Chapter 30: My Father's Pardon

I went down the stairs with Alaric's coat over my nightgown and my hair in a plait.

The rider stood in the hall with mud to his knees and a leather case under his arm.

He bowed to me without looking at the coat.

"Your Grace. From the king's own hand. He bade me put it in yours and watch you read it."

I broke the seal on the stairs, with Alaric one step behind me.

It was two sheets.

The first was a pardon, in the king's writing, for the Earl of Trevanion and all his house.

It named every false bond, every false warrant, and the word forged beside each.

It said the earl's name was whole and his lands were restored.

The second sheet was shorter.

I read it twice before I understood the first line.

"There is a warrant in the royal archives," I said aloud, "dated twenty-two months from the Wexmoor ball."

"It is struck through in the king's own hand. The date is voided and will never be served."

I sat down on the stair.

I sat on the bottom step in the hall of Wexmoor in my husband's coat, with my feet bare, and I put the paper on my knee.

"Linnet," said Alaric.

"It's gone," I said. "He will not hang. He was going to hang, and now it is gone."

I had known it for a day.

I had said it in the council chamber and heard the king say it back.

But it had been words, until I held it.

I heard Alaric kneel on the flagstone in front of me.

His hand came over mine on the paper.

"There is more," said the rider, apologetically. "A carriage."

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