The Eyes of God by John Marco Page A

he’s not.”
    Akeela nodded. “I’m sure you’re right.”
    “He’ll be able to do things, my lord. He won’t be a burden to anyone.” Beith was looking at Akeela fretfully. “I swear, I’ll teach him to take care of himself. He’ll be a good member of this castle. I mean, if you’ll allow it.”
    Suddenly Akeela understood her fears. Her eyes reflected her dashed dreams, and her motherly concern for a son that might grow up a beggar.
    “Let me hold the baby,” said Akeela. Carefully Beith handed the infant over. Akeela, who had seldom held children before, cradled the child in the crook of his arm. Little Gilwyn squirmed but was silent, looking up at him. For Akeela, it was like holding a miracle, just like Gwena had always described. The warm little body curled in his embrace, enjoying the safety of the king’s protection.
    “He likes you,” said Beith. She glanced up at Akeela hopefully. “See? He already knows what a good king you are.”
    “Beith, stop. There’s no need.” Akeela kept his gaze on Gilwyn. “I would never abandon this child to the streets. I don’t care if he’s simple or a genius. Lionkeep is his home. As long as I am king, it always will be.”
    “Really?” asked Beith. “Will you promise me that, my lord?”
    “I promise,” said Akeela. He leaned down and laid a gentle kiss on the infant’s forehead. “And not just to you, but to this little fellow here. He will always have a place in Lionkeep.”
    Beith could barely find her voice. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you.”
    Akeela took the baby over to a nearby chair. He sat down and rocked the child, loving the paternal feeling. Gilwyn’s little mouth turned upward. Akeela took the gesture for a smile. He cooed to the baby, speaking softly.
    “Little Gilwyn, Liiria is going to be a great nation. I’m going to make it special, the way the founders intended. There will always be a place for you here, and for all the other children, too. And you’re going to grow up strong and smart, and whatever you can dream, you can be.”
     
    Beith spent the rest of the day feeling lighter than air. The good news Akeela had given her put a smile back on her face, and she bragged to Meri and her other friends about the king’s promise, and how her son would grow up in Lionkeep just as she and her dead husband had always planned. For Beith, who hadn’t known real joy since her husband’s death, the lightness in her heart felt wonderful. Now, with her baby safe, she could begin mourning her beloved properly, without fretting over the fate of her newborn.
    That night, Beith slept sound and deeply. She had retired early, putting Gilwyn to bed in his crib and taking a cup of tea before drifting off to sleep. For the first time in weeks, her dreams were unpolluted.
    Then she awoke for no apparent reason. Her eyes fluttered open to catch moonbeams slanting through her window. The mist of sleep was on her, and for a moment she couldn’t place the time. It was very late; dawn was still many hours away. Realizing this, she listened for Gilwyn. He was a good baby and surprisingly cooperative about sleeping, but she knew it was time to check on him. Desperate for the pillow, she nevertheless rose from the bed and started toward the door, shambling through the darkness in a groggy haze. Then she saw the figure in the threshold.
    Beith stumbled backward, about to scream, before an amazing calm overtook her. Unable to move, she merely stared at the figure, enchanted by a strange light emanating from its chest.
    “Don’t be afraid.” The figure took a tiny step forward. Everything about it was tiny, in fact. Beith had never seen anyone like her, not outside a carnival. She realized that the stranger was a woman, and that the woman was a midget.
    “Who are you?” Beith asked. “What are you doing here?”
    The woman smiled. Beith could see her impish face in the red glow of her necklace. “Fair questions, Beith,” she said. “But first, your