Benjamin walked into her room and placed a muscular arm around her. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. I’ll be right outside your door. You need to get some rest.”
Alana nodded. She did not feel well. Her head was spinning. She wanted to lie down and forget the world, forget the fact that she was now an orphan.
Benjamin guided her to her bed, and once she was settled, he walked back towards the door.
Alana watched him close it and heard a loud click as he locked the door from the outside.
She was locked inside her room with no way to escape.
Chapter 29
Jahrys
HE WAS BACK at the Sandy Shore, swimming below the tall, rocky walls of the cliff. It was sunny—a beautiful day. The water was a refreshing escape from the humidity and blaring sun.
He was racing Kevrin. They wanted to see who could swim to the large rock out beyond the waves and back to the shore the fastest. Jahrys crashed through the waves, extending both arms and kicking as hard as he could. He was getting tired, and quickly fell far behind Kevrin, who was already on his way back to the beach. Jahrys tried to quicken his pace. He was never the best swimmer. He finally reached the large rock, touched it, and turned back to shore. He was aided by the waves, but it was too late. Kevrin had already won.
When their race ended, they sat on the beach next to Jahrys’s mother. She looked beautiful lying in the sun. Her hair was blowing behind her in the gentle wind. Her pale skin glistened in the sunlight.
They were all watching Jahrys’s father, who was fighting with his fishing pole by the water. He looked like he was having a spasm in his lower back.
“Darn fish!” his father yelled. “Zalus give me strength…” The fishing pole was bent in a large arc in the air. The fish gave a giant tug, and his father flew face first into the water. He came up empty handed, spitting out the salt water he swallowed.
Jahrys, his mother, and Kevrin couldn’t help but laugh.
After they recovered, Jahrys noticed someone walking in the distance to his right. It was a woman. He could make out her shapely hips and her shiny, brown hair, which glistened in the sunlight. Her skin was lightly tanned, and Jahrys could see her smile from a mile away. It was her: Alana Poole.
He jumped to his feet, wiping the sand off his hands, and began walking towards her. It was like a fairy tale when two lovers run towards each other on the beach, with waves crashing on the shore, running over their toes and splashing their ankles. When they finally met in each other’s arms they would fall into the sand together. Just like the stories about Galagar Poole and Isabella Danor.
This was kind of like that. His heart was pounding in his chest. He began to pick up the pace. He had to have her, to hold her, to be with her, to tell her how he felt.
Alana began to run towards him. The distance, which had felt endless, was starting to close between them. They were so close.
But when they were only feet away, the earth began to shake. It felt like an earthquake. There was a loud rumbling sound. The ground beneath Jahrys’s feet began to break away. He stopped short at the edge of the crack that divided him from Alana. The shaking made him lose his balance and fall backwards. Alana was on the other side, calling out to him.
The earth had come alive all around them. The world went dark as the beautiful day turned into a nightmare. Cracks sprang from the ocean, causing the water to fall into them—filling the darkness.
He turned back towards his mother, father, and Kevrin. They were all hanging onto the edge of a crevice that went deep within the earth, their legs dangling down. He watched them fall one by one into the darkness.
“Jahrys!” Jahrys turned back to Alana. “Jahrys, help me!”
Alana was hanging onto the edge of another deep crack within the earth. Something dark had climbed out of the darkness and grabbed her leg, pulling her downwards. It looked like a man, but it was if he was made of ash.
Jahrys had to do something. He studied the distance to the other side. Jahrys got his footing down, and ran towards the crack. When he got to the edge, he leapt forward. He was inches away—but fell short.
And fell into darkness.
When he woke, he found himself hanging against a hard wall. His back was stiff and aching. His arms were chained above his head. The metal was digging deep into his wrists, cutting him, causing blood to trickle down his forearms. He could feel his fingertips tingling as the blood flowed out of his hands, down towards the ground. His feet were barely touching the cold, wet stone. His breaths were short and raspy. He let out a frightening cough; it sounded like his insides were trying to force their way out. But it was only bile he threw up onto the dark stone floor beneath him. His stomach was growling.
How long have I been hanging here? Jahrys thought. He tried to remember all he could, but his head hurt and his memory was vague. He remembered the king’s last words, the wine-stained carpet, being dragged out of the room, and the crow in the window—the same crow he had seen after his parents had died. He was sure of it.
The dripping water in the corner of his cell was slow and repetitive. He occasionally heard footsteps. It was the only thing giving him hope—that there were people out there.
Drip, Drip, Drip.
The sound continued.
It was cold, but Jahrys was covered in sweat, making him shiver. The air smelled of urine, sweat, and fear. He heard moans and yells of terror from outside his cell. There must be other prisoners out there.
He heard the footsteps again. They were getting closer. Hope returned to Jahrys—maybe it was Alana!
But when the door opened, it wasn’t Alana. A knight with a long-jagged scar appeared. Jahrys knew who it was immediately. He raised his head to get a better look at the knight he so admired: Sir Piller Lorne.
An older knight with brown-graying hair and a thick beard followed him in. Jahrys knew him to be Sir Devan Lark. He was holding Jahrys’s bag; they had taken it from him.
They stared at him as if he was a creature they had never seen before.
“What is your name?” Piller asked him, his voice echoing off the walls of the small cell.
“My name’s Jahrys Grent. I’m a Retriever from outside the wall,” Jahrys replied. His voice sounded hoarse and drier than his skin felt.
“Grent…Grent…where have I heard that name before?” Piller thought out loud as he looked over at Devan while rubbing his chin with his thumb and index finger.
“Ah!” Piller snapped his fingers. “Your father must be Alvys Grent, the inventor of Grent Wine?”
Jahrys nodded. He no longer knew if he was proud of that or not.
“So that explains where he got the wine bottle,” Devan grunted.
“I didn’t poison the king!” Jahrys defended himself.
“No?” Devan’s dark eyes studied him. “Then who did?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was set up.”
Devan grunted.
“Tell us everything,” Piller demanded.
Jahrys told the two knights everything about the job the old lady had given him. He told them about his trip into the Junkland with his friend Kevrin. He told them about the wine bottles and what he had found when he arrived back at The Arcalane—Piller’s face twitched when Jahrys mentioned The Arcalane and his dead friends—Jahrys told them about his trip into Astenpoole, how he had used the maps to get in. He finished with his conversation with the king before he had died.
“That’s an interesting story,” Piller said, thinking it over.
“It’s the truth,” Jahrys said, defending himself again. “Check my bag. You’ll find the maps inside there.”
Piller nodded towards Devan, who was still holding Jahrys’s bag. Devan fumbled through it until he pulled out the diary, filled with loose pieces of paper. Devan opened it and shuffled through the papers until he found the maps. Piller and Devan analyzed them.
“How did you come across this?” Piller asked in concern.
“It’s Princess Alana’s.”
“You mean to tell me that the princess drew all of these maps?” Devan was in disbelief.
“Yes.”
“That’s utterly ridiculous,” Devan grunted.
“It’s true. You need to go and ask her. She knows who I am.” Jahrys tried to explain.
“Unfortunately, Alana is locked away in her tower,” Piller sighed.
“Locked away?” Jahrys didn’t know what to make of that.
“We’re afraid her life is in danger, and didn’t know if you were working alone or not. But if what you say is true, then her life could very well still be in danger.” Piller replied.
“Please! I must speak with her.”
“That is out of the question for now. We’ll get to the bottom of this, Jahrys. If all you said is true, we will get you out of here. We’ll figure out who has plotted against the king.” Piller gave him a reassuring smile.
Devan only rolled his eyes.
“Can you get me out of here? Now?” Jahrys pleaded. He didn’t want to spend more time down in this cell. He had to get to Alana.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that just yet,” Piller admitted. “You are to remain here until this matter’s settled.”
Jahrys hung his head in disappointment. This isn’t right!
Piller unhooked a key from his belt and undid the chains that held Jahrys’s hands. He helped Jahrys back down to his feet.
“Thank you,” Jahrys said, as he rubbed his raw wrists.
Piller nodded. “I’ll return when I figure this out.”
Jahrys looked over at the bag that Devan was holding. “There’s a necklace in the bag. Please, can I have it?”
Piller looked back at Devan. Devan did not move a muscle.
“So you can use it to escape?” Devan spat.
“No. I promise. It’s just a necklace! It reminds me of my mother,” Jahrys lied. “I was with her as she was dying during the Hoarding, and she had given me that necklace right before she died.” Jahrys teared up.
Piller nodded at Devan. Devan groaned and dug his hand back into the bag, pulling out the blue necklace. He handed it over.
Jahrys grabbed it with a trembling hand and held it close to his heart. “Thank you.”
Piller gave him another pat on the shoulder and turned to leave the room.
Devan studied him one more time before he turned and followed Piller out the cell door.
The door shut, and Jahrys was left alone in the darkness with the necklace in his hand.
Chapter 30
Piller
THE DESOLATE STREETS sent a chill down Piller’s spine. Five days had passed since the king’s death. Nadia had ordered everyone to clear the streets and to stay inside. There was no music, no laughter, no haggling; just silence as they walked down Pooles Road.
They had locked Alana inside her tower for her protection, but the princess had not been pleased. Piller was doing it for her own good; her life could still be in danger. Though, he did not feel good about it.
They had finally figured out the boy’s name. Jahrys Grent, the son of Alvys Grent, had claimed he did not kill the king, that he was supposedly set up.
Piller believed the boy was telling the truth, but he couldn’t fit any of the pieces together. He couldn’t figure out who wanted Leoné dead. He needed to figure it out soon, before the boy rotted in his cell for a crime he possibly did not commit.
Nadia walked in front of him, a crow sitting on her left shoulder, her staff in her right hand. She had on a black dress with a black shawl draped around her shoulders. Her hips swayed with purpose as Piller, Arnold, and Hollow followed closely behind. They were dressed in their blue armor, the crest of Astenpoole on their breastplates, swords ready at the hip. They all walked towards the closed Western Gate.
“What are we doing here?” whispered Arnold. “This doesn’t feel right.”
“I agree, Cap’,” Hollow kept his voice down so Nadia couldn’t hear.
Piller didn’t take his eyes off Nadia’s back when he spoke. “The other day you guys were talking about over throwing my orders about keeping the gates closed.”
“But that was different,” Arnold said. “This isn’t what the king wanted and it’s disrespectful so soon after his death. We should have talked about this. And something doesn’t feel right about her.” Arnold nodded towards Nadia.
“I feel the same as you, but we must do our duty as Knights of the Poolesguard,” Piller said. “Nadia is the queen for now, until we’re certain Alana’s life isn’t in danger.”
Hollow and Arnold exchanged worried looks.
“We’re with you no matter what, Captain,” said Arnold.
“Just be on your guard and follow my commands,” Piller nodded to the two young knights.
“As always, Captain,” Hollow said.
They are good lads, thought Piller, as he continued to march down the cobblestone road. They’ve been through more than I ever have in my years of service. May Zalus watch over us today.
A heavy fog hung low in the air. There was a cold breeze that carried the stench from the Junkland, along with paper and other light objects. The shops around them were deserted. Piller noticed eyes watching them curiously from the windows above their heads. Whenever he made eye contact, the eyes would disappear.
They were nearing the Western Gate now. The king had commanded them to shut the gates three years ago and now they were to be re-opened. But what had been right about closing the gates? thought Piller, as his thoughts traveled back in time to the Hoarding.
He remembered the screams, the pleas for help. They were yelling out to him, to his brothers, to the men who were supposed to protect them, begging for help. He remembered Landerin Raneir, banging on the gates as they closed upon him, trapping him outside. He remembered the look Landerin gave him—a look of pure hatred. But what did he do? Nothing. He had shut them all out and left them to die.
But now they were going to open the gates. Will this make up for all of those deaths? Piller tried to find clarity, but there was a cold shiver running through his bones.
As they marched in silence, Piller’s thoughts drifted towards Jahrys. The boy said he knew Alana, but the princess—the true queen—was locked away, and no one was allowed to speak to her. After the survivors are taken care of, I’ll go speak to Alana. I must find out the truth.
They arrived at the Western Gate. The giant oak doors stood before them, at least twenty feet high. Ten people could stand arm’s length away from each other and still fit between them. That is, when they were open.
Piller’s head began to spin. Was this the right thing to do? Wasn’t there a reason King Leoné had closed the gates in the first place? Was Arnold right? Was this disrespectful to the memory of their king?
But isn’t this what he wanted? To re-open the gates and save the people left outside the walls? All his training, all his years of experience, did not prepare him for this. He started to doubt his knighthood. Wasn’t knowing right from wrong part of being a good knight? Why was he stuck in between? He felt his clothes underneath his armor start to dampen. Sweat rolled into his eyes, but he couldn’t wipe it through his helmet. What would the previous Captains of the Poolesguard do? Would Letholdus Quinn know what to do in this situation? Would he be doubting himself?
Nadia turned, facing the knights. Her staff popped as it hit the cobblestone. The crow cawed on her shoulder. It stared at them with its small, beady, black eyes. Nadia had a strange look on her face—a dark look.
“Sir Piller.” Her voice was sweet. She called him like a puppy.
“Yes, Your Grace?” he stepped forward. He could feel the tension between his two brothers behind him. They were scared. So was he.
“Sir Piller…command your guards on the wall to open these gates.” She pointed her staff to the guards looking down at them.
Piller looked up to see Krist and Martellus peering down. They were far away, but he could tell from their posture t
hat they were scared.
Nadia noticed this as well.
“It’s normal to be scared, Sir Piller. I, too, am afraid. But we need to do what must be done. We need to save our people. Do you not trust me?” she cocked her head.
Is she testing me? thought Piller. “It’s not that we don’t trust you, Your—”
“Then what is it?” she snapped at him.
“This is wrong!” yelled Arnold from behind. “I know we wanted these gates opened for the longest time, but we should respect King Leoné’s wishes. It’s too soon after his death. We should take time to discuss this.”
Nadia glared at the young knight. “Well at least you’re honest. But you’re not fit to make commands here. Do you boys want to one day command the Poolesguard?”
Arnold and Hollow stared blankly at each other.
“Yes,” said Arnold.
“Yes, we do,” Hollow agreed.
“Well then step forward. Kneel before me.” She waved a hand before her feet.
The two brothers awkwardly approached her and slowly kneeled.
“Your little Princess Alana is not fit to rule, so I am in command. So tell me, who do you take orders from?” she asked them, leaning against her staff.
“You,” they replied in unison.
“Yes. Good. And what happens when I give an order?”
“We obey.”
“Very good! You guys are fast learners,” she smiled, both hands gripping the staff. The crow cawed on her shoulder. “Now here is an easy command. Let’s see if you boys have learned something today. You will stay on your knees until I say you can rise.” Her voice was light and harmless.
“As you command, Your Grace,” Arnold and Hollow said. The knights lowered their heads in shame as they continued to kneel.
Piller did not like how she was treating his knights.
“You can’t—”
“I am in command here, Sir Piller, and you are a knight who takes orders. Now why haven’t you ordered your men to open this gate? You don’t want anything to happen to your boys now, do you?” Nadia gave him a dark smile as she pushed the sphere against Arnold’s chest. The yellow light inside the sphere began to glow brighter, illuminating Arnold’s armor.
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