“They are not taking it to feed their family,” Ilida said, her voice firm. “Someone is hoarding it.”
“You do not know that,” Robin said. “Everyone is struggling. They all know that this has to stretch as far as possible, and we have to trust that. Remember the woman with the tiny pickled eggs?”
“It was right of you to eat them,” Ilida said, her face softening. “It was the only thing she had to give back to you. And most people are like her, truly. But not all.”
Robin watched Ian disappear into the manor house over Ilida’s shoulder, wishing she could join him instead of having this conversation again.
Chapter 20
Robin sat next to Ian on the velvet bench in the comfortable room where the royal family spent time together outside of their responsibilities. Onric and Erich were lying on the floor, playing a strategic game with small carved figures on a checker-painted board.
Aden, seated by himself, had his face buried in a book larger than the size of his head.
“I want to play!” Meena yelled. She held her wooden donkey over the game board as though she could use it as one of the pieces.
Erich quickly shoved her hand away. “You’re going to ruin it!”
“There’s nothing to ruin,” Ian mumbled. “They are not even following the rules of the game.”
Waiting for a pause in the conversation between the king and queen—she preferred to think of them as her aunt and uncle—Robin spoke loudly. “I think Lind has more than learned her lesson about deceit.” Her voice was loud enough to carry through the room.
Other conversations stopped.
She had instantly gained the king’s attention, but Ian refused to meet her eyes. “Should we not just lift her sentence and let her work in the kitchens as a palace servant, or allow her to travel back to Lockwood and her family?”
Ian jabbed Robin’s side with his elbow.
“These are compassionate words,” King Frederich responded, leaving room for her to continue.
Robin inhaled, gaining confidence at having his attention. “It does seem cruel to take away the one thing she’s never had.”
The king looked confused for a moment. “We’ve provided her with a home and safety far superior to that which she had before.”
Robin felt a stab of pain at the derision with which King Frederich easily spoke about her home. “And you’ve sentenced her to a year without food.”
Frederich raised his eyebrows slightly.
A small part of Robin’s mind told her to back down. She was talking to the king, after all. But she moved forward anyway. This king was a personal friend of her father’s, and she was now seated in his private salon.
“Good food,” Robin emphasized.
“Good food for the girl who betrayed you and tried to feed poisonous food to your donkey?”
“I think you’ve appropriately made your point. She will not dare to attempt either thing again. She was just hungry.”
Silence.
“What harm could it do to let her at least go back to Lockwood with her family? It would not hurt anything to forgive her sentence.”
“Your heart is kind, Robin,” Frederich replied, his voice gentle and fatherly. “But your logic is not sound.”
Robin scrunched her forehead at the response, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees.
“You have not considered the harm which would occur to justice if I were to go back on my word,” the king continued. “My councilors would lose their trust in me, thinking I could not save them from an assassin in my own castle.”
“She’s not an assassin,” Robin cut in, emphasizing the last word.
“If she had succeeded in murdering Humphrey? What would that have made her?” Frederich responded.
