Mark of the Mage: Scribes of Medeisia Book I Page 32

  Chapter 30

  The king took me to a richly furnished study. A sturdy, well polished desk sat in the middle of the room, a carved, high back chair with a red velvet padded seat sitting behind it. There were maps hung along the walls, and scrolls thrown onto a small table to the side of the room. Men surrounded it.

  All of them stood, bowing stiffly when we entered the room, their eyes grazing my face only briefly before focusing on the king. There was no doubt Raemon ruled with fear.

  “At ease,” the king said, waving his hand dismissively. “I need the most recent interception brought in from Sadeemia.”

  One of the men at the table broke away from the group, his eyes averted, his hands gripping a piece of parchment. I stared at him. His brown hair was longer than I was used to, the front of his face thick with facial hair, but there was no doubt it was my father.

  “I can only translate certain words, Your Majesty,” Garod said quietly. “Without Aedan, translating anything written is impossible.”

  He handed the document to the king before lifting his eyes. His gaze moved over my face, and I stiffened, my heart pounding both from fear and sadness. My father looked like a broken man, his gaze distant when it met mine. I waited for him to recognize me, but he didn't.

  “No matter. I have found someone who can translate it all,” the king announced as he held the document out to me. I rubbed my bloody hands down the sides of my trousers before taking the document carefully.

  This time when Garod looked at me, there was new interest in his eyes. Still, he didn't recognize me. I wondered if it was the mud on my face or if the clothes and hair changed my appearance that drastically.

  “Let's see what you can do,” the king said smoothly. There was a dangerous edge to his voice I didn't miss.

  I lifted the document, my eyes skirting the scribe's mark on my wrist. My father and the men behind him noted it as well. It seemed ironic. Almost two months ago, I'd begged my father to let me be a scribe. Now, here I stood, dirty, my hands covered in smeared blood, holding a document that could mean life or death for me and for a country. And on my wrist I bore a busted inkwell, the mark of the scribe clearly embedded in my skin.

  “I need more light,” I said confidently.

  The king stood back, his brows raised as he motioned at the table surrounded by his council. The war council maybe? It seemed possible considering what Ari had told me in the woods.

  I moved next to the men, my head down, spreading the parchment out before me. There was a candle in the middle of the table, throwing a dull glow over the paper. The words jumped out at me.

  I, Freemont Horan Bernhart VIII, do hereby give consent for my second son, Prince Cadeyrn Forsen Bernhart, of Sadeemia to marry Gabriella Bell-Senth Trellon of Greemallia . . .

  I scanned the document quickly and looked up.

  “It's a marriage contract between the second son of King Freemont of Sadeemia to the daughter of Greemallia's sovereign. It also outlines a treaty between the two nations, import opportunities, and a military alliance.”

  The men at the table stared at me. The king looked pleased.

  “Ah, for once my son has done something right.” He pointed at the document. “Does it say anything about the marriage itself? When is it supposed to take place and where?”

  I glanced back down at the parchment.

  “In four months, Your Majesty. The Greemallians are sending the princess by ship to Sadeemia with an escort and a rich dowry.”

  The king smiled, the look more feral than human.

  “We have our war, gentlemen,” the king said evenly, his hands clapping once.

  Captain Neill stepped forward. “Your highness?”

  The king took the paper from me. “We cannot allow the princess of Greemallia to make landfall in Sadeemia. She must die.”

  No one said anything. I gaped at the king. Here it was, the proof we needed.

  “What do you propose we do, Your Majesty?” Captain Neill asked.

  Raemon rolled the parchment up and paced a moment, his eyes moving insanely around the room.

  “We find a way to place the blame for the Greemallian princess' death on Freemont.”

  Again, no one said anything. No one had to. If Gabriella died and Freemont was blamed, war would be declared between the two nations. It was a disadvantage Sadeemia could not afford. Not while Medeisa watched in the wings waiting to prey on any weaknesses.

  Raemon's eyes found mine, and I lowered my head.

  “Boy, you say you can write in Sadeemian?”

  I shook my head. “I never said, Your Majesty.”

  A sword was suddenly directly under my eyes, the tip piercing the sensitive skin on my chin. I froze.

  “Let's try this again. Can you write in Sadeemian?”

  I couldn't nod because of the blade at my neck so I lifted my eyes instead, meeting the king's glare evenly.

  “I can,” I answered.

  “Good,” the king said, satisfied. “Then I want you to outline a document written by Freemont.”

  “What will it say?” I asked.

  The king picked up an empty sheet of parchment and handed it to me.

  “It will be a direct order from Freemont to one of his men, a Captain Blayne Dragern, to assassinate Gabriella Trellon of Greemallia.”

  I stared.

  “Now!” the king ordered.

  I jumped, my hands searching quickly for a quill pen and an inkwell on the table. Someone slid them my way.

  I began to write, my hands moving quickly and efficiently across the page. The pen felt good in my hands, the smell of ink a comfort I'd missed, but the words I wrote now left a bitter taste on my tongue, made my heart pound. Words were mighty, there was no doubt. They could pierce a heart and destroy a country faster than any weapon.

  When I was finished, I looked up, my eyes hard.

  “Read it to me!” the king demanded, and I did. Each word brought new hatred into Raemon's eyes, made his cheeks flush with excitement above his beard.

  “Good, good!” the king cried when I finished. He took the document, being careful not to smudge the words. His eyes moved to Captain Neill. “Gather the sorcerers. We have a ship to destroy, a princess to capture and kill. And when we're done, we'll leave this for the King of Greemallia. And then,” he paused for affect, lifting the document high, “We watch the walls of Sadeemia's cities come tumbling down.”

  From the inside of his shirt, Raemon grasped a chain, pulling forth a gold pendant of a dragon with ruby eyes. One half of it was missing. My eyes widened. It was the dragon pendant Lochlen had told me about, the same one Feras had gifted King Hedron many years ago.

  Captain Neill took red wax from the king's desk, and accepted the parchment from Raemon. He rolled it carefully.

  A candle was lifted. The wax was heated, and I stared as the red drops fell to the paper like blood. So many deaths. So much destruction.

  “For Medeisia,” King Raemon said as he used the pendant to seal the document for good.

  Raemon's bright eyes lifted, his gaze coming to meet mine.

  “The boy knows too much now. Send him to the dungeons. Hang him alongside my son.”