Chapter Forty-Two
I used to think time was endless. But now it presses down on me, closer and closer. The King has Ward, and will save him only if I write what he wants.
I have until tomorrow morning.
Kent stands near the door, filling up the space between
it and the table guards dragged in here earlier. A table, a chair, a stack of
paper. A pen.
And not enough time.
“I’m sorry, Kent.”
He snaps his eyes to mine.
“You don’t want to be here, doing this. Serving the King. Serving the Chancellor.” I study his face, searching for anything that indicates he knows. Nothing. I swallow. “You fear for your family, don’t you? Like so many others here.”
Kent says nothing, but holds my gaze.
“I had two brothers and a sister. They’re all gone now.” I take a piece of paper from the stack. Kent stares at it then moves to stand behind me. I look over my shoulder at him. “The King will keep living and continue to force all the men of Dracon to do his dirty work. I understand why people fear for their sons.” I think of Lucas and Thomas. Of Ward. And Reid and Mason. “I would.”
Kent doesn’t respond.
I stare up at him. “I could write your son free.”
His eyes glimmer and he looks away.
Ah. “You have a daughter?”
Such sadness leaps to Kent’s eyes I think he might cry. But no.
I pick up the pen. “What’s her name?”
He stays silent. Too scared for her life to speak.
“It doesn’t matter.” I press the pen to the page. The King will never have Kent’s daughter. I pause and glimpse up at Kent. “You understand it can’t be destroyed?”
He studies the paper, and his breaths are labored. One glance to the hallway, then back to me, and he nods.
I sign my name, then tear off the strip of paper and hand it to him. He tucks it into his boot then resumes his stance behind me.
I tap the pen on the paper. Can I trust Kent? It’s one thing to let me write his own daughter’s safety. Quite another to trust him not to kill me or raise alarm if I try and write Ward free.
I can’t write the Chancellor dead. All hell would break loose, and Kent’s been my only guard. They’d know it was him. And I won’t kill anyone else who doesn’t deserve it. I sigh. There has to be a way.
“My daughter.” Kent’s voice cuts through my thoughts. He shifts his weight behind me. “Her name is Ashtin.”
Sweetness bursts through my veins, and my heart swells. Hope - that’s what the sweetness is.
"Her mother and I…” Kent pauses. “We couldn’t have
children, but one day out of nowhere, Ashtin was given to us.” He draws in a
ragged breath. “I couldn’t imagine life without her. Thank you.”
I turn around in my chair. “In late August? On a rainy
day, and she cried because she was hungry?”
Kent’s eyes widen.
“And she was wrapped in a green blanket and left outside
your back door?”
His eyes narrow. “How do you know that?”
“Because I put her there.” I swallow and tears stream
down my face. “Your little girl is my baby sister.”
I pause and stare up at him. He checks the hallway, and he nods. Ward will escape the dungeon alive tonight. Gretta Marks.
I rip it off, and Kent reaches for it before I even turn. Ward could get out a million different ways. I have to trust it will be through something other than Kent being discovered.
I have a stack of paper, but I can’t keep doing this. Kent will be discovered. The King wants me to write a prophecy to force something to happen. If only I could write that the Chancellor is really the King.
All these lies the King has us believing. He’s been masquerading as the Chancellor. He has a child.
A thought pricks my brain. A child. But no, he said his son died in the plague.
Good heavens, Gretta, as if you can trust anything the King says.
The King had a son. Rumors spread that the King got ran off from Faraday for some offense to the princess years ago. The King’s words echo in my thoughts. The prince needs to realize what he’s heir to.
Sweet Saints in heaven.
The prince of Faraday is the King’s son.
He has to be. The King doesn’t want an alliance with Faraday. He wants his son to what? Take over Dracon? Become King of Faraday and then King Dracon will win over his son and essentially rule both Kingdoms?
I grab the pen and hold it over the page. Words have power. The King wants words? I’ll give him words.
I scrawl words on the page. None with my name. And none are sentences of seven. But this is the most powerful thing I have ever written.
These aren’t prophecies. Instead I write stories. The truth about the Lyran plague. The guard who killed Papa. The Blackfeet who killed Mama and the boys. I leave Ashtin’s name out. I don’t mention Ward or Nolan or any of the others. But word after word I write the truth. Kent looks over my shoulder, his hand on his weapon. But he knows these words aren’t prophecies.
At least if I die, the truth of the King’s crimes won’t die with me.
Words have power.
I rip a new piece of paper. “Get the Chancellor.”
Kent hesitates, then walks to the door and calls for a guard. I wait, my pen at the ready. The King walks in and stares at the stack of papers then at Kent.
“They’re not prophecies, Sir,” Kent says.
The King rifles through the papers, then he glares at me.
My lip quivers. All my life, and it comes down to one sentence. I scrawl words on a page. Faraday’s prince will realize who he is.
I look up at the King. “Will this do?”
He stares at the words. Weighing them. Measuring them against his plan. His eyes meet mine again. “Sign it.”
I sign my name and the King snatches the paper and smiles. Then he gathers all the other papers and walks out.
The iron door clangs shut behind him. My grip on the pen is so tight my fingers are white. I count to five and look to Kent. “I need that paper back.”
He pulls the paper for Ashtin from his boot and hands it to me. I turn it over and the blank space of paper stares back at me.
Words have power.
All words do.
Death. Life.
Hate. Love.
I need to trust the power of words. I grip the pen tighter. Last time, I tell myself. Then I put the pen to paper. The King’s evil will be written down. Gretta Marks.
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