The Key (11 page)

Once the curtain was secured, she dragged the fabric over to the windows.
The left window wouldn’t budge. Rema bit her finger to keep from screaming. Moving to the window on the right, Rema unlocked it and the glass angled open. She let out a breath of air, thankful the space was big enough to fit her body through.

After tying the end of
the blankets to a bedpost, Rema threw the fabric out the window and watched it uncurl like a whip. It was ten feet too short, but there wasn’t enough time to bring the blankets back up and tie another curtain to the end. Someone would take notice. Sliding her legs out the window and down over the ledge, her feet found a knot and took hold. Rema’s hands grabbed the makeshift ladder, and she began her descent.

Darmik

Entering the king’s office,
Darmik found it strangely empty. The round room with vaulted ceilings had always been one of Darmik’s favorite rooms as a child. While playing hide-and-seek, he used to go under the ornate greenwood desk or behind the velvet curtains, and no one ever knew he was there.

Walking over
to the floor-to-ceiling windows lining the one wall, Darmik leaned his head against the glass. It felt like he was standing atop a cliff and all he had to do was take a step forward to fly through the air like a bird. The thought reminded him of Rema, how she jumped off that cliff—just for fun. He wondered how often she did that, and why. Rema...with her blonde hair and blue eyes, who didn’t act like anyone he had ever met before, who he very much wanted to see again. That was, of course, if Lennek didn’t exist. Otherwise, she was best off on the other side of Greenwood Island, far away from here.

“At some point, Darmik,” the king
stormed into the office, “you’ll have to learn to play the game better.”

“Of course,” was all
Darmik said, still looking out the window. Did his father not understand that he had no interest in court politics? “Is Lennek home?” Darmik asked, turning around to face his father.

“No, but
I expect him shortly.” The king sat down at his desk, running his hand over his black beard, now starting to show hints of gray. Just the mention of Lennek’s name relaxed the king’s face, and he didn’t look so tense anymore.

Darmik was glad he could have
this conversation about the rumor of an heir existing without Lennek present. If his brother were here, Lennek would convince their father that Darmik didn’t know what he was talking about, and that he was overly paranoid. Lennek would then suggest someone else look into the matter and a tax be levied to pay for the added expense. That’s what Lennek always did—undermined Darmik and raised taxes at the same time.

Lennek enjoyed making others suffer all the while he was living with more than he needed.
The king and Lennek knew very little about how people really lived. King Barjon rarely left King’s City. Lennek did travel on occasion, but he always stayed with wealthy landowners and avoided anything he considered dirty or unpleasant. Darmik’s jaw clenched—Lennek knew nothing about what was really unpleasant. The image of the starving girl and her dead mother was seared in Darmik’s memory. 

The king cleared his throat, waiting for Darmik to get to the point of their meeting.

“There’s a rumor,” Darmik began.

“There are always rumors.”
The king shifted papers around on his desk, his impatience for Darmik clear.

“Yes, but this one
’s rapidly spreading and is potentially dangerous.” The king waved his hand. Darmik forged on, “People are claiming an heir survived.”

K
ing Barjon laughed. “Impossible.” He leaned back in his chair, assessing Darmik with cold, black eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“I need a way to dispel the rumor. We can’t afford to lose any more control.”
How could his father fail to see the basics? Why did Darmik have to explain himself?

“I don’t care about
unsubstantiated rumors,” King Barjon uttered. “Anything else?” he asked, standing to leave.

“
Do you have solid proof the entire previous royal family was executed?”

King Barjon looked at his son
as if he were stupid. “Of course.”

Darmik wondered what he ever did to make
his father despise him so much. Darmik had done everything the king ever wanted of him. Even now, Darmik was loyal, yet, King Barjon couldn’t stand to be around him.

Darmik
clasped his hands behind his back, glad for once of all the interrogation and treaty classes he took in Emperion. Keeping his face neutral, he said, “I am the commander of your army, and it is my job to protect you. You are also my father. So besides it being my duty, it’s something I take personally and consider my ultimate responsibility.”

K
ing Barjon stared at Darmik, assessing him. Darmik had cleaned himself up, shaved, and was dressed in a tunic befitting of a prince. His father couldn’t complain about his appearance, but the king always found something wrong with Darmik.

Before the king had an opportunity to take control of the conversation, Darmik asked, “C
an I see your proof?” He knew he was asking a lot of his father, but he needed to know.

The king
raised an eyebrow. “My word, the word of the king, isn’t good enough for you?” he asked in a low, even tone.

Darmik tried to stand his ground.
“It’s not that, Father. It’s just that I want to make sure something wasn’t overlooked. We need to know, with absolute certainty, that these rumors have no basis.”

The king stepped closer
, his nose almost touching Darmik’s. After all his experience hunting, Darmik knew when he was being evaluated, sized-up. The king may like having Darmik lead his army, but he didn’t like the power and control the position gave him. King Barjon probably wanted to remind his son of the king’s absolute sovereignty.

“I’ll show you
on one condition.” He looked to Darmik for his answer. Darmik took a step back, away from him, and opened his hands for the king to continue. “When Lennek finally decides to marry, you will publically support his marriage.” There was a slight twitch to the king’s face.

The request
seemed simple enough—but nothing was ever easy when it came to the king or Lennek, and Darmik knew that there’d be a catch. Still, he wanted access to his father’s proof, so agreed to the demand.

K
ing Barjon led Darmik out of the office and into the king’s bedchamber. After ordering his guards to wait outside of the door, the king closed and locked it. Hidden behind a life-size painting of King Barjon, they entered a secret corridor—one of which Darmik was unaware. Carrying a torch, the king led him down the steep, dark hallway, counting as he went. At five hundred, he stopped. Standing before the wall on his left, he counted up three stones from the ground and pushed on the fourth one. A loud groan erupted, and then the wall shifted back and to the right, revealing another corridor. Darmik followed the king down the narrow passage, which opened up into a small room. The ceiling was low, the room hot and muggy.

The king lit another torch
that was lying on the ground and handed it to Darmik. Then he moved to the far wall and pushed on a stone three from the right and three from the ground. A section of the wall slid open, exposing another dark hallway sloping downward. Darmik followed him deeper into the underground maze, the floor slippery in some places.

When t
hey came to an iron door, the king used a key to unlock it. He pushed it open, the door grating along the stone floor as they entered into a square room. The king walked from corner to corner, lighting the torches that lined the walls. Other than a table in the center of the room, it was empty. A dripping sound came from one of the walls, the water seeping in through the stones. How far underground were they? In contrast to the hallway and the previous room, this one was colder and smelled of rot and mildew, making it difficult to breathe.

King Barjon wa
lked to the edge of the room and knelt down. After fidgeting with one of the twelve-inch-by-twelve-inch stone tiles, he lifted it, and then another. Darmik joined his father to help. They removed nine tiles altogether, placing them off to the side.

Dug into the ground was a rectangular hole
containing wooden boxes about one-foot-by-one-foot in size. Darmik counted six, but upon closer inspection, he realized the boxes were stacked on other ones, the hole quite deep, so he couldn’t determine how many boxes were really in the ground. On top of one of them was a large, brown, leather-bound book without any markings on its cover.

T
he king slipped one hand under the book and lifted it. Moving with caution, he placed it on the table behind them, dust motes floating in the air. King Barjon peeled back the cover, which cracked from lack of use. On the first page were dozens of names connected with lines.

Darmik leaned closer to the book. “Is this some sort of family history?”

“Yes,” the king answered. “The previous royal family. It goes back over one hundred years.”

Darmik
had never seen such detailed records before. But what was the book doing down here, hidden in the ground?

“Have I ever told you the story of
how Greenwood Island came to be?” the king asked.

Darmik shook his head.
Everyone who went to school learned the history of Greenwood Island from the time when King Barjon assumed the throne to the present. They never talked about what happened
before
.

“Hmm,” King Barjon mused. “I’m surprised you did
n’t study it when you went to the Kingdom of Emperion for your training.” King Barjon continued, “About a hundred years ago, Prince Nero of Emperion refused to marry a suitable girl from a neighboring kingdom. His parents had arranged the marriage at the time of his birth in order to ensure control of the region. However, the prince was in love with a girl from a lower class, and he refused to let her go. The emperor and his wife banished their son, hoping Nero would change his mind. By refusing the arranged match, the prince was bringing war between the two kingdoms. But Prince Nero valued his own freedom more than his people’s.” The king’s eyes sliced over to Darmik.

“May I?”
Darmik asked, about to flip through the book.

The king stopped Darmik’s arm
. He carefully turned the pages himself using two fingers until he came to the section they were talking about. Referencing it, the king continued, “Prince Nero had a vision of a new world without class. Since he was well liked and had many friends, several people decided to go with him. The prince took the girl he loved, Atta, and three ships with one hundred citizens. They set out for a rumored island, finding it a month later. Until then, Greenwood Island had only been inhabited by wild, untamed people with no form of government. As such, Prince Nero and Atta created a new kingdom. That’s where the blonde hair and lighter eyes come from.”

“Excuse me?” Darmik asked. He had no idea what
blonde hair and light eyes had to do with anything.

“Atta,” the king continued, “
didn’t come from nobility, and like most people of the lower classes in Emperion, she had blonde hair and gray eyes.”

Darmik vaguely remembered something like that
, but in military school, most cadets had blonde hair unless they were higher ranking.

“Prince Nero and Atta brought people from all classes with them.
One of the laws they established was that people could marry for love, regardless of class.” The king stopped talking, lost in thought. Pacing around the room, he continued, “Decades later, after the prince and princess had heirs and passed on, Emperion still kept tabs on Greenwood Island. The royal family refused to enter into trade with Emperion—or to have anything to do with them for that matter. Emperor Hamen decided to overthrow King Revan and Queen Kayln, wanting to establish a ruler he could work with.”

King Barjon sat
on the edge of the table, next to the book.

“
At the time, Emperor Hamen had no children. I was chosen because I am his wife’s brother and his closest friend. I traveled here by boat, along with an army of five thousand. The rest you know.”

Darmik was astonished
his father had never told him any of this before. What else didn’t he know? “And the family records?”

“
Have been meticulously maintained,” King Barjon answered. He went over to the hole in the ground and pulled out a box, placing it on the table. A name was written on the side of it.

Th
e king opened the lid and a rancid smell permeated the air. Reaching inside, King Barjon lifted out a human skull. He placed it on the table, and then pulled out a small pouch.

“Each box contains the same thing,” the king
explained. “One head and one pouch. The name listed on the outside corresponds to the box’s contents. In the pouch is a piece of skin containing the tattoo identifying the person as belonging to the royal family.”