King Edmund stopped laughing when he looked at the execution block.
Then he looked at Agnes.
“Are you hurt?”
“No,” she said. “Though I should prefer to conduct the rest of this conversation standing.”
“Certainly.”
Her brother remained beside the golden column with the axe lowered and its blade turned away from everyone.
The executioner stood empty-handed.
Lady Beatrice stood empty of useful explanations.
Edmund held the crested purse between two fingers.
“I recognize the duke’s arms.”
“So does she,” Agnes said.
Beatrice lifted her chin.
“Half the court recognizes them.”
“An unfortunate choice for an anonymous payment.”
The king looked at the parchment still in Agnes’s left hand.
“May I?”
She passed it to him.
He held it beside the purse, examining the matching seal.
The document was not a rumor, a prediction, or a list of people the duke disliked.
It was an instruction to officials overseeing royal revenues. They were to withhold payments to the crown and redirect those funds to the duke’s administration until Edmund agreed to surrender his authority.
The duke had signed it.
Agnes had received it because she managed several of the crown’s outlying granaries.
She had returned to the capital to put it directly into the king’s hands.
Beatrice had preferred a different destination.
“There,” Agnes said, watching Edmund read. “I was hoping to reach that part before anyone discussed my neck.”
Beatrice made a small movement toward the doorway.
Edmund raised his eyes.
“Remain.”
She remained.
It was becoming a surprisingly difficult afternoon for movement.
“That document proves nothing about me,” she said.
“No,” Edmund answered. “It explains why I want to ask you questions.”
Beatrice seemed to recover a little.
Agnes did not appear concerned.
The king lifted the purse.
“Where did you obtain this?”
“It was entrusted to me.”
“By the duke?”
“He supports many court activities.”
Agnes glanced at the block.
“A memorable choice of entertainment.”
The executioner shifted his boots.
Edmund turned toward him.
“What were you paid to do?”
The man swallowed.
“The lady said the woman must be prevented from reaching Your Majesty.”
Beatrice looked at him with the offended expression of a customer discovering that a private conversation had included another person.
“I did not say that.”
The executioner considered her.
“You said it rather clearly.”
“Perhaps you misunderstood.”
“I asked whether you wanted her delayed.”
Agnes waited.
The king waited.
Even her brother seemed interested, though he kept the axe pointed at the floor.
“And?” Edmund asked.
The executioner looked at Beatrice.
“She said delays end.”
Beatrice closed her eyes briefly.
“That was a figure of speech.”
“A poor setting for one,” Agnes said.
Edmund’s face hardened.
“Did you have any authority from me to threaten this woman?”
“No, Your Majesty.”
“Then whatever you believed you were selling was not yours to sell.”
The executioner bowed his head.
“And accepting a larger payment does not improve the first transaction.”
He bowed lower.
Agnes’s brother looked at the two unmarked purses still resting on the block.
His expression suggested that he had been hoping for a simpler account of his own contribution.
Edmund turned back to Beatrice.
“Why did the duke entrust you with money?”
“For household business.”
“What household business?”
She spread her lace-gloved hands.
“Surely Your Majesty cannot expect me to remember every instruction.”
Agnes looked at her.
“You remembered that I was coming through this alcove.”
Beatrice said nothing.
“You remembered which document I carried.”
“The duke wished to retrieve a draft.”
Edmund looked down at the parchment.
“A draft?”
Beatrice nodded too quickly.
“One that was not intended to be delivered yet.”
The king raised his eyes.
“Yet?”
Agnes watched the word arrive at its destination.
Beatrice heard it too.
“I mean it was never intended—”
“You have now described it as a household matter, a draft, and an instruction awaiting delivery,” Edmund said. “Which would you like me to record as your explanation?”
For the first time, Beatrice appeared to understand that choosing a more elegant sentence would not remove the earlier ones.
She looked at Agnes.
“You could have returned it.”
“To the man ordering me to divert royal funds?”
“You could have waited.”
“For what?”
Beatrice’s mouth tightened.
Agnes stepped closer to the king, well clear of the block.
“I was offered money to follow that order. I refused. Then I was told to bring the paper here, where someone would settle the matter.”
Edmund glanced at the crimson cushion.
“They prepared a seat.”
“A little lower than I expected.”
The king let out one short breath that was almost a laugh.
Then his attention returned to Beatrice.
“You will answer for your part in this. The duke will answer for his. I will have the instruction examined and the affected officials contacted.”
Beatrice’s face drained.
“Your Majesty, I was trying to protect the court.”
“From receiving its own correspondence?”
She had no answer.
Agnes looked at the purse in Edmund’s hand.
Her joke had been a joke.
The payment had not produced a verdict. It had produced questions Beatrice could no longer prevent anyone from asking.
That was useful enough.
Edmund kept the purse and parchment together.
“The money remains with this matter. So do the accounts of everyone present.”
The executioner nodded.
Beatrice did not.
“Lady Beatrice.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“You are no longer directing any business involving palace funds.”
She glanced down at her pearls.
“I have served this court for years.”
“Then you should have recognized its king as the person to consult before arranging an execution.”
Agnes’s brother cleared his throat.
“Technically, I bought the axe.”
Edmund turned.
“Yes. We should discuss that.”
The brother looked at Agnes.
She looked back.
For twelve years, she had imagined several possible reunions.
None had included him negotiating over equipment beside an execution block.
“Perhaps put it down first, Miles,” she said.
He carefully set the axe against the marble wall, with its head resting on the floor and the handle secure.
Then he straightened.
Without the weapon, he looked remarkably like the man she remembered: a little weathered, well dressed for travel, and preparing to explain why a simple obligation had become complicated.
Edmund regarded him.
“You are her brother.”
“Yes.”
“You saw what was happening?”
“From behind the column.”
“Why were you behind the column?”
Miles glanced at Agnes.
“I was deciding how to approach her.”
She folded her arms.
“You settled on buying an axe.”
“It became the clearest introduction.”
Despite herself, she nearly smiled.
Nearly was not the same as forgiveness.
Miles noticed the distinction.
He had always been good at noticing when an account remained open.
Unfortunately, he had been less reliable about closing it.
Agnes pointed toward the block.
“Those two purses.”
Miles looked at them.
“Yes.”
“Were they meant for me?”
A pause.
Edmund’s expression brightened with the cautious interest of a man who had discovered someone else’s family business.
“They were,” Miles admitted.
“Twelve years.”
“I know.”
“Twelve years, and you finally arrive with my share of the mill.”
“I intended to hand it to you.”
“Instead, you handed it to him.”
The executioner kept his eyes on the floor.
Miles spread his hands.
“He had an axe.”
“A persuasive complication.”
Edmund looked from the siblings to the two purses.
“Your share of a mill?”
Agnes nodded.
They had once owned a small grain mill together. When it was sold, Miles had taken responsibility for collecting the final payment and sending Agnes her portion.
He had left to settle the matter.
Then letters grew shorter. Payments were promised. Pride made each delay harder to explain.
Eventually, silence had become easier than another apology.
Agnes had built a different life.
Miles had spent years telling himself he would write when he could include the money.
Now the money sat on an execution block.
“It was foolish,” he said quietly.
Agnes looked at him.
“Which part?”
“All the years.”
That answer surprised her.
He did not add that business had been difficult, though it had. He did not point toward the axe and suggest that she should now be pleased with the arrangement.
He simply waited.
Edmund, to his credit, said nothing.
Miles looked at the purse nearest him.
“I came to repay you. When I saw her push you down, I used what I had.”
Agnes nodded once.
“Thank you.”
His shoulders eased.
Then he asked, very carefully, “Does it count?”
“As a rescue?”
“Yes.”
“Absolutely.”
“And as repayment?”
She looked toward the block.
“Your money appears to have changed occupations.”
Edmund laughed.
Miles closed his eyes.
“I thought so.”
The king considered the two unmarked purses.
“Their part in this will be recorded. What can be returned will be dealt with after the circumstances are established.”
Miles nodded.
He did not ask for the coins back immediately.
Agnes appreciated that more than she expected.
Beatrice, who had been following the family discussion with growing impatience, spoke.
“Are we truly discussing a mill?”
Agnes turned toward her.
“Yes. It has been waiting longer than your explanation.”
Beatrice pressed her lips together.
Edmund glanced at the crested purse.
“And unlike some financial arrangements here, the mill appears to have been a legitimate business.”
Miles looked faintly grateful.
Agnes did not offer him that much reassurance.
Edmund shifted the parchment so its seal remained visible.
“The duke’s instructions will not be acted upon. I will see to that immediately.”
He looked at the executioner.
“You will remain available to give your account. You will not resume your duties while this is examined.”
The man bowed.
Then the king addressed Beatrice.
“You will accompany me when we leave this alcove.”
Her eyes widened.
“Must I?”
For a moment, the question hung beneath the chandeliers.
Edmund looked at the block, the cushion, and the purse.
“Yes.”
Agnes could see Beatrice considering whether there was a dignified way to object.
There was not.
At least she had finally recognized a limit.
The immediate danger was over.
Agnes felt it only then, in the slight stiffness of her knees and the breath she had been holding without noticing.
Miles noticed too.
“Are you all right?”
She looked at him.
“That would have been a pleasant opening.”
He nodded.
“I’m learning.”
“Late.”
“Yes.”
She let the answer rest.
Edmund moved toward the doorway with the purse and parchment. He paused before leaving the little group.
“Agnes, I owe you my thanks.”
“You may begin by receiving reports somewhere less theatrical.”
He glanced back at the walnut block.
“A fair criticism.”
“And perhaps ask why a person has been delayed before assuming she has nothing to report.”
The king inclined his head.
“I shall remember that.”
Agnes believed he might.
He had, at least, learned that a cream apron did not prevent its wearer from reading an instruction addressed to her.
Beatrice moved reluctantly toward him.
As she passed the block, her eyes flicked toward the two unmarked purses.
Agnes caught the look.
“Those are still being accounted for.”
“I wasn’t going to touch them.”
“Excellent. A promising afternoon for restraint.”
Miles’s mouth curved.
Beatrice gave him a look that would once have encouraged him to retreat behind the column.
He remained beside his sister.
Edmund waited at the open doorway.
There was still business to do. Serious business, involving the duke’s plan, the withheld revenues, and the people who had been asked to participate.
But it would now be done with the paper intact and Agnes standing.
That was the reversal she had needed.
Miles turned toward her.
“When this is finished, may I come home?”
She studied his face.
He had meant the words at the block as a greeting. They had come out as an invitation he had not earned the right to issue.
Now he was asking.
“For supper,” she said.
He nodded quickly.
“For supper.”
“We will discuss the rest.”
“Of course.”
“And the mill.”
Miles glanced at the two purses.
“I expected that.”
She started toward the doorway.
He fell into step beside her, leaving the axe against the wall.
After two steps, he looked back.
“I did buy it.”
Agnes stopped.
“Do you need it?”
“No.”
“Then consider it your first unnecessary purchase since coming home.”
Miles looked at the blunt blade.
Then at the gold-filled purses.
Then at his sister, alive and waiting for him.
“I’ve made worse.”
Agnes considered that.
“Yes,” she said. “But you may tell me about those after supper.”
They walked on together.
Behind them, Lady Beatrice waited beside the king, hands folded, with no purse left to place on the block.
