“What do you mean?” Horwath asked.

Severn leaned forward, wincing as if his back were paining him. “I won’t even tell you all he said about me. That I was born feet first, with teeth, and only ever kissed those I meant to kill. That I plotted my nephews’ deaths from the start.” His breath hissed out with frustration. “Never mind the lies. How can you expect otherwise from a man who lives on the graces of others, one who has committed high treason not once, but twice? No, what angers me most is his complete denial of his own complicity. Remember the plot Catsby told us about, how Tunmore conspired with the others to murder me the morning when we met at privy council? How I charged Hastings with high treason and he confessed all in front of the council?” He clenched his fist with his pent-up emotions, bringing it to his mouth in frustration. “You were there, Stiev. Yet in the book, the saintly Deconeus of Ely says I asked him to fetch strawberries from his garden! His garden!” He looked nearly apoplectic. “I was nigh on being murdered, my son and wife were to be put in the river or worse, and I asked him for strawberries? And he says that when he went to fetch them, I turned on Hastings and murdered him. I never sent Tunmore away for fruit. He was there the whole time! It’s a bald-faced lie, and from a man of the Fountain, no less.” He seemed so uncomfortable that he rocked forward and stood, then began pacing. “And the thing is, Stiev. The fact of the matter is that while reading it, I wanted to believe it.” He grunted with contempt. “I wanted to believe those lies about myself. Is this what men think of me, Stiev? Truly? Not just my enemies, forsooth. But do the common people believe I murdered my nephews? That I conspired and connived for my nephews’ throne? I took it. Yes. But only after the Deconeus of Stillwater told us—us!—that my brother’s marriage to his wife was invalid. That would make all of his children illegitimate. Can I believe that of my brother? Of course I can! He was a rake! He had our brother Dunsdworth killed because he learned of it. By the Fountain, does everyone see me this way? That I would murder my brother’s sons after snatching the throne from them?” His face was a rictus of frustration. He never looked down at Horwath. He wasn’t truly seeking an answer.

“My lord, my hair and beard are quite gray,” Horwath said in a low, coaxing tone. “So I suppose it entitles me to some wisdom about the nature of men. It has been my experience that while it’s easy to persuade most men of some new thing, it is more difficult to fix them in that persuasion. In the end, the truth will out eventually.”

The king folded his arms imperiously and gave the old man a curious look. “The truth will out,” he said, his tone showing he was not fully convinced.

Their attention was diverted with the arrival of a horse, a lathered monster of a beast holding the panting, disheveled, and thoroughly exhausted Dominic Mancini.

“You’ve arrived just in time to leave,” the king snorted contemptuously.

“My . . . my . . . lord . . .” the man wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “You keep a . . . hazardous pace. Horseflesh . . . was not intended . . . to work this hard. I implore . . . Your Majesty . . . to slow down.”

“Or do you mean your flesh?” the king said with a chuckle. He clapped Horwath’s shoulder. “Onward, lads. I’ve ridden nearly every corner of this kingdom on my brother’s orders. He said a soldier should always know the ground he travels. Where are the fens and fords. Where are the falls. Over yonder,” he added, pointing, “is an estuary called the Stroud. At the head of that muggy estuary is a little castle called Glosstyr. My brother made me its duke and the constable of that castle on my ninth birthday.” He looked down at Owen, his face scrutinizing the young boy, who was nearing his ninth birthday. “Loyalty bound me. And it still does.”

The king slapped his thighs. “That’s where we will be spending the night.”

Horwath whistled through his teeth. Owen had the sense that it would be a long journey.

The king smirked. “Try to keep up, Master Mancini. Or at the least, try not to kill the horse or yourself getting there.”

I don’t think the princes of the various realms fully appreciate that King Severn Argentine is first and foremost a soldier. Or maybe they do and that’s why they fear him so much. We rode thirty-five leagues in a single day, changing horses three times at various castles. We did not make it to Glosstyr until well after midnight, but the king’s energy only improved as the day waned. I am nearly fainting with fatigue. If I were to guess, the king intends to swoop down on Westmarch unexpectedly, for we are traveling faster than pigeons can fly. Even if Ankarette left before us, I don’t see how she can reach Tatton Hall first.