City in Ruins (17 page)

The blood rained down.
Drip, drip, drip
, my mind
sang, as if my body needed the chant to remember it was still
alive.
Drip, drip, drip.

Pain. Burning, unbearable
pain.
Drip, drip, drip.

I never screamed. My mind was separated from it
all, as if it had detached itself from the situation, as if it
could no longer deal with the horror.

“Stop!” Blayne shouted, his face twisted in
anger. “Get rid of the blood and throw her back in the cell. We’ll
continue later.” He stepped toward me, careful to avoid the crimson
drops at his feet. Red roses. “You will break,” he
hissed.

He stomped away, Gabriella’s golden snake
hissing at me from her silken dress as she turned to
follow.

The guards threw bucket after bucket of water
against my back, leaving my ripped tunic splayed open when they
shoved my dripping, torn body back into the cell.

I sagged against the bars.

Power danced along my spine, and I knew even
though the gods hadn’t listened when I’d been hanging from the
shackles that they came to me now, my back healing as they touched
me. Invisible fingers smoothed ripped flesh.

“Will you keep doing this to me?” I asked the
gods. “Heal me after every torture? Am I to prove something to
you?”

There was no reply.

In the cell next to me, someone moved, the
sound startling. Five days’ worth of food trays and cold buckets of
water, and there’d been no sound of life in the cubicle next to
mine.

A dragging foot was followed by a gravelly
voice. “You are a strong one,” a man said. “It’s a crime what this
country has become, what the people have turned into.”

My face pressed against the bars, my eyes wide
circles in my head. “Who are you?” I rasped.

A wrinkled hand, the fingers splayed, reached
into the corridor. A ragged, ripped sleeve hung over a bony
wrist.

“I’m a king.” The man laughed, the sound
hysterical.

I knew the sound of madness, and even though
many would have been fooled, I wasn’t. This man wasn’t
mad.

“You’re a king?” I asked.

Silence.

The man froze, his fingers curling into a fist.
“You’re the first person who’s asked me that as if I was telling
the truth rather than losing my mind.”

I pulled myself further up against the bars,
the healing skin on my back stretching painfully. “I’ve seen
madness. I’ve heard it. You don’t have the sound of
madness.”

The man’s hand remained outside his cell, and
even though I was hesitant to do so, I reached for his fist, my
body pressed as close as it could get to the bars to touch him. My
palm folded over his hand.

There was a sharp intake of breath. His hand
opened, allowing my fingers to curl around his. His skin was cool,
papery thin, and hard.

“Who are you?” I asked again.

The man sighed. “I am King Brahn Dragern of New
Hope.”

My answering gasp was loud, my mind spinning
with the revelation.

“Your Majesty,” I breathed, “How long have you
been here?”

He didn’t pull his hand away, and I didn’t let
go.

“Four years from what I can tell,” he
answered.

My breath whooshed out of me. Had I
been standing, I would have staggered.
Four
years!
For four years the king of New Hope
had been in this dungeon. For four years, he’d been locked away.
During those four years, my king, Raemon, had allied himself with a
country harboring a secret, a secret so large even Cadeyrn wasn’t
aware of it.

The Prince of Sadeemia was on a diplomatic
mission to see a grandfather who no longer sat on the throne. Who
hadn’t sat on it for four years!

When Cadeyrn arrived in New Hope, he wasn’t
going to be met by King Brahn. He was going to be met by King
Blayne and Queen Gabriella. He was going to be met by the queen
who’d attempted to murder his wife and child. He was going to be
met by the king who’d allowed it simply because he wanted me. I
hadn’t quite figured out what made me so important, why Blayne
cared so much about a scribe. Unless his goal was ruling
Medeisia.

Chapter 23

For some reason, I couldn’t make myself let go
of the king, as if releasing him would make him
disappear.

“We’ve got to get you out of here, Your
Majesty!” I insisted.

The old man’s hand tightened on mine. “There is
nothing left for me here. My people think I’m dead, and my children
have turned against me.”

My heart broke. “Your children?”

Terror consumed me, drowning me in
fear. “
Please,”
I
thought, “
Please don’t let it be
so.”

“Yes,” the man answered wearily.

Inhaling sharply, I asked, “How many
children do you have, Your Majesty?” I was pretty sure I knew the
answer, but I
had
to be sure.

His hand began to slacken, and I yanked on it,
refusing to let go.

“How many?” I repeated.

“Two,” he answered. “Blayne and
Isabella.”

I cried out, my entire being consumed with a
pain more powerful than anything physical. Blayne and Isabella
Dragern.

Everything began to fall into place. Sudden
tears left tracks down my cheeks. There’d been no screams when I’d
been hanging from the shackles, the whip scouring my back, but I
wanted to scream now.

Isabella Dragern, the Queen of
Sadeemia.

“She would do that to her own family,” I
whispered.

King Brahn tugged on my hand. “What is it,
child?” he asked.

My forehead pressed against the bars. “Tell me,
Sire,” I inquired, “when was the last time you saw your
daughter?”

By the way the king’s fingers twitched, I knew
I’d gotten his attention, knew that he’d grown alert, my questions
pulling him up against the bars. “Four years ago,” he answered.
“When she helped lock me away.”

The sob that followed was unexpected. My heart
wasn’t breaking for me. It was breaking for all of us.

“Who are you, child?” the king
asked.

I’m not sure what made me say it, but the words
came anyway. “I am Drastona Consta-Mayria. I’ve been everything,
and I’ve not been anything. I’ve been too much, and I’ve not been
enough. I am in love with your grandson, but I am not his wife. I
may also be the mother of his child.”

King Brahn’s hand became a vise around mine.
“My grandson?”

I swallowed back tears. “Cadeyrn,” I whispered,
my voice breaking on his name. “He’s a good man, Your Majesty. I
fear both of your grandsons have been played a fool. Countries have
fallen and so many people have died in the name of your children’s
war. There’s so much I’m not sure about right now, and so many
things I suspect is true. If they are, it’s going to destroy a lot
of people.” I tugged on him. “We’ve got to get you out of here,
Sire. We’ve got to get you out and show your people you aren’t
dead. We’ve got to put you back on your throne.”

“It’s impossible,” he rasped.

Anger made my voice rise. “We have to try! Do
you realize all of the turmoil your country has caused? Your son
helped influence my mad king, and your daughter has been doing very
heinous things in the name of your monotheistic god. It’s brought
one kingdom down, has almost destroyed a second, and may end up
starting war with a third.”

Memories assaulted me. The anger Queen Isabella
had directed at me in Sadeemia when I’d suggested an alliance with
Henderonia and Greemallia, when I’d suggested that Cadeyrn accept
the Henderonian gods. I should have seen it then, should have
realized how violent her anger had really been. So many things I
hadn’t understood before … Gabriella’s assassination attempt on me,
for one. She’d been in league with Queen Isabella all along. I’d
foiled their plans.

“But I wrote a missive ordering the
assassination of Gabriella to Blayne Dragern,”
I thought.

“And yet,”
a
voice intruded. Escreet, the Goddess of Scribes. My goddess.
“And yet, Blayne was in route to meet Gabriella
when you found Cadeyrn in the Ardus. With a missive from Raemon,
Gabriella could have faked her death while Blayne used the missive
to convince Freemont to take out Medeisia, to garner control of the
country. Once King Freemont was king of both nations, then Isabella
and Blayne could rise up, could use their combined forces to
overthrow the Sadeemian monarchy. Combining Medeisia, New Hope, and
Sadeemia would have created the biggest monotheistic nation in the
Nine Kingdoms along with a strong alliance with Greemallia. I told
you, little one. This has always been a war of words. You are my
child, scribe. Save them!”

My heart pounded, my hands growing clammy
against the king’s, but I didn’t let go.

“You got me here, didn’t
you?”
I asked Escreet.
“The gods have known all along, haven’t they?”

“No,”
she
answered.
“You got yourself here, Stone.
Gods are powerful, but even we don’t see everything that’s coming.
Humans have free will. It will always make them unpredictable. You,
my dear, are a true scribe of Medeisia. Knowledge is more powerful
than weapons. Knowledge is even more powerful than the gods. Call
on us now, Stone. We won’t fail to answer you any further. Our
failure before brought you here, holding the hand of a
king.”

Tears soaked my cheeks.

“Your Majesty,” I called, tugging on his hand.
“I have an idea.”

Chapter 24

For two days, I spoke with the king, our hands
meeting between the cells when the torture chamber wasn’t in use.
For two days, the guards didn’t come for me. For two days, I made
plans with the gods. Deep down, I knew Lochlen and Cadeyrn were
coming for me, and the terror in me grew. This war, the one I was
fighting now, had to be done without their help. It had to be done
with the aid of gods and kings. With words rather than swords. For
two days, King Brahn and I made plans, and with each day my respect
for the king grew.

Like his children, King Brahn had been a hard,
unforgiving king who’d used sadistic methods to control his people.
He’d refused to accept the idea that religious freedom should be an
option in New Hope. Unlike his children, however, he’d later
allowed himself to be convinced otherwise. His change of heart had
resulted in the marriage alliance between Sadeemia and New
Hope.

Unfortunately, the damage to Brahn’s children
had already been done. They’d been raised under their father’s
toxic rule, and had not been thrilled with his new, unbiased
changes.

“It’s my fault that I’m here,” Brahn confessed,
his fingers pressing against mine.

I held his hand because he’d gone four years
without kind, human contact. I held his hand because a man who’d
lived his life being so angry needed to learn what it meant to
love. I held his hand because it gave me the strength to keep
moving forward.

I respected Brahn’s resilience, the fact that
he’d used his guilt to keep him alive for four years despite the
miserable circumstances. He’d spent four years enduring awful
conditions and consistent torture as a way to punish
himself.

“We all make mistakes,” I told him. “True
leadership isn’t about making the right choices, Your Majesty. It’s
about what you do to fix the wrong ones.”

The king squeezed my hand. “I see what my
grandson sees in you, Drastona Consta-Mayria.”

My cheeks flushed. “Just Stone, Your
Majesty.”

He squeezed my hand again. “Then by all means,
child, just call me Brahn.”

For two days, we developed a united front, an
odd friendship forming between us. It was a friendship I knew I’d
be proud of.

For two days we prepared.

Then came the day of escape.

It was past midnight on the third day when I
thrust my hand from my cell, signaling to the king. The guards on
night shift were less alert than the ones in the day, spending most
of their time gambling while the prisoners slept. They’d be easier
to foil.

King Brahn’s hand met mine in the darkness, and
then fell away.

Closing my eyes, I called on Silveet, on the
creatures I knew roamed the palace and the prison. Tiny feet
scurried over stone. Even though I’d prepared King Brahn for this,
I still heard him gasp.

“By the gods,” he breathed.

I fought back a laugh. “Am I converting you,
Brahn?”

Mice, roaches, and spiders marched in dizzying
arrays before our cells, the mice’s beady eyes and the insects’
grotesque appearances making me uneasy, even if I had been the one
to call on them.

“My queen!”
they chanted.