“I wasn’t that far behind the lad. He came here from the palace!”
“He did?” asked the other man in confusion. “In the middle of the night?”
“Yes. One of the palace Espion caught him carrying a long box through the halls of Kingfountain. Thought he was a thief.”
“These sanctuary men are all cutthroats,” the other said disdainfully. “They steal during the day and then hide here at night. Over half should be thrown into the river.”
“You can’t do that, man! Think what the citizens would do! Superstitious fools. The Espion tried to follow him, but the boy was crafty. He knows the palace well.”
“Humph! Definitely a thief then.”
“Strange that he didn’t steal anything. He stashed the box he was carrying somewhere. When I was sent, I caught him leaving the grounds. Sure enough, he came here to Our Lady. There’s a gang of boys running amok these days. Urchins, all of them. Well, whoever the boy was, he’s slipped away. I didn’t get a good look at him.”
“Well, best we leave before the sexton arrives with a lamp. Come on.”
“All right. But I hate the thought of someone stealing His Majesty’s treasures. If I find that brat, I’ll wring his little neck. You’re stationed here. See what you can find out. Ask around.”
“I will. Best to go.”
The sound of their bootsteps faded. Alensson took deep gulps of air and gripped the pommel of the sword Genette had given him as he waited for the boy Tunmore to return.
He didn’t.
When it was dawn, Alensson decided to leave the sanctuary. He had wrestled within himself for the remainder of the night, tempted to disobey the Maid’s instructions. Part of him felt he should witness the canoe entering the river, that it was his duty to her despite what she’d said. But he knew himself, and perhaps Genette also knew him well. Would he be tempted to jump into the river to try to save her? He wasn’t Fountain-blessed. A rash action like that would end with his death, more likely than not. The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t trust himself. So he heeded her wisdom and pushed his way roughly through the crowds loitering on the bridge. Everyone was gathering to witness the spectacle, and he was moving against the flood.
With a snarl on his mouth and fire in his eyes, he marched through the throngs, earning a battery of curses and contempt. More and more people tried to crowd onto the bridge to watch. When Alensson finally escaped the confinement of the press, he increased his pace and rushed beyond the city gates. He took a road leading north that followed alongside the river, though at a distance. Walking in long furious strides, his arms folded across his chest, he brooded on what was even now happening back at Kingfountain. Each step brought a variation of the same question. Had it happened yet? Was it about to?
Those endless questions were what finally drove him to abandon his determination to honor Genette’s wishes.
Once he made the decision, he ran to the river’s edge. He was about a mile upriver, close enough to see the mossy flank of the sanctuary island. The icy waters rushed by at breakneck speed. Swimming across the river would not be possible. Looking back at Kingfountain, he spied a series of docks wedged behind the castle, down at the water’s edge.
The crowd was still gathered around the river, and when he squinted hard enough, he made out various men, soldiers mostly, though he also saw the cassock of the deconeus. This was the moment. There was a canoe fixed to poles, and he could see them lowering someone into it, someone who went willingly and without struggle.
Alensson’s heart flamed with agony as he watched the deconeus stand over the prostrate girl. The man made a little benediction with his hand. As soon as he stepped away, the soldiers hefted the poles the canoe sat on and marched the little boat to the end of the pier. And then, unceremoniously, they tilted it and the canoe landed with a splash.
He squeezed his fists, shaking with fierce emotions. Did she know he was there? Did she know he was watching her after all?
The canoe was quickly gaining speed. Suddenly the brash duke stepped away from the tree, cupped his hands over his mouth, and screamed her name over the roar of the river.
“Genette!”
Could she have heard him? He prayed to the Fountain that she had. He watched with sickening horror as the canoe accelerated, caught in the current that would bring her to an inexorable fate. Was the scabbard with her? Was her fate sealed?
He watched the tiny canoe fade into the distance, following the river to the left bank of the island. It quickly veered out of sight, but he knew when the boat went over the edge. He knew because of the cheers that rose from thousands of throats overlooking the falls.