The Key (25 page)

Lennek pulled back and stared at her.
Swift as a snack’s bite, his mouth was at her ear. “Fine. Play your little game,” he whispered. “But our wedding is only days away and once we’re married, you’re mine. Whether you like it or not. Understand?”

Rema had the urge to scream at him and break down crying
, all at the same time. Containing her emotions, she nodded and was thankful when he got up and left.

She realized there was no way she could protect her aunt and uncle.
She needed to get a message to them so they could disappear. It was also time to ask Darmik if he could aid her in any way. In other words, it was time to find out just how good of a
friend
he really was.

Darmik

Before Rema’s door closed, Darmik already regretted leaving her alone with Lennek. He wanted to turn around, storm back in there, and take her away from the castle. But if Darmik challenged Lennek in any way, Lennek would destroy everyone Rema loved, and she would end up blaming and hating Darmik for it.

Darmik
forced himself to walk away from her room, but he couldn’t force himself to forget what had happened almost four years ago. He was sixteen at the time and had just started his training as an officer in the army. His squad was stationed in the town of Noir, located in Kaven. While patrolling one day, he met the governor’s daughter, Jarcy. During the weeks that followed, they fell in love. Darmik wrote to his father and asked permission to marry her. King Barjon agreed, and asked Darmik to escort the governor and Jarcy to the castle for the marriage negotiations.

When they
had arrived at King’s City, Jarcy was officially introduced at court. Everyone took a liking to her—especially Lennek. So much so that he tried to lure Jarcy away from Darmik, using his position as the future king to sway her. However, Jarcy wasn’t interested in the Crown Prince, and she told him she was in love with Darmik. Lennek was furious—he swore to make Darmik pay. The king suddenly ended the marriage negotiations and sent the governor and his daughter home.

The governor of Kaven was furious
. He sent King Barjon a letter stating that his daughter was devastated and he, himself, was rather disappointed with the king’s handling of the negotiations. The king offered a marriage contract between Lennek and Jarcy, but the governor refused. A week later, the King’s Army marched into Kaven and arrested the governor for treason. Jarcy, along with her mother and three sisters, were held for ransom. The governor had no choice but to accept the marriage contract of an elderly man who had the means and was willing to pay a significant amount of money for the right to marry Jarcy. The man paid the ransom, freeing Jarcy and her family. They were married the next day.

However, not even Jarcy’s newfound wealth was enough to stop the governor’s execution. After her father was
hanged, Lennek expressed his pleasure over Jarcy’s marriage to the uncle of one of Lennek’s dear friends. In fact, Lennek had overseen the negotiations and personally signed the contract.

Jarcy
killed herself shortly thereafter by ingesting a poisonous plant. She left Darmik a letter stating that she wished she had never met him, claiming he was responsible for her father’s death, and blaming him for destroying her life.

Storming
down the hallway, Darmik knew the best thing to do was to pretend he didn’t care about Rema. He wouldn’t allow what happened to Jarcy to happen to her.

Darmik
needed to focus on something else. There was still a section of the archives in the library that he needed to investigate. So far, he hadn’t found any information regarding the tattoos, but there had to be evidence or records on the matter.

After c
ombing through the rest of the books, Darmik couldn’t believe there wasn’t a single mention of the tattoos. Sliding the last book back into its place, Darmik sat on the ground. There had to be something somewhere. He needed to think. Who would know about the way of things before his father’s time?

The only person that came to mind was an old
er gentleman by the name of Trell. Trell had been King Barjon’s personal advisor during the takeover. Once, over dinner and several pints of ale, Trell pulled Darmik aside and revealed that he had been the chief battle strategist for Emperion. Since Trell was close to retirement, Emperor Hamen assigned him to accompany Barjon to Greenwood Island in order to ensure a swift and efficient success. Trell claimed he had orchestrated the entire invasion. However, when King Barjon told the story of the takeover, he rarely mentioned Trell, and instead, took all the credit for himself.

After Barjon was crowned king of Greenwood Island, Trell retired, intending to live a quiet life. He never married
, nor had children. Occasionally he was consulted on military matters, but seldom left his fortress, and the king no longer invited him to the castle.

If anyone knew
the truth about the tattoos, it was the old man.

Trell lived on the outskirts of a small town named Werden, in Shano. It was only a half
-day’s ride north from the castle. Darmik could make it there and back without anyone knowing he had even left King’s City.

Without revealing
his destination, Darmik traveled to Werden with only a handful of his personal guard. When he arrived on Trell’s land, no one was about. Darmik had always enjoyed this castle as a child. It looked like rocks were pulled from the ground and stacked on top of one another, forming the two-story structure.

After p
ounding on the wooden door, a steward answered. Darmik’s men were escorted to the kitchen for food and drink, while Darmik was taken to the sitting room and announced.

Trell
was sitting in a black, high-backed chair near the fireplace. He was covered with a red blanket, his long white hair and leathery skin standing in stark contrast to the dark colors of the room.

“Prince Darmik, my how you’ve grown.
” His voice was gravely from old age. “Forgive me for not kneeling. It’s getting hard to move around.”

“
No need for proper protocol,” Darmik replied. It had been quite some time since he’d last seen Trell. He quickly scanned the room, making sure no one else was present. The curtains were shut, the only light coming from the fireplace. The dark wood walls were covered with tapestries depicting constellations. Darmik moved closer to Trell.

A book
lay across the old man’s lap. Noticing Darmik trying to read the page, Trell closed the thick leather cover and put it on the side table. Darmik glanced at the title,
Maintaining a Large Military Force and Achieving Economic Prosperity
.

“What brings you
out my way?” There was a spark behind the elderly man’s eyes.

“Something only you may
know,” Darmik answered.

“No one asks for my advice
these days.” Trell raised his eyebrows, intrigued. “How can I be of service?”

Darmik
sat on the settee next to Trell’s chair, trying to decide how much information to reveal. There was no point in hiding anything—most likely Trell had heard the rumors. As Darmik proceeded to tell him what he knew about the tattoos and the possible heir, the old man leaned back, his eyes blank and distant.

When Darmik finished, Trell nodded.
“Hmm...that would be an interesting turn of events. And quite unexpected. I don’t know the answer, but I’m sure we can figure it out.” Trell’s cheek twitched.

“How?” Darmik
asked. He needed concrete evidence one way or the other. Speculation or probability wasn’t good enough.

The old man stared at him. “So you want to know if King Barjon was correctly informed—that the royal family did not tattoo their children until their first birthday?”

“Yes. I need to know if these rebels have a cause or not.” Darmik put his elbows on his thighs and leaned forward.

“And if they do?” Trell asked. “Do you plan to follow in your father’s footsteps and slaughter the
rightful heir?”

Darmik didn’t like to hear it put that way. “I plan to protect my king.”

“I’ve seen a lot of bloodshed in my days,” Trell admitted. “Now I wonder if things could’ve been done differently.”

“I don’t want a war,” Darmik said, “if that’s what you’re implying. I’m trying to save lives.”

“Good, I’m glad to hear it. But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Darmik rubbed his face.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. Darmik wasn’t sure if he could kill a young woman for no other reason than her bloodline. He was sick of killing people just because his father had ordered him to do so.

“The answer lies within,” Trell said, tapping his
own chest. “Do you know that I was instrumental in the takeover?” Darmik nodded. Trell shifted in his seat, and then continued, “Most battles are won by those who understand their enemy. I’ve always found one only has to look to the arts.”

“I’m not following you.” Darmik knew nothing about art.

“Sculptures, books, paintings. They reveal the true identity of a culture. If you understand that, then you know your enemy. You can find their weakness and attack.”

“What does this have to do with the tattoo
issue?”

Trell shook his head and sighed. “Patience, boy.” He removed the blanket.
“I’m going to share something with you, but no one is to know. Understand?”

Darmik promised he wouldn’t speak a word of it to anyone.

“For my services in successfully taking over Greenwood Island, I turned down the governorship your father offered and instead, received all the books, paintings, and artwork from the previous royal family, thus saving everything from being burned. Your father wanted it all destroyed, but I knew their value. My payment
,
if you will, for assisting your father was the acquisition of all artifacts.”

Darmik’s eyes widened. “You have it all?”

Trell chuckled. “Everything.” He pointed out of the room. “It’s all locked in my vault.”

“Can I see it?”
Darmik inched to the edge of the cushion.

Trell reached out and took hold of Darmik’s arm. “Remember, no one is to know. King Barjon swore me to secrecy.”

“Of course.”

“But I will only show you the portraits. Nothing else.” He released Darmik’s arm.

“I’m not following you. How will the portraits be beneficial?”

“There are pictures of every member of the previous royal family.”

It was Darmik’s understanding that the tattoos weren’t visible like the ones today. King Barjon, Lennek, and Darmik’s tattoos were more of a status symbol than anything. If the previous family used these tattoos to identify their bloodline, then Darmik assumed they’d be hidden so no one knew what they looked like.

The old man
gazed into the fire. “Portraits were also drawn for private use. And the tattoos had to be documented some way.”

Darmik suspected Trell
knew more than he was revealing. Perhaps King Barjon had sworn Trell to secrecy on more than one matter.

“
Emperion uses tattoos in their army to identify a person’s rank.” Darmik stood, pacing the room. “Here, we use them to identify where a person lives. My family uses the tattoos to show status.” Darmik kept walking, lost in thought. “I don’t recall the Emperor being marked. How did my father discover the use of the royal tattoos here on Greenwood Island?”

Trell’s
finger tapped the arm of the chair. “Do you know the history of Greenwood Island? How it was founded?” Darmik nodded. “I’m positive Emperion has the same marking system for their royalty. Just no one knows about it—as it should be. That’s probably how your father found out in the first place—Emperor Hamen most likely told him.”

If the tradition came from
Emperion, and Emperor Hamen had told his father about the tattoos, and King Barjon insisted that babies weren’t marked until age one, then Darmik was leaning toward believing his father.

Trell
grinned. “Come. Let us see what we can discover.” Darmik took Trell’s elbow, helping the old man stand.

“Thank you,” Trell said, patting Darmik’s arm. “Follow me.”

Trell led the way out of the sitting room and through several stone corridors. His feet shuffled over the wood plank flooring. Darmik heard his soldiers’ laughing from the other side of the castle.

“Here we are,” Tre
ll said, stopping at a door and pulling out a key. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. It was solid black inside. “There’s a window straight ahead.”

Darmik entered, unable to see a
nything. He walked forward, sliding his feet and waving his hands, hoping not to run into any objects. His fingers felt velvet fabric, so he grabbed it, and slid the curtain aside. Light poured in.

He squinted and glanced around. They were in a small library. Trell entered and stood
near one of the walls. His hands felt along a book, jiggling it. A loud groan erupted and the bookshelf swung open, like a door.