The Reign of Trees (10 page)

“I have no …”

Donovan held his hand up to stop her from speaking. “Save your defense of your father until you have seen my evidence.”

Illianah sighed deeply and followed the prince through the castle and into the courtyard. She did not walk side-by-side with him, as she did not want him to feel they were friendly enough to walk in such a manner. Instead she followed two steps behind him. He turned to look on her occasionally, possibly making certain she had not left him, but he never said a word.

He took her to a far corner of the courtyard and turned into a narrow alleyway next to the stables. Lined up next to the brick wall were several large carts shrouded with blankets. There had to be more than a dozen carts, all with an excessive number of large wheels. Obviously these carts were designed to carry heavy loads.

Donovan pulled the cover back on one of the loads to reveal a full load of round logs. “This is our last shipment, Princess. The one that we supposedly never sent to Freidlenburg. But guess where we found it?” She did not reply. She wished she did not know the answer, but her memory reminded her that these were the carts she had seen General Montague’s soldiers “stealing” from Freidlenburg. “We found them in the stables of Freidlenburg. All fifteen carts, but no horses. No men. We have surmised the men and horses were killed and either burned or buried. We do not imagine we will ever find them.” His voice reflected deep pain. And anger. A venomous, dangerous kind of anger she had never heard come from his mouth before.

“That’s not possible,” she began to say. Saying those few words left her feeling breathless. She struggled to take another breath. Her father would not commit such an atrocity, would he?

“Look here, Illianah, where the Burchessian crest is.” The crest with the mighty roaring lion was on the side wall of the cart, but the paint in the center of the crest had been scratched away. Underneath the golden paint was an obtrusive sheen of emerald green. “They painted on top of our crest: that is the green pine needles of the crest of Deltegra.”

“For all I know, you have sold these carts to Burchess. Just because the carts were once yours does not mean they can never bear the crest of Burchess.”

“I assure you we did not sell them. There is more proof. We engraved the underside of each carriage with our crest and the date. Look.” He grabbed her hand and began to pull her down to see underneath the carriage, but doing so would force her to get on her knees upon the dirty ground.

“I will not,” she said in protest to the improper position he was requiring of her, but then she stopped speaking when he pulled on her arm so much that she lost her balance. She squatted underneath the carriage with Donovan crouching by her side. This was the most indignant, unladylike position she had ever had the misfortune of finding herself in. Donovan outstretched his hand and touched the wood. Carved into the underbelly of the carriage was the Deltegran crest and the date of April the twenty-fourth and the current year. It was small enough to miss a quick inspection, and it was something that could not have been painted over. Someone from Deltegra took great thought and consideration into labeling their carriages. It could prove Donovan’s claim that the shipment had been in Burchessian hands. But she could not allow her heart to believe him. It would mean her enemy was right. And that her father …
her father
was to blame for this war.

“You could have done that after you took the carriages from Freidlenburg. You have no proof those engravings were actually done on April the twenty-fourth. Give me a stick and I could carve that same date—today.”

He looked at her incredulously. She had seen enough of his “proof.” She crawled out from underneath the carriage and began to walk away.

“Illianah,” he scolded. “Why will you not believe me? Any fool can see …”

“I am not a fool. I am your enemy. I am from Burchess. I am the daughter of King Gregory, the man who you accuse of committing these heinous crimes. Why is it so difficult for you to remember that I am not here to side with you? I am not here to be your friend. Perhaps it would be best if you kept me locked up like a true prisoner should be.”

“Locked up?” Donovan smiled as he said this, and then his chest gave way to an ominous chuckle. “But of course. Follow me.”

He turned and walked away from her, leaving her speechless. He said something to four nearby guards and they began to walk in her direction. “Come with us, Princess,” one of them said.

She began to panic. “Donovan!” she cried out. He did not turn. He kept walking forward, away from her, with great determination.

One of the guards put his hand around her arm. She shrugged away. “Do not touch me!” She lifted her skirt and ran toward Donovan. She was not going to allow the guards to take her. “Donovan!” she called out again when she was just a few feet behind him. “What are they to do with me?”

“They are providing you escort.” He did not turn to look at her. His voice was cold and unfeeling.

“Escort? To where?” she begged.

“To the dungeons.”

“What?” She stopped as if an arrow had just been shot at her feet and she did not dare take another step forward, as the next arrow might mean her death. She wished she could take back her words. She could not live in a dungeon.

Donovan kept walking, but he turned his head toward her. “It would be best if you came willingly, Princess.” His eyes looked like the blackest of nights—the type of night where there is no moon or stars, and no promise of a dawn ever breaking the darkness. It sent a shiver up her spine.

“No!” she cried. She looked around her, the world blurring like it had been caught in a windstorm. The guards were just a step behind her. There were more guards milling about the courtyard, and numerous other citizens as well. She breathed heavily and fought to gain control. She would not make a scene. She would be dignified. She would not allow the people of Deltegra to see her panic. Again, she pulled her skirt up and walked quickly after Donovan. “Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice sounding like the hissing of a snake.

“You asked me to, My Lady. Or did you not mean what you said?” He was challenging her. She had denied his truth, but it was clear he did not believe her words.

She would submit to his test. She would show him he could not scare her into going against her father.

The guards ahead of him opened a massive wooden door. The air within the small corridor smelled dank and musty. She followed him down a seemingly endless set of stone stairs. The stairwell was lit with several torches alongside the wall, but they seemed to be suffering from lack of fuel. The farther she descended, the darker it became. The smell worsened. She put her hand over her nose and mouth to keep from inhaling the putrid air.

They passed several empty cells and Illianah’s heart sank. Donovan was not bluffing—he was intending to imprison her. Her legs grew heavy, making it nearly impossible to walk down the stairs.

When they passed yet another empty cell, Donovan said, “As you can see, we have plenty of room in our prison. We have no need to build another.”

His words stung. How did he know of her father’s plans to build a new prison in Burchess? Even though they were shipping the lesser criminals to New Burchess to work the mines, they still faced prison crowding. It had led to many prison uprisings and several incidences where guards had been killed by the riotous crowds.

“We do not imprison our citizens for inability to pay taxes. If they are struggling with inadequate income, then the last thing we want to do is to take away the family’s sole provider. We send them back to the forest to work extra hours to pay off their debt. We do not imprison our citizens for speaking out against the king, either. Our citizens are allowed to express their opinions and even criticize the crown if they see fit. Surprisingly, it does not happen all too often. Our citizens are happy with the way our kingdom is governed.”

When Illianah gave no response to Donovan’s declaration about how perfect his country was, he said, “Those few you find in our prisons are the worst kind of criminals. Murderers. Thieves of virtue. Those who have lived lives of debauchery. Certainly our prison is not full, but it is place for only the most despicable souls.”

“You intend to scare me. It will not work.”

“I do not wish to scare you. I only wish for you to grasp the truth.”

The next cell was occupied by a man with a long, bristly beard. He smiled at Illianah, his teeth black and rotten. He looked her up and down and raised an eyebrow, and then spoke to her vulgarly. She jumped away from the bars of the cell instinctively and grabbed Donovan’s arm. The man in the cell laughed in a manner so depraved, so bone-chilling, that Illianah cried out.

“Just a few steps farther,” Donovan said, as if she could be reassured that her destination was any more pleasant than the scene she had just passed.

They stopped at the next cell. The inhabitant was huddled in the far corner. “Lord Braithwell, come,” Donovan said.

“Lord Braithwell?” she repeated with astonishment. He was imprisoned here? He lifted his head. It did not look like the Lord Braithwell she had last seen. He had a thick beard across his chin. His hair was matted and greasy, but it was his face that shocked her. His eyes were sunken in, his cheeks gaunt. His coloring was terrible. He looked yellow, as if he’d been dipped in a vat of dye. “What have you done to him?”

Illianah’s hatred of Donovan grew. How could he do this to another man? Yet, as Lord Braithwell approached the bars of his cell, her hatred toward herself grew as well. She had forgotten about him. She had shared a carriage with him during their capture from Freidlenburg, and she had not given him a second thought once she stepped foot into the castle. She should have inquired after him. She should have tried to protect him.

“The situation he finds himself in is entirely upon his shoulders, Princess. He could have avoided his punishment if he had consented.”

“Consented to what?” she asked. Then she turned her head away from the prince and faced the prisoner, who now stood within an arm’s reach on the opposite side of the bars. She pursed her lips to hide how his smell and appearance made her ill.

“I cannot do that which they ask of me, My Lady,” he said.

“And what is it? What is it they require of you?”

“They ask me to betray my king. My kingdom.”

“You cannot do that,” she said to Donovan. “You cannot make a man give up his loyalty.”

“Hmm,” Donovan grunted. He did not seem like he was considering what Illianah had said, but instead he acted as if he was challenging her. “I have only asked him to tell the truth. You would think that when a man is faced with starvation, humiliation, and even death, that he would confess the simple truth. This man, however, will not.”

“The truth?” she seethed. “You mean to make him confess to taking your shipment and not reporting it to the king. Lord Braithwell would never do such a thing.”

The manner in which Lord Braithwell hung his head indicated only one thing: shame. “Lord Braithwell?” she asked. “It is not true.”

His head sank even lower. “You have done this to him,” she said to Donovan. “You have defeated him. He is accepting blame for something he did not do to spare himself another beating.”

“No, My Lady.” Lord Braithwell spoke so quietly she had to lean forward to hear his words. His sinful, confessing words. “Prince Henrick speaks the truth. The shipment arrived in Freidlenburg. I will confess as much to you, out of respect. But I will never sign the document King Henrick requires of me.”

“What document?” she asked.

“When your father failed to declare his guilt in exchange for your freedom, we required Lord Braithwell do it for the king,” Donovan replied. We wanted Lord Braithwell to declare to the world that he destroyed our troops and horses under King Gregory’s command. We want the world to know that Deltegra is merely defending our country and our freedom from the aggression of King Gregory. But Braithwell would rather allow thousands of soldiers to die in a needless battle.”

“I will not defy my king.” Although Lord Braithwell looked so frail—so feeble—his voice indicated his strength came from deep within a heart born beating Burchessian blood. “I will not betray him or his crown.”

“You know …” Illianah’s voice caught within her throat. She felt as if she had swallowed one of those carts full of Deltegran logs. She breathed heavily and tried to speak again. “You know the truth about the Deltegran shipments, and you will not declare it?”

“I will not.”

“Then you are a traitor to the crown. You are forcing our kingdom to go to war. If my father knew what you have done … you protect no one with your silence. You will destroy thousands. Once you are returned to Burchess, you will be hung as a traitor.”

He did not hang his head in shame as he had done before. “No My Lady, I have only done what King Gregory has ordered of me. I
will
remain silent to protect my king.”

“My father did not order this! This is your doing! Your design!”

“I assure you My Lady, it is not.”

Illianah’s heart ruptured. Lord Braithwell spoke the truth. She knew it. Just as she knew Donovan had spoken the truth. She could not deny it. She felt as if she was choking. She began to fall to the floor, but caught herself by grabbing a hold of the bars to Lord Braithwell’s cell. His hand touched hers. “Be comforted to know that this is for our good. Burchess will rise triumphant,” he whispered.