by Ted Dekker
“So be it.” She smiled with her chill politeness. “But if you ever hit me again, I will have you executed.”
“Yes.” Saric returned her smile. And in that moment he knew that he would indeed delay her death long enough to satisfy his desire for her. “Of course. Forgive me. On my life, never again.”
She turned and strode toward the door. Had there ever been a more regal creature?
“Oh, and Saric…” Feyn turned. “Have the old keeper sent to my chambers. I would have a word with him.”
The keeper?
“Not to fear,” she said. “I won’t let him slit my throat. But I want to know for myself this enemy that poses such a threat to our Order.”
It would do no harm. She’d been exposed to the vellum and had emerged sound enough. If any threat to his ascendancy remained, it would come from the blood in Rom’s possession. Or from this boy the vellum spoke of. The boy of the altered blood.
“Of course,” he said.
Feyn nodded once more and left.
Silence lingered in her wake like a strange and cloying perfume.
“Corban.”
“Sire.”
He seized the cloth from the desk, handed the translation to Corban, and paced as he read it.
When the alchemist’s eyes finally lifted, Saric snatched the cloth from his hands.
“They said the next seventh was a woman from the same birth cycle as Feyn. Twenty-one years old. And that the one after her was a man in his early thirties. Nothing about a boy. Tell me this is lunacy.”
“I know nothing about a boy.”
“And if there was such a thing? If the next seventh in line is a young boy?”
Corban folded his hands. “He may be inaugurated at age nine but must appoint a regent to rule on his behalf until he is of age—eighteen. If he dies before being seated at age eighteen, his regent would succeed him until the next seventh becomes eligible. If the child is not seated, the passage of power to the former Sovereign, according to your new law, would not apply.”
“And I would not become Sovereign.”
“That is correct.”
“And if both the boy and the regent died?”
“Rule would still pass to the next eligible candidate.”
“Then if this boy should by some way exist and should become Sovereign instead of Feyn, I am lost.”
“Assuming that—”
“Yes, assuming!”
“But surely, no boy exists. And if he does, Feyn stands in his way.”
There it was. The new law applied only to seated Sovereigns of age. No one had anticipated the existence—if he truly existed—of a Sovereign who had not reached his majority. Saric’s new law would not apply.
He lifted his fist, closed cage-like around the fabric. “And what about this drivel about the blood’s power waning after so many years? Is this in keeping with your models? I’ve heard nothing about this! ”
Corban took a deep breath. “It would be in keeping with one of our models, yes. But there are no records of—”
“Why wasn’t I told?” Saric raged.
“We didn’t think it pertinent. As I said, such a boy doesn’t exist.”
Saric was shaking and found he could not control the tremors of rage in his arms, the fear that there might be even a whisper of truth in the vellum’s ancient lines.
“You will issue this decree, by Sovereign order. All children nine years old of royal blood are to be killed immediately.”
The alchemist faltered. “Sire—”
“All of them!”
The alchemist, paler than a moment ago, bowed his head. “I’ll see to it.”
“As for my sister…” Saric glared at the closed doors. “Post four guards at her door. She is not to set foot beyond it without my express permission.”
JONATHAN
Chapter Thirty
Rom’s stallion had outrun all but the edge of the storm blowing north from the city. He and the great horse spent the better part of the night in an abandoned lean-to several miles east as rain beat down on the roof and lightning cracked open the sky. There they made their uneasy peace. The animal chewed grass at the edge of the shelter’s tin roof; Rom gnawed on a piece of dried meat he’d picked up at another outpost. He’d refilled his canteen and drank thirstily, parched and exhausted from two days with little water and even less sleep.
Feyn had assured him she would set Avra free, and he believed her, but his worry refused to settle. He had little choice but to trust her despite her fading conviction. With or without the blood in her veins to guide her passions, she was noble to the bone and would surely see no value in Avra’s harm.
If she had an enemy, it was her own brother, Saric, or even the boy, he told himself. Not Avra.
A few hours before dawn, he slept for a little while. He woke to the sound of the stallion’s nickering and lifted his head to find that the rain had stopped. Faint light illuminated the eastern sky when Rom mounted the horse and set off.
Northeast of Byzantium, he followed an old road that veered through the eastern hills. He was surprised at the lushness of the terrain, reclaimed from the old wasteland. For a while he even followed a line of new trees near a winding stream.
An hour later, he found the old road Feyn had told him to look for just beyond the ruins of a small town. Scrub grass had taken over so much of the crumbling path that anyone giving it a quick glance might not have noticed it. The road should lead him to a parcel owned by a distant royal. Lila, she had said, if she recalled the name correctly.
Now, with the midmorning sun at his back, he looked down at the estate in question. It was a small country home built from stones that looked like they might have been brought from the ruined town. It was surrounded by enough trees, including a few bright green cypresses, that anyone standing on the road might miss it altogether.
Rom guided his horse down the slope and tied it off to a tree near the estate’s front gate. But when he let himself through and banged on the weathered door of the house itself, he realized he had no idea what he meant to say.
The girl who came to the door was simply dressed. “Sir?” She seemed startled to see him. Her gaze flickered past him to the stallion.
“I’m here alone,” he said. “I’m looking for a woman by the name of Lila. Is she here?”
The maid’s gaze was wary. She was a fair girl, pretty in the way the countryside was pretty, probably no more than nineteen or twenty. “And who are you?”
“I’ve come from the Citadel, on business. Tell your mistress that.”
Her gaze flicked again in the direction of the stallion, then she vanished into the house.
A moment later the girl returned and ushered him in.
“Please, sir, follow me.” She led him through the wood-floored hall to the square courtyard in the middle of the house.
“Thank you, Miss—”
“Bianca,” she said, then disappeared through a side door.
The courtyard’s creator had taken the best of the countryside—the flowers, shrubs, a single stunted evergreen—and set them in artful disarray on either side of a path that led through the middle. The garden was small, but its natural appeal, even under the cloudy sky, put the austere stone of the Citadel to shame.
A woman in her thirties entered the courtyard, her long hair gathered into a pale braid. Her dress was so similar to the servant’s that Rom thought she might be one as well, but then he noted the translucence of her skin.
Brahmin. Royalty.
Even so, she was as similar to Feyn as a sparrow was to a hawk.
“My girl says you’ve come from the Citadel. I am Lila. How can I help you, Mr. . . . ?”
“Elias.” He dare not use his real name, not after it had been in the papers. Apparently she didn’t recognize him. Perhaps those in the country lived beyond the reach of the city for good reason.
“Mr. Elias. What is this business you come for?”
“I’ve come
at the request of Feyn Cerelia.”
The woman stiffened only slightly, but Rom could not miss that telltale show of concern.
“What would the future Sovereign want with us?”
“She sent me here to find a boy. A royal boy.”
The woman blinked, then shook her head. “Boy? What boy?”
“I don’t know which boy. Only that—”
“There’s no boy here, Mr. Elias. I’m sorry you’ve come all this way.”
“Please,” he said, unable to keep the tinge of desperation from his voice. “You have no idea how important he is. If you’ve hidden news of his death—”
“There’s no boy, I’m sorry. Now, if you’ll—”
“My lady. I know. I know there was a boy. And I must know if he is still alive.”
“Please, sir, you put a fright in me! I can’t make it any plainer. There’s no boy—not for many years now. The child who lived here was taken to a wellness center. Please! It is not right to speak of it!”
“How many years ago?”
She faltered. “Nine. Nine years ago.”
His heart stuttered. “A wellness center you said. What for?”
She hesitated, eyes pleading. “You intend to make me talk about it? I lost my husband that same year as well. Please. Tell your mistress that I don’t know what she wants with us. We’re the humblest of royals, and loyal to Order.”
“I’m very sorry. But I must know!”
“We’re very simple, as you can see from our modest ways. Please tell your mistress that we are loyal subjects! That we pray to the Maker for her. But please, leave us now before you throw my small household into more fear. Please!”
He looked over her shoulder through the arched entry through which she’d emerged. The thought of turning and leaving here without a clue to the boy’s whereabouts was more than he was willing to consider.
“She won’t like my returning without word. She sent me here because she believes the boy lives in secret. But more than that, she believes there’s a threat to this boy’s life. That he must be protected at all costs.”
The woman took a step back, now fully in the grip of fear. Rom threw away his last caution.
“If I go back now and tell her that there’s no boy, your life will open to investigation. Your house will be stripped. Every detail of your life will be searched and scrutinized. The records will be opened.”
Lila stared.
“Feyn is so set on protecting this boy that she’s vowed to find him, and you’d better pray that she does. Because I’m telling you she’s not the only one looking for him.”
“I told you, sir, there is no boy,” she whispered.
“I see. Then I’ll have to report that I haven’t found him.” He turned to go. “You can expect another visit from a full contingent of the Citadel Guard in the next few hours.”
Rom could feel her eyes on his back as he strode toward the door, though he had no intention of leaving without the truth. He laid his hand on the door handle, about to turn back. He would force it from her if he must. He had already abducted the Sovereign—what was this to that? Suddenly she cried out.
“Wait! Oh, Maker, help me…Wait!” Her voice broke.
He turned back. “Yes?”
She was trembling; her eyes glistened in the midmorning light. His heart broke for her, a mother impossibly trapped not by love, but by fear. A mother as dead as the rest of the world.
Her face twisted. “Please, promise that what you say is true.”
He clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “If you believe in the Maker, if you believe that Feyn is good, then believe me when I tell you I haven’t come to harm the boy. On the contrary, I believe that he may be the most valuable child in all the world. Please. Protecting him is my only purpose.”
“Most valuable? What do you mean?”
Did she know? Could she?
“You must let me see him.”
She faltered.
“I know he’s here now. You’ve all but told me that much. I may be the only hope you have to save your boy. Please, I must see him.”
It was one of the longest moments of his life, standing there as her gaze flickered to his amulet and then to his hands, to his eyes, and back.
Finally, she said, “Follow me.”
She led him into the house, out the back door, and down a path to a large yard lined in cypress trees. They had been carefully cultivated and planted so that, even misshapen as some of them were, they formed a natural barrier, a kind of enclosed garden. At the end of the path, in an area shielded by the low boughs of a gnarled tree, sat a bench. From his vantage point near the house, Rom had been unable to see it at all. But now he noticed that a woman was sitting on one end of it, head tilted, watching—not him or Lila, but a boy sitting cross-legged under the shade of the tree with his back to them.
Rom stopped. For a moment he could scarcely breathe. The boy was small for his age, Rom could see that even now. The child’s attention was fixed on something in his hands. His hair was dark and unremarkable. His skin…
Rom’s heart faltered. The boy’s skin was dark. Olive-toned. Not the pale skin of the Brahmin. Was he then not a royal?
He was dressed in a simple tunic and long slacks made from the same light-colored fabric. His feet were bare.
Lila spoke softly next to Rom. “He’s been sickly since he was born. Some kind of rare congenital disease. He came out slightly deformed.”
“He’s nine years old?”
“Yes. His name is Jonathan.”
So he was a cripple. That part was true to Talus’s prediction. But where was the fair skin of the royals?
She was staring at him, fearfully gauging his expression. “Maybe I shouldn’t have brought you here. Perhaps this was a mistake.”
Rom blinked. “No. Please. I was only wondering…How did you keep him away from the wellness center?”
“His father and I didn’t like the city. Its constant storms threw me into fits of anxiety. And so we chose to live here in the hinterlands. But then Talus fell riding his horse—”
Rom started. “I’m sorry.” He looked at her. “Talus?”
“His father’s name was Talus. It’s an old name of his line.”
“I’ve heard of it,” he said, mind reeling. “You said he fell riding.”
“Yes. It was soon after I became pregnant, and when his arm didn’t heal properly, we took him to the wellness center. He never returned.”
It was a story similar to many people’s.
To his own father’s.
“I couldn’t bear to go back. When Jonathan was born, I saw that there was something wrong and…Do you have children?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“Then you can’t know the fear, the horrible fear. They could have blamed us for bringing him into this world. I’ve told you about Jonathan, showed him to you. I’ve risked everything. You could very well report me under auspices of the Honor Code!”
Rom took her hands. “I don’t have children, but you’ll have to trust that I understand your fear.” He thought of Avra, shivering the night they had laid wet bandages over her shoulder. “The boy—there was no record of his birth?”
“There was, but it shows that he was disposed of. We reported his death and then gave them the frail body of a common boy just recently buried in a nearby town. They hardly looked at the body—just took it away. It was awful. We live in constant fear.”
Feyn had insisted that the primary birth record of any cripple would have been changed, but the fact that she’d specified primary must mean there was another. If they could prove that he was still alive—and keep him out of the wellness center—the record would be valid.
“And the nurse?”
“I swore her to secrecy, afraid for years that she might report it. I think she would have except for the gentle way that Jonathan had with her.”
Rom nodded, unable to look away from the boy. “You said he was born nin
e years ago.”
“Yes.”
“When, exactly?”
“The year 471. The seventh month…the seventh day.”
“What hour?” Now he glanced at her.
“Minutes from the seventh hour,” she whispered, a tremor in her voice.
His heart stilled. Everything was real. It was all real.
“This child is royal as they come, second only in line to Feyn herself,” she said. “Except for his deformity, of course. The fact that he was born a crippled seventh is a great affront to Order. When you said you were here from Feyn, I feared the worst.”
Just then, the boy turned his head and looked at them. His eyes were not the typical gray of the Brahmin, but a simple brown. There was a serenity about him, a sweetness, that defied Rom’s notions of royalty and cripples both. Something plain and beautiful.
On impulse he asked, “Does your boy laugh?”
Lila turned wide eyes to him. “Often. I don’t understand it. He’s a peculiar boy, given to less fear. I’ve never known what ails him.”
“May I talk to him?”
The woman hesitated.
“I promise you before the Maker,” Rom said. “I’ve come to protect him.”
“I’ve told you everything,” she said. “What choice do I have but to trust you? Our lives are in your hands.”
He walked down to the bench. The nurse glanced up at Lila, caught her nod, and left the boy for her mistress’s side.
Rom slowly sat down on the edge of the bench before Jonathan. This special boy, who still sat cross-legged, studied him with equal interest.
“My name is Rom.”
“Hello, Rom.” The boy said it as though they were friends. And then Jonathan looked down at his lap. He was cradling something in his hands.
A bird. Alive and perfectly at peace.
Rom had never seen a bird so close before, let alone touched one. But the creature seemed at ease in the boy’s small hands.
“Do you want to touch it?” Jonathan asked.
Rom cleared his throat. “Sure.”
He knelt down on one knee and stroked the bird’s feathery head with his finger and no small amount of wonder. He glanced up at the mother and the nurse, saw no objection from either, and settled onto the ground cross-legged, facing the boy, who accepted his company without a hint of awkwardness.