Marlak gives me a curt nod. “I can find it. How did you even find that box with our stepfather’s notes?”
“Deduction. I felt that there should be something in that locked compartment, and kept trying. And then the previous king’s journal mentioned the special notes.”
He raises an eyebrow, his tone curious. “Do you still have the journal?”
“It disappeared. To be fair, I didn’t hide it properly. I believe Zorwal found and seized it.”
Marlak pauses, his expression thoughtful. “So he would know about these notes and their location.”
“The notes, maybe. The location, no. Remember I hid them. Also, I never discussed any of this with him. Not that he’d tell me his findings.”
Marlak touches his earring as if trying to pull a thought. “But he would know that a powerful fire wielder could defeat the Witch King.”
“Not necessarily. Maybe Zorwal dismissed King Kriusiul’s findings as nonsense. Maybe, like me, he never thought the Witch King could return. And then…” A strange chill runs down my spine, wondering how much Zorwal conspired, and if he did. “You think he knew about it?”
Marlak’s eyes are distant, as if making a complex calculation. “Maybe. And that would explain why he did everything he could to see me dead, or at least far from the throne. If there’s any kind of connection between him and the Witch King…”
His eyes settle on me as I mull over the possibility, but then I consider something.
“He healed you when I asked, Marlak, when he could have easily let you die.”
“He healed me, earned your trust, earned a great deal of power, and guaranteed I was cast out, didn’t he?”
I pause, mulling over the harrowing thought that I was used as a pawn. “He said it was a precaution. That you’d have me killed or imprisoned if you were to become king.” I take a deepbreath, even if it will never untangle the knots in my chest. “But maybe there was more to that. Some grander conspiracy, and I was caught in it. He’s… convincing.”
I was also alone, with no support, nobody to turn to. Zorwal was the only person who offered to help me. Poisoned help, maybe, but a man dying of thirst won’t check the water he’s given. But I don’t want to say any of that. Pity is the last thing I need.
Marlak rolls his eyes. “Sounds like you’ve spent some awful years pretending to be king.”
“They were not awful. And you survived.”
“I did, right? I suppose it makes up for everything.” He has that odd tone that inverts the meaning of his words.
“Would you rather be dead?” I snap.
He stares at me for a moment as if there was anything to consider in the question, then says, “I wish our family was alive. That’s what I wish.”
“And I wish I had magic. And that spring lasted all year. And that Tarlia was here with me. What does it change?”
He takes a long, ominous, deep breath. “Yeah, about Tarlia…”
“What?”
“She’s Astra’s sister, and I want to free her. I definitely do.”
“But not now.” My voice is mocking and full of bite. “I’m not deaf. I heard you the first time.”
He nods. “I know. And I know what desperation is like, but we’ll deal with the Witch King tomorrow, so?—”
“Just say what you’re trying to say.” My anxious heart is about to kill me.
Marlak looks down. “It’s just… while we go to the castle. To make sure you don’t escape.”
“What?”
He lifts something that was on his lap. A chain. I’m not sure I follow it, until he reaches for my arm, then says, “It won’t be long.”
I recoil. “You’re going to chain your own brother?”
