Mark of the Mage: Scribes of Medeisia Book I
Page 33
Chapter 31
I didn't struggle when the guards were summoned to drag me to the dungeons, and I didn't struggle as they dragged me through the halls and down into the dark bowels of the palace. Struggling would only get me killed, and I couldn't afford that. Not now. Not when I knew exactly what the king planned to do to the Sadeemian monarchy. And so I let them drag me, my head lowered, my eyes watching.
There was filth in the dungeons. I could smell it before we'd even made it to the bottom of the stairs.
“Halt! Who passes?” a guard called out.
A sentry came into view, but upon seeing the guards escorting me, we were waved on with no interrogation. Another set of soldiers approached, replacing the ones at my side.
“He's to be hanged,” one of my guards instructed.
There was a nod from the other watchmen, and they dragged me onward. The smell, human filth and rot, overwhelmed me, and I swallowed convulsively against the need to vomit. Moans filtered through the dark, reaching out at me from all sides. I wanted to cover my ears but couldn't.
“Here you go,” the guard said.
He pulled out a ring full of jangling, heavy keys, using one to unlock a cell before kicking me into the room, his boot against my rump. I sprawled face first into the floor. My head spinning.
Clang!
I was alone now, and I pushed myself up, my eyes searching the darkness. The only light came from two torches burning just beyond the cell. The stone room I was in was bare with the exception of a nasty looking pot for defecation and two mice running into a small crack in the stone. I didn't even attempt to communicate with them.
“Sax?” a male voice asked.
Only one person would know that name. I crawled to the bars.
“Kye?”
“In the cell next to you,” he answered.
I almost cried with relief.
“They're going to hang us,” I told him.
“I know.”
“Do you know when?”
“At dawn,” he answered
We were both silent.
“I'm not sure I should trust you,” I said finally.
More silence.
Finally he spoke. “What would you have done if I had told you who I was?” he asked.
I didn't hesitate. “I would have run. I suppose in that regard you were right not to tell me. Do the rebels know?”
“No,” Kye answered. “They wouldn't have trusted me if they did. Only Feras and Lochlen know.”
I leaned against the bars. “Why is there nothing about you in the record books? There's no mention of an heir. Nothing.”
“Because I'm not legitimate,” Kye answered.
So the woman the archives listed as Raemon's deceased wife was not Kye's mother. It didn't surprise me. I pressed my face against the iron. It felt good against my skin. I stared out into the darkness. I knew what being an illegitimate child was like, but it was different for royals.
“You still have claim to the throne,” I whispered.
Kye laughed. “Not here. Not in this country. All I have hope of is stopping my father from destroying our people.”
His vehemence touched me. Bastard son of a king he may be, but he'd taken up his people's cause, watched innocent people die, and bore the scars of the trauma he'd faced on his skin. At twenty-one turns, he'd been carrying a dying nation on his shoulders.
I thought of him at the rebel camp, his shirtless torso, and the scars that shone silver in the moonlight. Lies. He lived on lies. I'd lost Aigneis, my home, and the Archives. But I knew who I was. Even the prophecy didn't change that. Kye, on the other hand, had no true identity.
My hand snaked beyond the bars.
“Kye.”
His hand met mine in the space outside our cells, my fingers entwining with his.
“I know what the king has planned for Sadeemia.”
His fingers tightened.
“Hush, Sax. Speak now, and you'll get yourself killed before morning.”
He was right. I knew that. There were ears in the dungeon, even if we couldn't see them. The king's plans were burning holes in my brain, but speaking them now would cause more harm than good.
“What are we going to do?” I asked.
For a long time, he didn't speak. When he did, I wished he hadn't.
“We die,” he answered.