than I'd seen it in weeks. Only half a hand, really.

"Brother." Martin's voice. My head drooped. I could not bear to face him.

"We don't belong here." I spoke to the floor, polished and flawless. Outside, did blood still stain the grass of the courtyard?

"Then where?" His words came sharply, pitched with indignation. "Where do we belong?"

I faced him. He looked so different than the Martin I was used to. New clothes, new shoes, clean hair. After years of studying alone, mulling over research no one at home cared about, he finally got the opportunities he deserved. Resources. Recognition. Respect.

Who was I to deny him that?

"I need to go home," I told him. "I need to be with Mama." When I thought of our home, tucked away in the countryside, the green hills and the lake, my heart warmed. The nausea receded. "You stay. Train with the physician. You'll be wonderful."

"And you? You want to work the farm for the rest of your days?" He shook his head.

There was nowhere for me to go besides home. I couldn't go back to the servants' hall, not with most of them dead and the rest imprisoned. I refused to join the Guard or accept any other title offered to me. That day in the courtyard, they would have killed me just as indiscriminately.

I couldn't stay in this castle, with death and bloodshed lingering all around me. It was too painful.

I managed to summon a smile for his sake. "I can't leave Westley in charge, can I?"

"What about the King?"

I paused. "What about him?"

Martin didn't reply. I turned to face him, silent as my voice threatened to break. My brother lowered his gaze. I could not tell if he was angry with me or pitied me. Perhaps both. "I thought... you were friends."

I could feel my heart breaking. Splintering, then cracking open. Like the pillar of the railing just before the King's death. Falling, slamming the earth.

I ran away from him. I ran until I reached the room I'd awoken in. I sank to the floor and let the walls close in on me. I curled up and sobbed, suddenly and violently, allowing all of the pity I felt for myself to come pouring out. I was so horrifically broken. Not by the bloodbath in the courtyard. Long before them. There had been something wrong inside me, a poison, a darkness, brewing since the first night I spent in the castle. I cried it all out until I was empty. I cried until the thought of blood no longer made me thirsty, but only reminded me of the pain and suffering that existed in the world.

For the first time in months, my mind felt clear.

Time passed. I didn't move from my spot for hours. The sun, once sitting proud atop the sky, made its slow descent behind the hills. Orange bled into blue and covered the horizon in a blanket of color. My eyes grew heavy.

A knock at the door made them snap open again.

"Martin, leave me be," I said, but the door clicked open.

Charles looked down at me. I was curled in the corner of the room, knees drawn up to my chest. "Mr Murray," he greeted.

"What do you want?"

The butler sat on the bed. I pulled my arms tighter, wishing I could make my body smaller. Less visible. "Your brother tells me you mean to leave London."

I sucked on my teeth, staring at his shoes. Even Charles had polished shoes. Someone polished them. Some servant. Someone lesser than him. "Why is Martin talking to you?" I asked finally.

"Your brother is a respectable chap. We've gotten to know one another taking care of you."

My head lifted. "Taking care of me?"

"But of course," said Charles. "You were delirious for several days. The physician decided you were beyond help. That was when His Majesty sent for your brother." I took in his words, shuddering at the thought of what I might have said in those days. "I supplied the food for him and water and clean linen for you."

I swallowed. Charles had always been kind to me. I regretted my harsh words. "Thank you," I murmured.

"No need to thank me. It was the least I could do for His Majesty's savior."

"I'm not..." Before I realized it, I had reached for the ring to twist on my finger. Instead, I was met with the tight binding of my bandage. I winced and dropped both hands to my sides. "I'm not anyone's savior. Philip saved me."

Charles smiled lightly. "Perhaps you saved each other."

I took a slow breath. "I made a promise to protect him." Outside, the sky was a blend of gold, pink, and orange. The green hills in the distance tugged at my heart. "Charles, I have to go. Please understand. Being here has done something to my mind. Something terrible."

"I do not mean to stop you." The butler's voice was gentle. He clasped his hands over his knees. "If you wish to go, no one will stand in your way."

No one. I ground my teeth over my jaw, barely daring to whisper the name on my lips.

"Lad." Charles rose and faced me with sad but understanding eyes. "I, for one, shall miss you dearly."

I offered him my hand to shake. He embraced me instead. His arms were strong and warm, crushing. On instinct, I tensed, then slowly relaxed. That sad longing spread in my heart, the same thing I'd felt watching Charles hug Philip. I realized how foreign it still felt for a man to touch me with no lust.

"Charles," I murmured after I drew back. "You would have made a very fine father."

He smiled. His eyes were glassy. "I would have liked that."

I thought of all the children in London with no father, no mother, no one to hold them when they wept. And here was Charles, his wife gone, having always wanted a child. I paused, studying his face. Gentle gray eyes, round cheeks, creases about his mouth.

I smiled suddenly, and he tilted his head quizzically. "What is it?" he asked.

"It is not too late," I told him. "It is never too late."

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

We took a carriage. Charles fiddled with his handkerchief, twisting it round and round in his hands until the edges frayed. He spoke little, but listened intently as I told him of Mercy, the little girl who Philip and I met, who was more concerned with the fate of an orphaned kitten than her own.

At my signal, the coachman pulled the horses to a halt. The Home for Lost Children looked less intimidating in the sunlight. Some of the children were outside, playing or pacing the perimeter. I wondered why they did not climb over the gate, but perhaps they knew the streets of London had nothing better waiting for them.

Charles took a weary breath. "You can stay here," I told him. "I'll go in alone." Part of me knew she might not still be there, and I would need to prepare myself before I broke the news to him.

"Alright." The butler swallowed thickly. Perhaps he was thinking the same. "I should benefit from a moment to collect my thoughts."

Outside, the morning air carried a chill. I saw the hogs were still in their pen, three of them now. A small boy jabbed a stick through the rails to torment them. They circled each other, having barely enough room to walk, squealing as the boy poked them and laughed.

Something about it disturbed me. The boy grinned, brazen and cruel. He could not have been older than six years. "Oi, you there!" I yelled.

The boy froze. Without a word, he dropped the stick and ran. The end he had been using to poke them had been sharpened to a point. For a moment I imagined the hogs looked at me with gratitude, but a moment later they were back to circling one another, snorting over the mud.

I wanted to tell the boy I understood him, I understood the desire to torture something else after being tortured for so long. A thousand thoughts swarmed in my mind like angry flies, of pigs and men and blades. I lifted the stick. Now I could see dots of blood at the point where the boy had pierced the animals' flesh. The flies buzzed louder. I cracked the stick over my knee.

For a moment there was silence.

Mr Camborne met me at the door. His white tongue flicked out to wet his lips. "I know you's not from the workhouse, boy," he hissed. "Best be off."

"I'm not from the workhouse," I agreed calmly, though I could barely keep the quiver from my voice. "I've been sent by His Majesty, the King, to collect a particular child in your custody."

Camborne's eyes flicked between me and the golden carriage and white horses, which I had persuaded an anxious Charles to request on behalf of the King at the stable. That would be deceptive, he had said.

A little deception is good sometimes, I'd told him.

"What concern would any child here be of His Majesty?" Mr Camborne asked suspiciously.

"That is not for you or me to question, is it?" I retorted. "Or shall I report you for obstructing the royal order?"

"Show me this order, eh," he demanded. "I want to see it on paper."

I sucked in a breath and looked helplessly at the carriage. Charles stepped out. Mr Camborne's face paled as he saw the butler's pressed clothes and freshly shined shoes. Not for the first time, I was glad to be in the presence of someone with influence. "What is the problem, Murray?" Charles called out.

Camborne relented before I could speak. "Oh, come in, come in." He waved me through the doorway. The hall stunk worse than I remembered. "I want no trouble," he said meekly. "It's simply these children are worth a great deal to me. You understand."

I made no effort to conceal my disgust.

"Ah, well." He coughed and averted his eyes. "What's the name of this child, then?"

My throat grew tight. "Mercy," I murmured.

"A girl? Girls take their sewing lessons at this hour." Mr Camborne led me down the hall and up a spiral staircase to the second floor. There, four maids observed a room full of young girls, all in identical dresses and caps. They sat hip to hip, hunched over and feverishly stitching various items of clothing.

It was hard to see most of their faces, let alone tell them apart. I stared in dismay as the girls went on working, oblivious to my presence. One of them dropped the shirt she was sewing and a maid swept in to cuff her ear, barking a rebuke. With each passing second, my heart sank lower and lower. What if Mercy was not here at all? I remembered how thin and frail she had been. What if she hadn't been able to survive?

"Mercy!" I yelled, breaking away from Mr Camborne. I ran through the rows of girls, searching desperately. They stared up at me, some curious, others shrinking back in fear. "Mercy?" I asked. "Is Mercy here?"

"Sir." The maid pressed her veiny hand to my chest. "You must leave. You are causing a disturb-"

I pushed her away. She screamed out as if I had slashed her, and immediately called for Mr Camborne.

"I'm looking for a little girl named Mercy," I pleaded with the girls. "Do any of you know her?"

They remained silent. A few shook their heads. I looked from each pair of eyes to the next. Nothing. Grief overwhelmed me, like a rising tide. I felt myself drowning in it, the water slowly filling my lungs. Mr Camborne appeared behind me and reached for my arm.

Then one of the girls pointed to the back.

I shoved Camborne off me and raced to the last row. "Mercy?" I asked, quieter now, searching their eyes. One of them elbowed the girl beside her, whose head was slumped forward, as if asleep.

She was in a sorry state. A long scab peeked out from beneath her cap and ran down her temple. A bundle of cloth lay in her lap, nowhere near completion. She must have been sleeping for most of the hour. When she blinked up, her eyes were glassy and tinted yellow. She mumbled something incoherent, and I kneeled beside her.

"Mercy? Mercy, do you remember me?" I asked, so relieved I could have cried. "You gave me your kitten. Do you remember?"

She stared at me, dazed. Slowly, recognition filtered in. "D'ya still got her?"

I broke into a laugh. "Yes, yes, I've still got her. Now I've come to get you. Just as I promised."

In an instant, her tiredness melted away and she sat straight up, letting the cloth tumble from her lap. "Have you found a family for me?"

Mr Camborne loomed over me, one hand poised above my shoulder like he was unsure what to do with it. I rose to my feet and took Mercy's hand. Camborne stepped back. "This is the child?"

"Mr Camborne!" the maid hissed. She leaned against the wall, one hand clasped over her chest. "Do something!"

"Eh- he is- you see-" he mumbled, his hand still hanging in the air. "I-"

"Please let us go," Mercy whispered. She sniffed and held my hand with both of hers. "Please, you said we could go if someone wants us."

Camborne faltered. He wrestled with something within himself, caught between the maid's harsh nod and the little girl's pleading eyes. His cracked lips trembled, a hint of sorrow in his dark gaze. Then he pushed me hard towards the door. "Go on, get out of here. Go quickly."

I pulled Mercy into my arms. She was so light, so impossibly light. Her tiny wrists locked round my neck as I lifted her, one arm supporting her back, the other under her knees. The old maid began to screech in protest.

Camborne whipped around, eyes blazing. "Would you shut up?" he shouted.

She stared at him, mouth agape. The little girls giggled.

In the hall, Mercy flashed me a wide smile. I smiled back. I carried her outside, her bare feet swinging with excitement as we emerged into the light. She waved at the hogs as we passed them. "Goodbye, piggies!"

A wave of panic shot through me. All I could hear was the gambler's voice in the slaughterhouse. Hello, piggy. Don't you smell good?

In less than a heartbeat, my mind shuffled through the usual images. Dead pigs. Dripping blood. A new addition: Geoff's face just after Philip stabbed him.

I wanted to sink to my knees and weep. This is never going away.

Then I looked at Mercy, giggling and waving to the hogs. Deep within me, I found the strength to press on. The images vanished like a cloud of smoke.

At the carriage, she gasped excitedly as I set her down. Charles stood waiting, one hand pressed to his heart, eyes brimming with emotion. A few beats of silence passed before he lowered himself to one knee and took her small hand in his. "It is my greatest pleasure to meet you, Miss Mercy."

The girl buried her face in my side shyly. "Are you my new family?" she asked from the folds of my coat.

"This is Charles," I told her.

She squinted past him into the carriage. "Where is Missus Charles?"

The butler frowned, his forehead creasing. He rose and looked at me, still holding her hand. "We should have considered this," he murmured. "The girl needs a mother. Perhaps I am not the best fit..."

I shook my head quickly to silence him. "Do you see anyone else waiting in line?" When he looked down, I softened. "She needs you."

Charles drew in a breath and faced the little girl. "I am sorry to say there is no Missus Charles. Well... there was..." He swallowed. "She would have been very glad to meet you. So very glad. She is no longer with us, and I wonder if perhaps you would not mind it only being us two, at least for now."

"I wouldn't mind," Mercy chirped.

The three of us climbed into the carriage. Mercy peeled herself from my side and sat beside Charles, immediately launching into a list of questions about where he lived, and whether there were any animals there.

"Well." The butler smiled warmly, one hand laid on the seat so she could decide if she wished to take it. "It may come as a surprise, but I live in the royal castle. With the King."

Mercy gasped and covered her mouth with both hands. "The King," she whispered. "You live with him?" Her eyes traveled back and forth between us, as if asking me for confirmation.

I smiled. "He does."

"You shall, too, dear Mercy," Charles said. "It is a very beautiful place. There are gardens and a pond and horses for you to ride. Perhaps when you are a tad bigger. I think you shall like it."

"Horses!"

I pressed my cheek to the carriage window as they continued to talk. The sun, still warm for late September, shone through the glass and cast a ray of light across my lap. I stayed that way till the castle came into view. My gaze traveled up the high towers, trying to recapture the awe I had felt on my first day there.

But when I looked out at the courtyard, I saw only the shredded bodies of the nobles. When I thought of the servants' quarters where I had met Philip, I thought of Geoff, with his wolfish grin and knife. When I thought of the royal chamber, where I tasted steak and glazed goose, I thought of the night terrors that haunted me each night.

When I looked at Mercy and Charles, finally finding what they had been missing for so long, I felt such a terrible pain inside like I had been gutted. And I knew. I knew it was time for me to go home.