Chapter 4
Ian smelled the fresh scent of grass and the pungent tang of loam that marked the use of healing magic. For a moment, he wondered why he needed healing, and then he remembered.
Tyran!
He sat up. The chanting man beside him scurried away.
The ringing sound of two dozen swords clearing their sheaths echoed throughout the crowded amphitheater. Ian blinked. He was surrounded by a ring of steel. Every sword was leveled at his heart.
“Let me see my father!”
Tyran pushed between two of the guards and dropped down beside him. Ian pulled him into a firm embrace. Chains rattled on the floor. Metal cuffs had been affixed to him while he’d been unconscious. “Don’t you ever do that again,” Ian whispered into his ear. “Don’t put yourself in a position to let someone else hurt you. Do you hear me?”
“But they’re lying about you,” Tyran said, his face buried in his chest.
“None of that matters anymore,” Ian whispered. “What’s done is done. You need to be strong now. Do you hear me? Go home. Pack your great grandfather’s journal and only what you need in a bag and go to Lord Master Vincent Donner. He’ll help you. He’ll help you escape to Gyunwar.”
“But I can’t leave you . . .”
“You will, and you must!” Ian leaned in closer. “It isn’t safe for you here anymore. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“No buts.” Ian pulled back to look his son in the eyes. “You must do as you’re told.”
“Your majesty,” Cecily addressed the king. “I thank you for this indulgence. I only have a few things to say to Mister Weatherall.”
“Go now . . .” Ian whispered to Tyran.
Ian climbed slowly to his feet. Pain tore through his battered body. A headache started at the back of his skull and climbed up and over his head and centered behind his eyes. The ring of steel parted. Three large guards each held the opposite ends of the chains attached to his wrists. When they drew up the slack, his arms were pulled apart.
Cecily walked across the courtroom floor and stopped a few steps away. Her face was pale, and she carried both of her hands clasped together in front of her as if she were about to break out into an aria on stage. But there was no music playing, and her demeanor was anything but theatrical. In fact, as Ian stared at her, he had a strange feeling that this might be the last time he would ever see her. Oddly enough, that thought almost made him smile.
“Mister,” she looked down at him, her green eyes smoldering. “You have wronged me in every way a man could. You thought to disgrace me by dishonoring yourself in the arms of a whore, but you failed. You plundered the wealth of your so-called friends, and now, not a single person has come to bear witness for you. You have deceived the populace of this city with your fraud and disappointed your own countrymen by stealing from them the life of the man who had so willingly given so much to you and your kind.”
Cecily paused. Her eyes darted around the amphitheater. There might not be music playing, Ian thought, but she’s playing this for the audience.
“King Henrik thought our union would secure peace for our two lands, even long after his death, but I fear that your actions may be the catalysts now that undoes all that.” She shook her head. “And as much as King Henrik worked for peace, I believe he ultimately hoped that you and I would fall in love after our wedding, and that our love would then be an example for others to follow.
“I did not fall in love with you! I was never in love with you! I never wanted to be with you! Your son is not OUR son and he will not reside with me any longer. I will not tolerate him or his foul attitude for another day. He will be sent to the Belyne Military Academy immediately prior to his deportation and I shall never lay eyes upon him ever again.
“And once you are gone, know this; I will not spend another day thinking about you. I will not dwell on those agonizingly long years I was forced to be your wife . . . your prisoner. And though your time is short, be thankful that your sentence is death because that mister is a much kinder punishment than I would ever have bestowed upon you.” Cecily took a deep breath. “You are a despicable, vile man, and I pray to the gods and goddesses above that they cast you into a fiery pit of hell and forget you for all eternity.”
The amphitheater was silent.
Ian hadn’t moved a muscle during her entire tirade, silently listening to every spiteful word. When she finished, a mixture of raw emotions surged around him, but he found he had nothing at all he wished to say to her. He was completely numb and exhausted and . . .
“I hate you!” Tyran spat at her retreating back. “I never want to see you again either!”
Ian tried to grab Tyran, but the chains kept his arms apart. “Tyran, don’t.”
“But what she said, what they’ve all said about you are lies!” Tyran looked up at him confused.
“I have done some terrible things . . .”
“I don’t believe it.” Tyran cut him off. “You are a kind and decent man!”
“I . . . I’m sorry . . .”
“You couldn’t have done those evil things,” Tyran insisted. “Not you.”
“You still believe in me . . . That’s all that matters now.”
“I don’t want to see you tortured and killed,” Tyran buried his head in Ian’s chest. Ian tried to wrap his arms around him. The guards wouldn’t give him any slack.
Ian gritted his teeth. “Stay away tomorrow.” He bent forward as much as he could. “Do not come to Tower Square.”
“But Fati . . .”
“Listen to me, Tyran,” Ian said sharply. “I can face tomorrow if I know you’ll be safe. Lord Master Vincent Donner will take care of you when I’m gone.”
“I don’t want you to leave.”
“You must do as I say,” Ian said.
“Guards!” Ragget called. “Take the prisoner back to his cell!”
“No!” Tyran shouted. “Let him stay for a little while longer.”
“Tyran . . . don’t . . .” Ian scolded softly. “We must part now. Be brave. Do not show them any weakness. Do you understand?”
Tyran blinked away the tears in his eyes and nodded. He straightened his back and neck and held his chin up high, but even then, Ian could see the pain behind his son’s gaze and it broke his heart.
As the guards converged around him, Tyran darted forward and pressed his head against his chest and wrapped his arms around him so tightly Ian found it difficult to breathe. For a moment, he closed his eyes and memorized the feel of his son’s love. With everything stripped away from him, and death looming before him, Tyran’s love was all he had left. He had lost so much, and yet, what remained was even greater still. And try as he might, Ragget would never be able to take that away from him, nor would he ever experience a love so pure, because a man such as him would never allow love like that to grow in his heart.
Much too soon, the guards began to pull Ian toward the door. Beyond were the halls that would lead him back to the dungeon. “You have to let me go,” he told Tyran softly.
“I don’t want to.”
“Tyran . . .” Ian swallowed hard.
His son finally let go. It was more painful than he thought.
“I love you, Tyran. Know that I always will.”
“I love you, too!” Tyran shouted, and then the amphitheater doors slammed shut behind him with a finality that made him shudder.
Ian sighed. Tears flowed slowly down his cheeks as he shuffled back toward his cell. No words passed between him and the handful of guards flanking him, but he could sense their anger. He had beaten many of their own. Flexing his hands behind his back, he realized that while they were painfully sore, no bones were broken.
Or had the healers tended to them already?
The cold rage that had overcome him had scared and frightened him greatly. He was not usually a violent man . . .
He remembered a war, fighting ferociously, covered in blood . . . It apparently was so l
ong ago that he couldn’t remember who he was fighting, or why, or where, but for some reason he remembered the battle. Ian shook his head, confused. Why was he recalling so many lost memories recently? Was the prospect of death freeing his mind and allowing it to remember thoughts he had long suppressed?
The door to his cell stood open. Ian stepped through. He expected the guards to slam the steel door shut behind him. Instead, a few followed him in. The rest stayed out in the hall.
“You made us guards look pretty bad out there,” Mustache grumbled. The side of his face was swollen, and his bottom lip was bleeding. “And you killed Karl.”
Karl? Ian frowned. Did he mean Pockmark?
“He shouldn’t have touched my son.”
Mustache buried his fist deep in Ian’s stomach. Ian grunted and doubled over. The other two guards in the cell affixed the ends of his chains to hooks in the wall, spreading his arms out wide. “We come to have a little fun.”
Ian straightened. “Free my hands and we can all have some.”
Mustache glanced at the other two guards in the cell and all three started to laugh. They kept laughing even after they started beating him. Heavy fists pummeled his face, his body. Kicks to his legs and knees and groin left him dangling from his chains. His arms were on fire. Blood poured out of his nose and mouth.
“You’re all just a bunch of cowards,” Ian mumbled. “Aren’t you?”
A harsh blow connected with the side of his jaw. His head whipped around, and a spray of blood painted his cell wall. Something cracked. For a moment, he thought he might lose consciousness. He wished for the darkness to take him. His wish wasn’t granted.
The guards went back to work on his body. Just when he thought the beating would never end, a shrill whistle sounded out in the hall.
“Dammit!” One of the guards cursed.
His chains were removed from the hooks and the three filed out of his cell. The steel door slammed shut. Ian collapsed and lay very still on the stone floor. The cold felt good on his face.
His thoughts swirled. He tried to gather them up, but they danced away like so many leaves scattered upon the wind. There was no point chasing them down anyway. He wouldn’t know what to do with them if he caught them. He existed for the moment as pain. That was his entire world now. Pain. He gagged on some blood; coughed, gagged some more. With much effort, he rolled to one side, wincing as his battered ribs shifted against each other.
Something hard rattled within his mouth. He worked his tongue around and spat out a couple of broken teeth. They skipped across the stone floor like cast dice and struck the far wall, leaving a bloody spittle trail behind them. He stared after then for a moment or two while his tongue darted into the empty holes. If he couldn’t survive a beating, how would he ever cope with the torture tomorrow?
He could confess and end it all.
“No!” he growled to himself. Blood leaked out of his nose and mouth. “I did not kill the king.”
That was his pride talking. He was going to die anyway, why not admit to the regicide and end it all quickly? All pride would do was prolong the inevitable. Pride was going to make him hurt.
He pulled himself up onto his cot and collapsed, staring at the ceiling.
“No!” he told himself again. “No . . . no . . .”
As the adrenaline leaked from his system, and his heartbeat slowed, his thoughts returned to him in random bits and pieces. True realization of his impending doom hung over him like a black-shrouded wraith, and he could almost feel the cold touch of the reaper itself caressing his face.
Take me now, he thought darkly, take me and deny Ragget and Cecily and those who falsely accused me, the pleasure of my torture tomorrow.
He closed his eyes and prayed for death.
Chapter 5
Cuci watched as Ian was half-dragged, half-carried out of the room, leaving Tyran standing in the center of the amphitheater, alone. The muscles in his jaw tightened and he fought against the tears. The boy took a hesitant step toward the doors, but when a guard stopped him, Tyran pulled away sharply.
“Don’t touch me!” he snapped.
The king and the other members of the panel were leaving through a door opposite the one Ian had been taken through. His was the last case of the day. The crowd filed slowly out of the amphitheater. Cuci found herself standing near the accused box staring at Tyran. She could not entirely imagine what the boy must be feeling. She understood loss. Having her husband die had opened her eyes to the sorrow and pain that, up until then, had not invaded her otherwise happy world. Grief had been her sole companion for months, so in that way, she found herself empathizing with Tyran, but the rest of what Cecily had said . . .
Cuci held her hand up to her lips. How could a mother do what Cecily had done?
A hand touched her shoulder and she flinched.
“Cuci, come along,” Glavinas said.
“Look at him,” she said softly, gesturing toward Tyran.
“It’s sad,” Glavinas muttered. “But we did what we had to do.”
Cuci whirled around and stared up at the fat lord. “You did nothing, and I helped condemn him!”
“Ian must be punished for his crimes.”
“Agreed,” Cuci replied. “But should his son suffer too?”
Glavinas glanced over at Tyran. “Ian should have considered the consequences of his actions.”
“You are one to speak.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Glavinas grumbled.
“If you weren’t still drunk, darling, you’d understand.”
“Bah!” Glavinas slapped at the air. “I haven’t had a drink in an hour.”
“We’ve been listening to Ian’s case for only an hour,” Cuci pointed out.
“Then let us leave, my flask is dry.”
“No, I mean, the king found Ian guilty of all those crimes, including murder in one hour.”
Glavinas shrugged.
“We allowed the king to proclaim a guilty verdict without demanding any real evidence,” Cuci continued.
“I don’t think ‘allowed’ is the right word.”
“Glavinas, listen to me,” Cuci interrupted him again. “Ian was our friend and we betrayed him.”
“Ni biswail! Listen to yourself, woman, he WAS our friend.” Glavinas grabbed her arm and started pulling her toward the exit. “And besides, he betrayed us first.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Glavinas stared back at her. “What are you saying?”
Cuci glanced over at Tyran. “It’s something he said, about feeling what’s inside here.” She held her hand to her chest.
Glavinas glanced down at her bosom.
Cuci caught his gaze and scowled. “Not that, you letch. What I feel in my heart.”
Glavinas threw his hands in the air and stormed toward the door. Cuci followed close behind. “If you stop a moment and examine the trial,” Cuci said to his retreating back. “Ragget and the king did not prove a thing.”
“I saw his vault!” Glavinas replied. “You reprimanded him yourself, remember?”
Cuci nodded. “I know, and maybe he did steal from us, but . . .”
“There’s no maybe about it!”
“Then we punish him for stealing, but do we execute him for regicide without proof?”
Glavinas grabbed her arm, pushed through the door and pulled her into a shadowy alcove across the hall. Standing this close to the fat lord, all she smelled was the spicy alcohol on his breath. Her eyes watered. “The king has spoken,” he whispered into her ear. “What you are saying could be construed by some people as treasonous.”
“Are you ‘some people’, darling?”
Glavinas fell silent.
“All I’m saying,” Cuci pressed on, “is that for a very long time, Ian was our friend, and though I’m upset about the vault, I don’t believe he should die.” She leaned out of the alcove and checked the hallway in both directions. At one end she spied Lord Ragget speaking with
Lady Cecily. They were standing close together, but there was something strange about their body language. She had her arms crossed over her chest and her mouth pinched closed, and Ragget seemed agitated.
“What do you propose we do?” Glavinas asked. “Storm the dungeon and stage a rescue?”
Cuci kept her face averted from his. “We could use your breath to combat the guards.”
“Ni biswail, are we talking about my drinking again?”
She held up a hand. “Sorry. Tomorrow morning, the prisoners will be divided. Some are to be executed. Other’s quietly sold to slavers. I suggest we switch Ian with one of the other prisoners.”
Glavinas snorted. “And just how are we supposed to make this switch?”
“We aren’t going to do it,” Cuci replied. “You are. You’re a Yordician lord. You have access to the dungeon. Find another Gyunwarian prisoner that looks enough like Ian and make the exchange.”
“Of course. It’s so simple. Why didn’t I think of it first?”
“Because you’re drunk, darling.”
Glavinas grunted. “What you’re suggesting . . . we could be executed if we’re caught.”
“Then I suggest you keep your mouth shut and don’t tell anyone,” Cuci said. “Will you do it?”
Glavinas stared down at her for a moment. “Very well, but only because you asked.” He stepped out into the hallway and paused to look back at her. “I’ll make sure Ian gets the punishment most fitting for his crimes.”
chapter 6
From the shadows near the alcove, Amarias slipped away undetected. He had overheard the entire conversation between Lord Glavinas Roth and Lady Cuci Kindacaid, and he could not wait to tell his lord master the interesting plot to save Ian. Amarias smiled to himself. While Lord Ragget’s other minions toiled and failed, he had succeeded at every turn.
And if he kept devouring the colored gemstones, he would only grow stronger in his power. He curled his huge hands into massive fists. The corded muscles up and down his arms rippled beneath his taut flesh. Soon, Lord Ragget would realize that he, Amarias, was becoming something . . . more!
Stolen Crown Page 3