But he isn’t speaking. He’s sitting on that throne, his chin resting on his fist, watching the incoming crowd with murder in his eyes. I’ve got to admit, he’s doing a fairly good job of being intimidating, even with his arm in a sling.
Troi cradles that arm to his chest as he rises to stand before the crowd.
Instant silence.
It’s a bit unnerving.
“Last night,” Troi begins, his voice booming through the room. “The most grievous form of treason was committed. Assassins took the life of your queen and attempted to take mine as well.” He gestures to his injured arm and murmurs rise from the crowd. Thebells last night signaled the queen’s death, but given the level of surprise Troi’s announcement has caused, I’m guessing the gossipmongers hadn’t had much of an opportunity to spread the whole story yet. I glance out the arched windows directly behind the new king. The sun is only just beginning to peek over the horizon. In a few minutes it will rise behind Troi, setting him to glow like a god. These royals are nothing if not dramatic.
Troi continues his speech, adding a touch of inflection to his voice now to rile up the crowd. “They attacked us under the cover of darkness, while we slept, like cowards. I managed to fight mine off, but my mother, the queen…” He pauses, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut, as though he’s trying to hide his tears. It’s subtle but effective. I’ll admit he’s a much better actor than I thought he’d be. Then again, considering Troi has zero empathy, or really any emotions beyond rage, for that matter, he’s had a good bit of practice. Troi clears his throat and pretends to gather himself before speaking. “Our queen was not so fortunate. But the most difficult thing for me to reconcile is that this heinous act was committed by one of our own, in what we can only assume was an attempted coup: Principal Magi Leodin Valstrad of Dom Duje.”
The room erupts into a frantic chatter, but Troi doesn’t let that stop him. Raising his voice, he says, “The murder weapon was found in his possession, still covered in my mother’s blood.” The crowd grows louder with each passing second, the placid acceptance of a few moments ago morphing into a veritable tinderbox. “His accomplices are yet to be determined,” the king continues, the fervor in his voice building in a furious crescendo. “But I assure you, my friends and compatriots, we will not rest until every single one of them is found and brought to justice.” On that last word,he thrusts his fist into the air, while the sun rises behind him like a golden aura.
And the tinderbox ignites.
15
Idon’t know why I expected some dank, dark dungeon. I guess I’ve read too many books. This is a simple room, albeit a tiny one, with no windows and only a simple cot in one corner and a waste bucket in the other. I have to say, you don’t really appreciate modern plumbing until you’re forced to pee in a bucket. It’s fairly obvious this room hasn’t been used in a long time. The air is stale and damp with the cloying scent of mildew. It’s like being smothered with a blanket, breathable but requiring extra effort to draw in air. I keep replaying my dream in my head, trying to figure out whose eyes I was looking through. The problem is, as with any dream, the details are quickly fading.
I thought, at first, it might be Aemon. I wouldn’t doubt for a minute that he’s capable of murder, but he got to my room too quickly. The killer surely would have been covered in blood, which means he’d need to wash and change before going anywhere, so unless Aemon has the ability to teleport,there’s no way he could have done it. No. This was an assassin, a professional, and I’d bet my life they’d been hired by Prince Troi. He’s the one who has the most to gain, after all. He kills his mother and frames Leodin, effectively becoming king and taking down Dom Duje—arguably the most powerful of all the great houses—in one fell swoop. I flop back on the bed, my arms spread like a starfish.
I wonder if Leodin’s already dead. I doubt it. They’re probably going to want to make a spectacle of it when they kill him. I know I should feel sorry for him, and the fact that I don’t is eating me up with guilt. No, he wasn’t the best stepfather, but he certainly didn’t deserve this. I rub the sting from my tired eyes. It must be morning by now. Gods, how long will I be forced to wait here before somebody comes to speak with me? At least, I hope somebody comes to speak with me. I don’t even want to contemplate the idea that they may have just thrown me in here to rot. It wouldn’t take long for someone to lose their mind in a place like this.
As if conjured from my thoughts, the light tapping of footsteps sounds just outside my door. A key slides into the lock, and I sit up, my heart pumping so hard I feel it in my throat.
A soft click and the door swings open. I was expecting Aemon, but these are guards, and standing behind them is a weaselly sort of male, with pinched features and a nose that is entirely too large for his face. He’s thin, almost frail in appearance, but there’s something about his cold-dead stare that chills my bones. The guards step into the room, their big bodies making the already small space even more cramped.
“Stand up and put out your hands,” the mustached guard on my right says.
I slowly rise, my belly churning with nerves. Then I swallow back the acid creeping up my throat, and ask, “Where are you taking me?”
“No talking. Now, put out your hands.”
I do as I’m told, even though every bone in my body is screaming at me to run. The guard grabs my arm and jerks it, causing me to stumble a few steps forward, then he closes the cold metal around my wrists. The click of those shackles locking sends a shiver down my spine. I’m shoved toward the door where the weaselly male is waiting, wearing a smile that is as ill-fitting to his face as a beard is to a duck.
“Hello, Katya,” he says, his voice oily smooth. “I am Fredrick. The king has asked me to speak with you.”
Not Aemon, the king. Something tells me that is not a good sign. “Why can’t we speak in here?” I ask. Not that I really want to stay in this tiny room, but it feels a lot safer than going anywhere with these people.
“Oh, I think you’ll find where I’m taking you to be much more accommodating. Shall we?” He steps away from the door, and the guards shove me out into the hallway.
Casmir, protect me, this is bad. This is so very, very bad.
Fear has me in a stranglehold. My skin is too tight, my head too light, as though it will float free of my neck at any moment. I can’t breathe, and I’m shaking, shaking, shaking so hard my muscles are beginning to ache. With every step, my mind screams a warning for me to run, to fight, to do anything except go where they tell me,yet my legs continue to move of their own accord, as I’m led through another hallway and down a set of stairs. By the time we reach ametal door, I’ve got a working theory on where they’re taking me, and it isn’t anywhere good.
Fredrick fits a key into the heavy bolt, and the door opens with a shrill grind of metal on metal that reverberates in my chest. He holds out an arm. “Ladies first.”
I’m much too frightened to be annoyed. I step over the threshold and am immediately struck by the stench, like a slaughterhouse, the air brimming with death and fear. This is the dungeon of my storybooks. Are they locking me in here now? Why keep me in that private room only to move me here a few hours later?
I’m led down a narrow hallway with barred cells lining both sides. Bodies barely covered with threadbare rags huddle in the corners of their cells, as if trying to blend with the rough stone walls. I look for Leodin as I pass, but if he’s here, I don’t see him. Distracted, I don’t notice the figure in the cell on my right until they crash into the bars beside me, making me jump.
“Little girl, little girl,” says a male of indeterminable age. He reaches one skeletal arm through the bars, his gnarled fingers coming just short of my shoulder. He’s beyond dirty and his brown hair has become one large, painful-looking mat on the back of his head, but it’s the crazed gleam in his eyes that is most terrifying. “You can stay with me, little girl,” he says, grinning.
He’s missing all of his teeth.
My belly rolls and I double over, losing the contents of my stomach all over the dirty stone floor.
“Keep going,” somebody says, and I’m shoved forward again. I catch myself just short of falling into my own vomit. My boots are not so fortunate.
