The Key (29 page)

The answer lies within.

Darmik stumbled and fell against Neco’s door.

Rema

When
Rema woke up, she had no idea if it was day or night. A man stood on the other side of her cell bars holding a torch. Instead of palace livery, he wore the King’s Army uniform. A sword was strapped to his waist.

“Good morning,” he said, bowing slightly.

Rema sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“You’ve been scheduled for sentencing.” His deep, throaty voice echoed off the walls.

“What does that mean?” Rema asked, pulling the wool blanket tight around her shoulders.

His lips formed a straight line, his face grim. “Since you’re being held for treason, you’ll appear before King Barjon,
Prince Lennek, Commander Darmik, and a group of high-ranking nobles. They’ll hear the evidence and then sentence you.”

She was going to be hanged. Bile rose in the back of her throat
, and her eyes stung with tears. Her only hope was that Prince Lennek would leave her Aunt Maya and Uncle Kar alone. Rema prayed Lennek would be satisfied with her execution and forget all about them.   

“Will I get a chance to speak? To defend myself?” she asked.

“No.”

I
t really didn’t matter anyway. The trial was just a show to give the illusion of fairness.

The soldier unlocked the door and pushed it open.

Rema stood. Her white dress was spotted with dungeon filth and wrinkled from sleeping in it. Her hair was knotted, sticking out in all directions.

“Is there any way I can change into something else?” She did not want to
plead for her life dressed as a beggar.

The soldier shifted his body weight and bit his b
ottom lip. She knew the answer was no. “Fine, let’s just get this over with,” she said, exiting her cell.

He
had manacles hooked on his belt, but he didn’t move to put them on her. She saw two dungeon guards waiting a little ways down the hall. They also held torches, their shadows bouncing off the walls. Rema followed the guards, the soldier directly behind her. His sword clinked against the manacles while he walked. 

Traveling through the maze of hallways
with more light this time, Rema caught glimpses of the other cells. Most were similar to hers. A voice screamed in the distance—a tortured soul shouting out in pain. Rema refused to think about it being Uncle Kar. If Lennek planed on torturing Kar, he would do it in front of her, making her watch. Rema didn’t realize she was crying until teardrops trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away, her hands shaking.

They started climbing stone stairs. “Careful now,” one of the dungeon guards said. “
Don’t bang your knees.” 

When they finally reached the top, the hunched man stood dangling his key ring.
He unlatched the heavy metal door and opened it up. Light poured into the hall. Rema raised her hands, shielding her eyes. The soldier took Rema’s arm, leading her past the dungeon guards and onto the main level of the castle. Two castle guards stood, waiting for them.

“
Use the servants’ corridors,” the soldier instructed the guards. Then to Rema, he mumbled, “It’s not as bright, less windows.”

She nodded,
her hand still covering her eyes.

T
he guards led Rema through the hallways, and her eyes gradually adjusted.

When they
turned into a deserted corridor, the soldier said, “There will be a detour.” One of the guards looked back with raised eyebrows. “We need to stop at the servants’ quarters.” The guard nodded, and they turned down another hallway.

After several twists and turns, t
he two guards stopped before a door, stepping to either side of it. The soldier entered, pulling Rema in behind him. The room was empty. Beds lined each wall all covered with brown, linen sheets. This must be the servants’ quarters. Rema wondered why this soldier had brought her here.

T
he door latched shut behind her. Rema turned and saw that the guards had remained outside in the hall. As the soldier walked past her, she flinched. He moved to the beds where he knelt down, searching under them. Rema scanned the room, looking for something she could use as a weapon.

“Here you go,” he said,
standing. The soldier held up a dark brown, long-sleeved, floor-length dress. Rema owned one very similar to it—a good, sturdy market dress. Rema felt ashamed for having feared he would hurt her.

“Won’t the owner mind?” Rema asked, taking the dress from him.

“No,” he replied. “She’ll be happy to know she helped.”

“What’s your name?” Rema asked.

The soldier stared at her. She didn’t think he was going to answer when he surprised her by saying, “Greger.”

He turned his back and Rema quickly changed, thankful she didn’t have to wear her filthy
nightdress in front of the court. The dress was a little short, but Rema didn’t mind. She felt comfortable, more like herself—a horse merchant’s niece. Greger also found boots and stockings under another bed. She pulled her hair back and braided the knotty mess.

“
Are you ready?” he asked.

“As much as I can be,” Rema replied. “And thank you. Your kindness is appreciated.” She had no idea why he
was helping her. After all, she was nobody and could never repay him for his generosity.

Greger didn’t meet her eyes
. Instead, he looked somewhere behind her. He sighed and said, “When you go before the court,” there was an urgency to his voice, “hold your head high. Always remember who you are.”

Rema
knew she was capable of maintaining her composure. She wasn’t going to get a fair trial anyway, so she might as well go out with her dignity still intact. She wouldn’t allow Lennek to break her or see her suffer.

The soldier’s hand slipped around Rema’s arm
. He led her back out into the hallway where the two guards stood, waiting. They all continued to the other side of the castle. They stopped before two massive doors carved with a crown.

“I’m sorry about
this,” Greger whispered. He delicately took Rema’s hands and locked the manacles on her wrists.

Rema inhaled a large breath and slowly let it out, trying to remain calm. Whateve
r happened to her didn’t matter, as long as she protected her aunt and uncle. And Rema would sacrifice herself for them if she needed to.

The guards opened the doors and Greger, with one hand on the hilt of his sword and the other on Rema, entered. The room was packed with people standing close together. The only empty space was the walkway dead center in the room, going from the door
s straight to the dais where the royal family sat. King Barjon was in a large, high-backed chair. He wore his crown and royal cape, looking very much the part. Prince Lennek and Prince Darmik sat beside the king, their chairs smaller and lower than his. The brothers wore their crowns and royal robes as well.

This was the first time Rema had ever seen Darmik wearing a crown. It appeared to have flames etched in the gold,
with sapphires gleaming at the point of the flames. The crown matched his tattoos.

Off the dais
, but in front of the crowd, were two benches with about a dozen people sitting on them. These had to be the high-ranking nobles. The rest of the room was standing room only for all the courtiers and wealthy landowners. The room was loud with everyone talking at once.

A lady near Rema exclaimed, “She’s here!”

A hush settled throughout the room as everyone turned to stare.

Remembering what Greger
had said, Rema squared her shoulders, held her head high, and proudly walked down the center of the room. She refused to be intimidated by the power and wealth of everyone. About twenty feet away from the king, a soldier standing near the front of the room ordered them to stop. Greger’s hand tightened, and she stood with him in the middle of the room.

Rema refused to make eye contact with the people near her
, not wanting to see their looks of disgust at her appearance. She pretended as if none of them existed and focused on the dais instead. The corners of Lennek’s mouth were twitching, like he was trying not to smirk. There was also a spark to his eyes, as if he enjoyed seeing her hands bound, standing before him on trial.

D
armik, on the other hand, looked furious. Why didn’t he stand up for her? He had the power to help her, didn’t he? Darmik sat slightly forward, his eyes dark, narrowing at the sight of her. That’s when she realized he was upset with her. What had she done to make him look at her with such hatred? Her eyes began to tear up, so she glanced at the king. 

K
ing Barjon, as usual, seemed bored. His fingers casually strummed the arm of the chair. His attention was on nothing in particular until he noticed her watching him. Then his eyes raked over her body, and he shook his head in revulsion. Rema forced her attention to the fabric hanging on the wall behind him. She would not cry in front of these people.

“Rema,” the king’s steward bellowed. “You are hereby charged with treason for plotting against the crown.” A soft murmur rippled around the room. People turned to one another and Rema caught words like “treason” and “shocking” being whispered.

The king raised his hand and everyone quieted down, their focus back on the dais. The steward continued, “How do you plead?”

Rema felt heat prickle throughout her body. Thi
s was it—her trial. Everyone was staring at her, waiting for her answer. Prince Lennek smiled, probably already picturing her execution. Then Rema remembered that this man
was responsible for everything—Bren’s murder, threatening her aunt and uncle, and bringing her here. It was his fault, and yet, there he sat as content as he could be with no consequences for his actions.

She must have taken a step forward because
Greger squeezed her arm.

The steward cleared his throat. “Your plea,” he demanded.

“Not guilty,” Rema answered in a loud, clear voice, surprising herself. The steward was about to speak when she said, “Is this a joke?” with as much venom as she could muster.

A flicker of anger flashed across the king’s face
so fast that Rema almost missed it. He nodded to Greger, who hit the back of her legs with the flat blade of his sword. Rema yelped, falling to her knees. The crowd murmured, but Rema refused to look at anyone. She didn’t want to see them enjoying her pain.

“Stay
down,” Greger whispered.

Prince
Lennek stood. Silence fell throughout the room.

The steward announced,
“The evidence will now be presented.”

Lennek walked to the edge of the dais
, his boots tapping on the marble. He covered his face for a moment with his hand, and then adjusted his crown atop his head. Clearing his throat, he said, “I loved Rema and wanted to marry her.” He made eye contact with the crowd, as if pleading his case to everyone personally. “I thought she would make a good queen. I had no idea she was
using
me to get the crown. And look how close she got.” Lennek pointed at Rema.

He was a very good actor.
It actually sounded like he was in pain.

Wiping his eyes, he continued,
“I found her...with another man.” He contorted his face like he had been kicked by a horse.

“
Liar!” Rema seethed, but no one heard her because the crowd had erupted, everyone talking at once.

People said things like, “How can that be?” and “The poor prince!” and even, “This is terrible.”
Did Lennek really have all these people fooled? The prince went back to his seat.

Still on her knees,
Rema risked a glance at the people around her. There was a man to her right who said, “Long live the king,” but when he saw Rema watching him, he gave her a small smile and a nod of encouragement. What was going on?

Darmik
lifted his hand. Everyone stopped talking and focused their attention on him. Darmik’s eyes scanned the room, but he had that blank expression Rema hated. “All that Prince Lennek says is true. I was there.” His voice echoed throughout the room. It felt like someone had kicked Rema in the stomach, and she couldn’t get enough air to breathe.