The Key (8 page)

“Now all we need is a lon
e, unsuspecting person.” Darmik blew warmth into his hands. After the noise and smells of the tavern, it was strangely empty outside. Most everyone was in bed at this late hour.

“Here we go,” Neco said, nodd
ing toward the tavern. A man had exited and was heading in their direction. As the civilian passed, Darmik and his men slid from the shadows, silently following him toward a deserted alley ten feet ahead. A quick jab from Neco caught the patron in the stomach, just below the ribs. He doubled over, trying to catch his breath. Borek and Traco grabbed the man’s arms. They escorted him down an alley, his toes dragging on the dirt road. They threw him to the ground by a pile of trash. Erikk and Chek stood side by side to block unwanted eyes.

Darmik never liked interrogating someone, especially when the person was
n’t guilty of a crime. But sometimes it was necessary when it came to protecting the kingdom and its king.

The
man stirred, groaning. Borek pulled a rope from his pocket and bound the civilian’s legs and hands together while the man squirmed, trying to get free. The soldiers laughed at their captive with pity. The man’s face turned white. He shook uncontrollably, probably thinking he was being robbed.

Standing in the background, unseen, Darmik
observed the situation. He kept his hands in his pockets and his hat low over his eyes.

“I
’ll ask the questions,” Neco said, “and you will answer. Understood?” The man nodded. Neco squatted down and stared into the civilian’s eyes. “Good. Your name?” His breath came out in a white cloud from the chilly night air.

The man turned on his side, revealing his brown band. Neco read the information
aloud, “Stephan, twenty-one years old, married with no children.” Neco turned Stephan’s left wrist over, revealing the mark of Telan.

Even with clothes and a jacket on, Darmik could tell
the man was skinny. Stephan’s cheeks were sunken in, his eyes dark, and his breath smelled like stale ale.

“
Tell me about the men spreading the rumors,” Neco demanded.

Darmik watched
the man’s reaction closely. Stephan blinked several times but otherwise, his face remained blank, unchanged, and he didn’t seem confused. So the rumors had spread to Felgo as well. Darmik had the urge to punch the wall, but he needed to remain quiet and unnoticed.

“I don’t know about the men,”
Stephan said. “But I’ve heard the rumors. I thought that’s all they were though, rumors.” He wiggled closer to the trash, trying to put some distance between himself and Neco. The scent of decaying rats hung heavy in the air.

Neco laughed.
“Tell me what you’ve heard.”

Stephan
glanced in Darmik’s direction. Neco whacked Stephan on the side of his face. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” he yelled. The moon was bright, and Neco needed to make sure Stephan wouldn’t be able to identify any of them.

After a string of obscenities,
Stephan finally answered. “They say to be ready. That the end is coming. That’s all I know. All I’ve heard! I swear! Please don’t hurt me.” He got louder, and they didn’t want him attracting attention.

Darmik coughed once, indicating that
Stephan was telling the truth. There was nothing else to be learned here. Neco slid out his dagger.

At the sight of the weapon,
Stephan cringed and the crotch of his pants darkened. The smell of urine rose into the air.

“We should kill him for being such a wimp,” Neco mumbled
as he cut the rope binding Stephan’s hands together. When the rope split, Neco grabbed Stephan, holding him upright. Traco punched Stephan in the gut, and then in the jaw, hoping to keep Stephen debilitated long enough for them to hastily make their exit.

As they walked away, Darmik
glanced back at Stephen lying unconscious among the year-old trash and rodent carcasses.

Rema

When they passed through the gate entering Lord Filmar’s land, the soldiers broke from formation, leaving Rema alone inside the carriage
as it pulled to a stop before the entrance of the castle. Gazing at the massive, three-story, white limestone building before her, Rema couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful than this. The castle was an enormous rectangular structure with a round tower at its northern end. It had to be the size of a hundred barns put together.

She fidgeted with the end of her sleeve. The only time she came here was to deliver horse
s; she’d never been a guest or inside Lord Filmar’s home before.

Several carriages were parked nearby. Thankfully
, there were other people here at this dinner party for Prince Lennek.

A man bearing the king’s colors, but not a soldier’s uniform, opened the carriage door.

He took her hand, helping her down the step. “Welcome,” he said in a high-pitched voice. “I am Arnek, Prince Lennek’s personal steward.” Arnek was short, only coming up to Rema’s shoulders. His hair was neat and tidy, like his clothes.

“I will escort you to a bedchamber
where you can change into something more appropriate.” His eyes raked over her body. “You do have something to change into, don’t you?” he asked.

Rema
wore a dark gray, long-sleeved linen dress. It was simple, but by any commoner’s decree, it was a decent dinner dress. “This is all I have.” Rema’s jaw clenched. She bit her tongue to prevent herself from saying something rude and unladylike.

Arnek lifted
an eyebrow, his lip curling in disgust. “You didn’t bring anything nicer than that?”

“Perhaps if I hadn’t been taken against my will, I would have had time to
dress for my visit.” Rema’s hands rested on her hips.

He sighed
. “This way, then.” Arnek’s nose was flat and his eyes too big and round for his small face. He looked and sounded very much like a mouse.

Arnek led Rema
through the arched entrance and into a courtyard filled with rose bushes. At the eastern end, they entered the castle’s interior. After traveling down several hallways, they came to a massive room. The ceiling was vaulted—perhaps two-stories high—with floor-to-ceiling windows on one wall. The remaining walls were decorated with richly colored tapestries, depicting horses and hunting scenes.

Rema
was about to walk over to study the tapestries in more detail when a guard approached. “Is this the girl?” he asked, smiling down at her.

R
ema had the urge to back away.

“It is,”
Arnek dryly replied. He shook his head, his mousey face filled with disgust.

The
guard placed a warm, sweaty hand on Rema’s shoulder. He squeezed hard, preventing her from moving. “I’ll take it from here,” he said with a throaty laugh. The mousey man exited, looking relieved.

The guard was at least two heads taller than Rema and muscular—his uniform pulling at his wide shoulders.
“Try anything funny,” he said, “and I have orders to tie your hands together.” He leered at her, and Rema got the distinct impression he would enjoy doing that.

Ig
noring the vile man, Rema investigated the large room. Several guests stood about talking in small groups. All the men wore tunics with their family crests embroidered on the front. The women wore elegant dresses; each a different color of silk, velvet, chenille, or a combination of damask and sheer linen. Some dresses had lace, others jewels, and all the fabric appeared soft and delicate. Many also had their hair up, beautifully braided. Everything around Rema looked and felt like a dream.

Each
lady’s ensemble must have cost a small fortune, probably more than Rema’s aunt and uncle earned in a season. Peering down at herself, Rema felt embarrassed. What was she even doing here? And were her aunt and uncle at home worried about her? Were they well? Rema’s legs itched for movement, and she began to sweat. Wiping her forehead, she noticed her hands shaking. Lacing them together behind her back, Rema picked at her cuticles, trying to calm her nerves.

A few
people in the room took notice of Rema, probably because she stood out like a horse in the middle of a kitchen. Not only was she severely underdressed, looking like a maid, but she also had a guard hovering over her.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” a servant bellowed out, standing close to the doors. Everyone stopped talking
. “Lord Filmar.” The servant bowed, moved to the side, and the governor entered. He was exactly what Rema imagined he would be—old and plain. He was paler than her uncle was, probably because he didn’t partake in manual labor. Lord Filmar, although tall, was thinly built, and it looked like if he were to lift a bale of hay, his arms would break.

The governor
walked over to a group of people and started talking. If it weren’t for his silk tunic, Rema wouldn’t have been able to distinguish him from the other guests. The group he spoke to turned to stare at her as she stood in her plain, common dress, a weed among the blooming roses. A couple of the ladies furrowed their brows, while some of the men frowned. Rema couldn’t explain it, but she knew there was pity in the way they looked at her.

Rema wanted he
r river. She needed to run as fast as she could, pushing her legs until they could go no further, and jump into the icy water. Scanning the room, Rema noticed she was about thirty feet from the exit. Perhaps she could outrun the man guarding her. But if she did, could she find her way out of the castle? Her right foot slid an inch toward the door.

“
Please take your seats,” a servant spoke above the guests. “Dinner is served.”

The guard grabbed her arm, squeezing h
ard, eliminating any hope she had of escaping.

Everyone moved to the tables
, positioned in the shape of a horseshoe with the chairs facing in, so the guests could see one another. The head table, raised with delicate carving on its legs, sat at the opening of the “shoe.” Everything was elaborately decorated with the king’s colors. Blue fabric draped over the tables, dotted with silver plates, napkins, and candles artfully arranged on top. There were also gardenias in large, glass vases filling the room with a bold perfume. Everyone was assigned a seat, and Arnek made sure people found them. The guard led Rema to her place. 

The sound of a horn filled the room. The soldier standing at the entrance lowered
his instrument once he had everyone’s undivided attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, His Highness,
Prince Lennek.”

The prince
stood in the dimly lit hallway flanked by two soldiers. He stepped forward, into the room, with his chin raised.

Rema wasn’t prepared for the sight of
him—he looked very much like his brother, Prince Darmik. They both had the same dark, curly hair and strong jaw lines. Prince Lennek was tall, broad shouldered, and lean. He wore black pants and a long-sleeved shirt, exposing his royal markings. Gliding through the room, his royal-blue cape draped down his back to the floor, floating behind him, giving the impression of power. A silver circlet encased with sapphires sat atop Prince Lennek’s head. His dark eyes scanned the tables until he found Rema. When they settled on her, a grin spread across his tanned face.

Prince Lennek went to the head table and
took a seat in the center, next to the governor. His soldiers blended in with the tapestries against the wall, standing still as if they were statues made of marble. The prince nodded his head, and everyone resumed talking. Only Rema wasn’t paying attention to what anyone around her was saying. Instead, her focus remained on the prince.

After saying
something to the governor, Prince Lennek’s eyes settled back on Rema, blatantly staring. There was nothing coy or subtle about the way he scrutinized her. Uncle Kar’s face held the same expression when he had a particularly beautiful horse he was showing off—a look of pride. Lennek had that same air about him, only it gave Rema the chills because it felt predatory instead of prideful. But she couldn’t be pulled in by his beauty. She remembered the way her aunt and uncle were treated, and the royal summons issued by the prince. She had to remember everything Aunt Maya had taught her—that this royal family was evil and not to be trusted.

Rema broke eye contact and refused to
look at him again. A plate of salmon, potatoes, and vegetables was placed before her. Rema’s mouth watered; she hadn’t eaten fish in a long time.

“I’m sorry,
I don’t think we’ve ever met,” the person sitting next to Rema said. He was an older man in his fifties with salt and pepper hair. His wife shot him a sour face, but he ignored her. “I’m Arnaldo,” he said in an articulate voice.

“
Nice to meet you,” Rema carefully answered, sidestepping the question. She didn’t want to tell him her name, nor did she feel like talking to anyone.

“
For someone of the
merchant
class, you seem to know what you’re doing.” Arnaldo pointed, indicating her use of the fork and knife.

Rema
’s aunt and uncle insisted she know proper etiquette. She was using it now—not to fit in or because she cared what others thought of her—but because it came to her naturally. Glancing around the room, Rema noticed several people watching her with curiosity. One or two were even pointing in her direction while they spoke.

Rema
turned to the richly dressed man with the smug expression on his face. She wanted to throw her fork at him and shove her face into her food like an animal. Instead, she tried to appear innocent. “I know,” she said. “It’s shocking that I can use such complicated tools.”

Arnaldo
was about to reply when Arnek approached. “Prince Lennek requests the first dance.” He said it like he couldn’t fathom why anyone would go within three feet of Rema—let alone dance with her.

Rema felt
like a child standing before one of her uncle’s wild, untamed stallions. She didn’t want to go anywhere near the prince, but she couldn’t refuse. Reluctantly, she stood and took the steward’s outstretched hand. He led her toward the dance floor situated in the middle of the tables. Winding around the guests still seated and eating, Rema heard a few whispered comments.

“Has he gone through all the rich ones that he has to sink to the lower class?”

“I’ve never seen anyone with yellowish hair before.”

“Never the same girl twice. What stamina he must have.”

The prince stood tall and confident, waiting for her. Every single person watched. Rema felt like a dead pig at market being displayed for potential buyers. If only she could reprimand Prince Lennek for bringing her here.

Arnek squeezed her arm, stopping before the prince. He leaned in and whispered, “Don’t do anything to embarrass the prince
. And don’t make a fool of yourself in front of his guests by telling them you were brought here against your will. They won’t believe you, and your aunt and uncle would pay dearly for your unbecoming actions.” He released her.

Rema
politely curtsied. Prince Lennek stepped forward, closing the distance between them. The music started and he placed his hands on her, expertly gliding her around the dance floor. At first, Rema was afraid she would trip over her own feet and fall, embarrassing herself and probably meeting everyone’s expectations, but she didn’t. Surprise washed through her, especially since she hadn’t danced with anyone other than her aunt and uncle. But Lennek was dancing a basic four-step foot pattern, of which she was well acquainted.

“We haven’t properly met,”
Prince Lennek commented. His voice was soft and smooth, like butter. She had the urge to reach out and caress his handsome face. He looked very much like his brother, Prince Darmik. Even Prince Lennek’s tattoo was similar to his brother’s, although Lennek’s black swirls appeared more like knives than flames, especially when the light shone on the silver in the marks. Rema forced herself to focus on the prince’s face, instead of his body.

“No, we haven’t
met, Your Highness,” Rema said sarcastically, wanting to stand her ground. She wouldn’t allow him to see the slightest amount of infatuation or intimidation on her part. “So I find it rather interesting that you would summon me here. You are aware that I am engaged to be married?”