Redemption

*** THIS STORY TAKES PLACE BETWEEN THE FALSE PRINCE AND THE RUNAWAY KING AND CONTAINS A MAJOR SPOILER. PLEASE DO NOT READ UNTIL YOU HAVE FINISHED THE FALSE PRINCE. ***

*** SERIOUSLY. GO READ THE FALSE PRINCE FIRST. ***

The declaration had been hand-delivered by a personal messenger of the royal court. He called himself Errol, and he smelled like soap. That was how Mrs. Turbeldy knew he was a real messenger.

Which meant his message – stating that the new king of Carthya was coming to pay her a visit today, must also be real.

“New king?” she asked while scratching her chin. “What happened to the old one?”

Errol got all serious and said, “He’s dead, madam. But his son reigns now, King Jaron.”

“Never heard of him.” But whoever this Jaron was, he clearly had heard of her, and there could be only one reason for it. Maybe she was getting on in age and short a tooth or two, but Mrs. Turbeldy still figured she’d kept her youthful beauty well. Perhaps the new king had heard of her. 

“Did the king say why he was coming?” she asked Errol.

“He would prefer to explain that on his own,” Errol replied.

Mrs. Turbeldy began scratching again, wondering how to make him talk. Slowly, a smile spread across her face. She’d try a subtle approach. “I heard a rumor that the king has his eye on a commoner. Someone most people would never expect to become a queen.”

Errol tilted his head. “I’ve heard that rumor too, my lady.”

Mrs. Turbeldy giggled. So she was my lady now? Just like he’d address a future queen.

“I will go now and tell the king he is welcome to come,” Errol said.

He started to leave, but Mrs. Turbeldy grabbed his arm long enough to add, “If the king should wonder, Mr. Turbeldy ain’t been seen for years. He always used to say, ‘Woman, I’d rather live with the devils than with you.’ So I suspect that’s where he’s gone, off to live with the devils.”

Errol pressed his lips together and nodded. “I will tell the king, if he asks. You can expect him to arrive within the hour.”

Within the hour? The instant the orphanage door closed, Mrs. Turbeldy flung herself into action. It took near ten minutes to threaten the orphans into finding somewhere better to be for the day, and twice that to squeeze into her finest dress. She did her hair up all nice and even took a comb to the worst parts, then put on a pretty necklace Sage had given to her once, no doubt stolen from someplace.

He’d been gone for almost a month now. Mrs. Turbeldy found herself thinking of him a lot. Mostly for how glad she was to be rid of him. But were some days when she actually missed that brat.

Mrs. Turbeldy had no sooner finished staining her cheeks with a little rouge than she heard the sound of horses outside. That had to be him. The king had come.

Maybe he wasn’t here to offer marriage. But he’d come all the way from Drylliad so it had to be for something big.

She took care of those miserable orphans, showing love despite them all being ungrateful little beasts. Maybe the king was here to thank her for that.

Or he could have heard of her charity work, by accepting old bread from the wealthy so they could feel like they were good folks.

Or— 

A knock came to the door. That had to be him!

“Please enter, King Jaron,” she said, then curtsied low and bowed her head as the door opened.

She looked up, expecting to see the king, which made it all the more insulting to see who had entered.

She grunted, both irritated and disappointed. “Sage? What’re you bothering me for now? Help me up.”

He was better dressed than when she’d seen him last, must’ve robbed that nobleman who bought him or something. But he reached down to help pull her out of her curtsey.

She brushed a bead of sweat from her brow and darted to the window. “You need to leave, boy. I’m expecting the king himself.”

“Are you?” Sage grinned and looked out the window beside her. “Why would he come here?”

She thrust out an elbow to push him away, then tidied up her hair. “Perhaps he’s heard of my beauty and wants to propose marriage.”

Sage coughed, as if he’d suddenly choked on something. When he’d recovered, he said, “I am certain that is not his reason.”

“Then he’ll reward me for my compassion—”

“Do you actually have compassion?”

“Compassion happens to be my finest trait, and I’ll give you a beating if you forget it. Why’d you have to come now, Sage?”

“Because I have a debt to pay,” he said. “I came here to tell you that I am—”

“What sort of debt?” Now her eyes widened. She’d figured it out all right. Now everything made sense.

She grabbed Sage’s ear and pinched it hard enough to get a reaction from him, then twisted until he was hunched over.

“You horrible little thief!” she snarled. “You did something to Jaron, didn’t you! Whatever it was you stole, he blames me and now he’s coming to have me hauled off to the dungeons. Is that it?”

“I literally cannot steal from him,” Sage said. “Mrs. Turbeldy, I am—”

She wasn’t having any of his excuses. “No, I won’t cover for you this time, I won’t let you hide here. You’ve given me far too much trouble and I’m finished with you.”

With a final twist, she released his ear, then started toward the door to kick him out.

“Wait,” Sage said. “I just need to know something first.”

“What is it? Ask quickly, before Jaron gets here.”

He stood up, still rubbing his ear, but said, “Why’d you take me in? Nobody else would, and you knew I was difficult.”

“Difficult?” Mrs. Turbeldy sniffed. “Nah, you’re much worse. The devils have you, boy.  You put a hole in my floor, stole food from my kitchen, got into fights with the other orphans, and acted the whole time as if you was something more than just a rat for the streets. Like I said, you need to go, before the king comes to arrest you.”

Sage smiled again. “Still protecting me?”

“Maybe.”

“Then I want to do something here, as a thank you.”

She rolled her eyes, irritated once more. “Whatever you’ve stolen for me now, I don’t want it. Unless it’s valuable, or pretty, or I can eat it.”

“Very well.” He opened the door and a bunch of people began walking in, some carrying tools and wood, or crates that smelled like they contained real food.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Turbeldy asked. “Who are all these people?”

“Workers who will repair the holes in the floor where the boys sleep, and in the roof where they are rained on at night. The food is to restock your kitchens. Some of it will last a very long time if you are careful, and fresh bread will be provided to you every week from now on. The boys here will not eat bean bread any longer.”

More people continued entering, carrying bed frames, mattresses, and several loads of books. Last of all, Sage pulled something out of a pocket of his very fine clothes and held it out for Mrs. Turbeldy. It was a beautiful necklace with a small ruby at the end. Mrs. Turbeldy figured if she sold it, something like this would fetch a fine price at the market, but it seemed far too beautiful to sell.

Besides…her eyes narrowed, suspicious again…he could only have gotten this through thievery. She couldn’t allow him to be here when the king arrived.

“You need to get out now,” she said. “I can’t have an orphan thief around me when his highness arrives.”

“No, indeed you cannot.” Sage glanced around the room, then gave a polite bow to Mrs. Turbeldy. “I just wanted to thank you, for all you did for me.”

Then he straightened up and left. The workers in the home remained for the rest of the afternoon, but Mrs. Turbedly spent most of that time staring out the window, waiting and watching.

The king never did come.

What a disappointment. It would have been so exciting to have met him, to have seen what a true royal was like. She’d probably never get the chance again to know a king.

Finally, she opened the door to look for any sign of him on the road, but got no farther than the stoop. There sat Sage’s final gift for her: a roast.

She groaned and picked it up. Better to get it cooked before the butcher came to claim it. 

Mrs. Turbeldy went back inside with a new thought. After all Sage had done here to help her, what did she need with the king anyway?

Maybe Sage wasn’t so terrible after all.

At least he was no worse than the king.