Free By Divine Right by Patrick W. Carr Page B

dais ten paces away, looking somber and expectant. Without thought, I dropped to my knees, gasping as one of Orlan’s stripes opened. Fresh warmth seeped down my back.
    “Rise,” Laidir said, the voice the same as the one that had stopped my beating.
    I stood, keeping my gaze to the rich red carpet on the floor.
    “I find it easier to judge the truth of a man’s words if I can see his face,” Laidir said. “Look at me.”
    I lifted my head, and for the first time in my life I gazed upon the divine right of kings in the flesh. I’d heard men talk of presence before, and I’d felt it in some measure among the mighty in the last war, but Laidir possessed something at once more grand and more indefinable. He granted me a moment to gaze around his private chambers, and I marveled at the collection of tools and instruments that filled the tables. The organization appealed to the eyes as if a complex piece of music had been set to sight instead of sound. Books lined the shelves behind the tables, more than I’d ever seen a single individual possess. I squinted at the nearest, and the titles added to my surprise—most of them were collections of tales.
    “Are you surprised?”
    I had no training to guide me in my answer. The king laughed at my mute stare. “There is as much instruction in tales as there is in history or theology.” He smiled. “And I enjoy it.” A measure of joy dropped from him. “Now, why would one of my reeves pretend to be a servant?”
    I couldn’t have kept the surprise from my face if I tried. “Your Majesty knows who I am?”
    His expression hardened, though it didn’t seem to be directed at me. “How long would I live if I allowed strangers to come into my presence, Willet Dura?” He leaned forward. “What was so important that you had to throw a flagon at one of my most powerful nobles?”
    “The duke’s man tripped me,” I said.
    Laidir shook his head, and the beginnings of anger flashed behind his eyes though it had yet to show on his face. “You expected the blow. I saw you turn to take it off the bone. Do not dissemble with me, reeve. Some would construe your actions as an attack on the duke.”
    I’d heard men speak of Laidir’s air, of the effect of being close to one ordained by Aer to hold the power of life and death over a nation. “I fell and the flagon flew from my hands.”
    The king gave me a slight smile. “Toward the duke and the marquis from a mere pace away. That’s quite a coincidence. You’re fortunate it was empty.” Hazel eyes stared through me as if I were a shadow man made of gossamer.
    “Your Majesty, he caught it.”
    “Stop,” Laidir commanded, leaning forward until he could have touched me. “What exactly did you see?” he asked, as if his words had the power of compulsion.
    “Something that shouldn’t have been possible,” I said. “The duke caught the flagon by the handle, which was facing away from him.”
    The king waved away my concern, but his gaze remained intent. “Come now, master reeve, the Orlan family are all excellent swordsmen even if they do not hold a physical gift. The talent for motion runs deep in their family. Is this the extent of your concern?”
    I shook my head. “No, sire. The duke took the flagon out of midair in his right hand while holding his goblet with his left.”
    Laidir shrugged as if I’d yet to convince him. “Too many bodies blocked my view and your own perceptions might be skewed.” He assayed a brief smile. “You appeared to be busy falling to the floor at the time. Is this why you came to court?”
    I took a deep breath and accepted the burden of the accusation I intended to bring. “Your Majesty, two gifts have gone free in the last month—one of craft within the Orlan province and one of beauty in your city. Can an ungifted man move faster than the eye, Your Majesty?”
    The king’s mouth pulled to one side, and he turned away from me to look out the window. “Are you sure, Reeve