The Key (26 page)

“Th
is way.” Trell waved Darmik to his side.

They walked into a short hallway and down a flight of stone stairs, stopping
at a heavy oak door. When Trell gave it a push, the door they had entered through swung shut with a bang.

“There’s a lamp to your right.”

Darmik found and lit it, while Trell lit a few more. The room was enormous—perhaps fifty-feet-by-fifty-feet. One section of the room had statues and artifacts. Another area was filled with books. To the right were shelves filled with boxes of various sizes. The last area was completely covered with white sheets, concealing the identity of what lay underneath them. 

“Impressive,” Darmik whistled. “Are we underground?”

“Yes.”

The walls were
made of gray stones. Heavy oak timbers used for rafters supported the ground floor of the castle.

“The stone walls and the lack of windows help
to preserve the contents,” Trell said. “Less air.”

Darmik moved toward the statues. One appeared to be sparkling, made from some sort of black stone.

“Over here,” Trell said, demanding Darmik’s attention. Trell stood in front of several shelves, all taller than himself, filled with wooden boxes.

“What are these?” Darmik asked.

“Every year, an artist was commissioned to draw each member of the royal family.” He pulled down a box, covered with a layer of thick dust. “They’re organized by person, and then family.”

The box had a name written on the side. “So the portraits in
there are for Addette?”

“Yes. And the boxes on the same shelf as hers a
re the immediate family members—husband and children. She married into the royal family, so she ends here. But her husband,” Trell pointed to his box, “his parents are above him, his grandchildren are on the shelf below.”

Trell slid
a piece of paper out from the box, glanced at it, and replaced it before putting the box back onto the shelf. “The first ruler was King Nero.” He moved to the left and climbed up a ladder.  Pulling a box out, he handed it to Darmik. “This is the first one,” Trell said, short of breath.

Darmik set the box on
a bare table and quickly climbed the ladder to help Trell. When they reached the bottom, Trell opened the lid and slid out a picture.

It was a
portrait of a man in his twenties. “We’ll start with King Nero’s children and see if any of the infant pictures show the tattoo.” Darmik replaced the box for him and pulled down another one.

“I can’t tell anything from this
portrait,” Trell said, squinting.

“Let’s keep looking.” Darmik
checked another box, lower on the shelf. The infant was fully dressed, and he couldn’t tell if the baby had a tattoo or not. For the next thirty minutes, Trell and Darmik searched through boxes, looking at the first couple of pictures. They came up empty-handed.

“Let’s
go to the middle section,” Trell suggested.

After moving several feet to the right, Darmik chose a box at random. He pulled it down and
examined the pictures. The first one was a newborn baby swaddled in a blanket. Again, no tattoos. Looking at the second picture, the baby was older by a month perhaps, and there was a distinct change. The baby was lying on his belly on a plush, red blanket. The position allowed the artist to paint the baby’s back—and a small mole on his shoulder.

Darmik
got another box down from the shelf and removed the lid. He pulled out the first two pictures and saw the same thing—a newborn swaddled and then a young baby lying on her stomach. This baby appeared to have the same mole.

“Where’s the tattoo supposed to be?” Darmik asked.

“Shoulder, if I recall correctly,” Trell responded. “Check an older picture. Every five years or so, a portrait was drawn that showed the tattoo. The pictures were considered private since no one was allowed to know about or see the tattoos.”

Darmik
was so concerned with the baby pictures that he hadn’t examined the rest of the box. Scanning through the portraits, he found that every fifth one was in an envelope. He picked one out toward the center and opened it. The portrait was of a young girl with light brown hair held back by a delicate, jeweled crown. Her body was angled to show her right shoulder and her left hand pulled her dress down ever so slightly, revealing a tattoo.

It wasn’t what Darmik expected.
All civilians on the island were marked on his or her wrist, but those marks were plain with black ink, depicting symbols relating to a person’s region. King Barjon, Lennek, and Darmik’s tattoos were all large marks covering their necks and shoulders—meant to be seen and stand for power. This one was pale, almost a soft gray, with delicate lines of red interwoven into a complex symbol—one that appeared near impossible to replicate. It looked like a unique piece of jewelry. The entire tattoo was one inch wide and circular.

He
went back to the baby pictures. “Do you have a reading glass?”

The elderly man
hobbled to another section of the room, and then returned holding one.

Darmik
held the glass above the baby picture and peered through it. The mole transformed into the tattoo.

“Bloody hell.”

“It makes sense,” Trell said. “They would want their children marked as soon as possible to avoid someone switching them at birth.”

It did make sense. But it also caused the exact scenario Darmik had hoped to prove wrong.
The rumors could be true—a royal heir might have survived. If that was the case, the kingdom was going to end up in the middle of an enormous war.

Darmik
raked his hands through his hair, thinking back to all the evidence his father had. There was one head and one tattoo for everyone in the royal family except the baby, Princess Amer. Her age at death was six months old, and she didn’t have a tattoo. So...perhaps Princess Amer was smuggled from the castle during the takeover and another baby put in her place. That would explain the lack of a tattoo. The real princess would be about seventeen now—ready to take back the throne.

Pounding his fist on the table,
Darmik wondered what he was going to do. He couldn’t go around checking every young woman’s shoulder. Yet, he had to find the princess.

“Promise me one thing,” Trell said.

“Anything. I’m in your debt for providing me with this information.”

Trell patted Darmik’s back. “Knowledge is power. Use it wisely.” He squeezed Darmik’s shoulder and their eyes met. “Promise me no more killing. A ruler should protect his or her peop
le. Not murder them.”

Darmik nodded. “I promise no unnecessary killing.”

“Rule wisely—you’re not just a commander, but a prince. You can make a difference.”

****

“Commander!” Neco said, running up to him. “This is for you.” Neco handed him a letter with the king’s seal.

Darmik had stabled his horse and was on his way to see King Barjon
, unsure of what to tell his father about the heir surviving.

Darmik opened
the letter and read it.

“King Barjon has received pleas from the governors
in Dresden and Mullen, requesting help,” Darmik informed Neco. “There are increasing riots throughout the regions. We have orders from the king to ride out tonight.”

Neco smiled. “I’ll give word to the men.”

Finally, Darmik could get back to his soldiers and do his job. He had to stop the rebels, imprison the heir, and bring stability to the kingdom.

But leaving the castle meant leaving Rema.

He went straight to her room, wanting to see her before he left. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, Darmik squared his shoulders and entered.

She wasn’t in her sitting room.
However, Lennek never allowed her to leave her room without guards, and they were still posted at the door. His brother was too afraid that she would run away, and she probably would—Rema was more than capable.

“Rema?”
Darmik called out.

“In here,” she replied, her voice coming from her
bedchamber.

Darmik had
only been inside her bedchamber once before, and that was to simply ruffle the bed and make it look like she was sleeping in it.

Why didn’t she come into the sitting room as protocol called for? His le
gs remained rooted in place. If Darmik went in there, he didn’t know if he could maintain his composure and continue to conceal his feelings for her any longer. Her bedchamber was a private room where she changed and slept.

He wiped his hands again.
Bloody hell, he wasn’t this nervous before a battle.

“Darmik?”
she called.

“Coming.” He forced his legs to move to the entrance of her bedchamber.

Rema stood looking out of the window, wearing a simple, long, and flowing white dress. Not a court dress by any means; it was something a commoner would wear. In her right hand, she held a wilted flower—it must’ve been the one he gave her in the city. She set the flower down on the window ledge, next to something shiny. It looked like a gold necklace, the one she’d often wore tucked under her dress.

She
was watching something in the courtyard far below. Her hair glowed in the afternoon sun, hanging like a golden curtain around her face. Darmik imagined taking her in his arms and holding her tight. But she was Lennek’s, for now. Maybe, just maybe, if Darmik left and didn’t show any interest in Rema, Lennek would grow bored and release her from their marriage contract.

“You’re beautiful,” Darmik whispered.

Rema’s head turned. He hadn’t meant for her to hear. “Most people find my looks strange,” she replied.

“I’m not most people
. And you’re looks are unique, but definitely not strange.”

Rema laughed. “Come
see.” She pointed outside.

He wasn’t sure if he should enter her room with her actually in it. What if a servant saw? But Darmik was here to say good-bye. Still, Lennek was in the castle
, and the ramifications of being caught in her bedchamber were great. “I—”

“The horse is exquisite. Hurry up before it’s gone.” She waved him over.

If a horse was involved, it was too much to resist. Stepping over the threshold, Darmik entered her bedchamber. Their shoulders brushed as he came to stand next to her. In the courtyard below, a horse merchant held the reins of a light-brown horse with white spots. A little girl, about ten years old, stood with her father, jumping up and down, clapping her hands in delight.

“I still remember when Uncle Kar gave me my first horse,
Snow.” She sounded distant, homesick. “I was seven. It was a gift for my birthday.” She gazed out the window. “I hope Snow knows I didn’t abandon him.”

“I’m sorry,” Darmik said.

“So am I.” Determination filled her voice. “But I’ll find a way to fix this.”

Rema turned to face him
.

“I
need to know,” she said, her eyes meeting his, the glazed look from her memory gone, replaced with pleading, “if you can get a message to my aunt and uncle.”

He’d already checked into it. It was possible to
get a message to them, but Lennek had men watching their house, and there was a good chance Lennek would find out. “I need to think about it,” was all he said. He stared out the window, unable to hold her vibrant blue eyes any longer.

Rema nodded. “I jus
t want to know that they’re well.”

If that
was all she wanted, he could find out for her. That request was safer than delivering any sort of message. It was safer than unleashing Lennek’s violent temper.

“Rema,” Darmik said, “the other day when I left you alone with Lennek
...he didn’t do anything to you, did he?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer. The only reason Darmik played Lennek’s game was to protect Rema. If Lennek hurt her, all bets were off.

“No
.” She turned away from him.

H
e reached out and took her hand. She stopped and watched him, confusion and questions in her eyes.

“Rema
.” Darmik interlaced his fingers with hers, and a warm feeling spread throughout his body. “I have to leave tomorrow. I’ll be gone for a while.” With his composure barely under control, Darmik’s voice was deeper than usual. He wanted nothing more than to run away with her. Saying good-bye wasn’t supposed to be so difficult.

Her eyes filled with tears
.

Darmik
pulled her closer, their bodies only inches apart. “I won’t be back until the day of the wedding.”

“Do you expect me to sit still in this room?” Rema’s
bright blue eyes bore into his. “Do you think, for one second, that I’m going to marry
him
?”

S
he was getting mad. This wasn’t going how Darmik planned. He came to say farewell, not to upset her.