Mercy's Prince (9 page)

For
a moment, an image superimposed itself in Caelis’ mind, a new door with the
emblem of his house, the lion rampant. He shook himself and gripped the spear
more tightly. If the king would name him heir, Caelis would gladly give up his
lion and take the dragon for his own. But first he had to prove himself. He
knocked on the door’s frame.

A
page opened the door and glanced at the spear with bulging eyes.

“Yes,
sir?”

“I
wish to show this to His Majesty. Will you please let him know I am here?”
Caelis smiled at the boy to cover his irritation at having to ask a child for
access to the king.

“Yes,
sir.” The page closed the door.

Caelis
inhaled deeply to calm his ire. If and when the king summoned him, he had to
remember the pleasantries that were so important in society. The page finally
returned, and Caelis shifted his feet in anticipation of meeting with the king.

“The
king cannot see you tonight,” the boy said. “He asks that you leave the spear
and he will examine it and return it to you with his opinion.”

A
growl threatened to erupt from Caelis’ throat. He imagined himself running the
spear through the boy’s gut. Instead, Caelis handed the weapon to the king’s
page, sneering when he nearly dropped it.

“Can
you manage it?” He forced concern into his voice.

“Yes,
sir.” The page wobbled, and the spear spun in his small hands. “Thank you,
sir.”

With
his foot, the page shut the door. Caelis stood in front of it for a few
moments, clenching his fists. He used to be welcome in this royal tower at any
time, day or night. Of course, he almost always visited Waryn’s suite, but he
did accompany the crown prince to the king’s rooms on many occasions. Now he
was denied the opportunity to speak to the king and dismissed like a servant.
By a page, no less!

Caelis
slammed his fist into his palm. He would have to let the king come to him in
his own time. Perhaps Orland wished the privacy of his grief tonight. That,
Caelis could understand. He backed away from the door in the vague hope the
page might rush out and ask him to come in, saying that the king was pleased
about the spear.

By
the time Caelis reached the stairwell, no one appeared at the king’s door, so
he quit the tower. His boots pounded the narrow stone steps, echoing in the
stairwell. When he emerged, he started toward the armory, nodding at a pair of
men-at-arms striding down the hall. But halfway to the armory, Caelis stopped.
What more could he do this evening? The armorer’s apprentices had to finish
making the pieces of his new bow.

Growling,
Caelis clenched his fists again. When Waryn was alive there was never any
question of how Caelis would spend his evenings. Who else in the Keep was
worthy company for him now?

Caelis
headed toward the suite of the Lord High Constable. Lewes had recently been
named his junior squire. Caelis hadn’t had much opportunity to become
acquainted with his young cousin. After announcing himself to yet another page,
Caelis paced in the hall, fuming. At last the door opened, and Lewes himself
invited Caelis inside the sitting room.

The
young man bore the Reed stamp of fair skin, yellow hair, and light blue eyes.
Caelis’ aunt, his father’s sister, had been a beautiful woman, and Lewes had
inherited her comeliness.

“Shall
you be seated, Sir Caelis?” Lewes said, gesturing to a chair near the
fireplace.

“Thank
you, cousin.” Caelis sat and waited until Lewes sat as well. “Are you settling
into your new duties?”

“Very
well, thank you.” Lewes smiled, revealing a dimple in his smooth cheek. The
smile vanished while he scanned the room. Then he leaned closer to Caelis and
lowered his voice. “I’ve been anxious to speak with you since I came to the
Keep, but my time is not my own, as you well know.”

Caelis
sat forward and kept his voice quiet. “Are you in any trouble?” His compulsion
to protect this young cousin awakened.

“No
trouble yet.” Lewes stared at Caelis, taking his measure. “On the honor of our
family name, can I trust you?”

Caelis’
eyes widened, and his belly tightened. What was going on here?

“Of
course. I swear by all that is holy you can trust me, cousin.”

Lewes
glanced around once more and swallowed.

“I
am trusting you with my life, Sir Caelis, but I believe you of all people will
understand what our Uncle Reed does not.” He paused and took a deep breath. “A
growing faction in the south desires to be a separate kingdom. I am
commissioned to discover highly placed sympathizers in the north.”

“You
do realize this is treason?” Caelis frowned.

“Yes.”
His gaze bore into Caelis’, making him appear much older than his years.

“What
about the king’s Seer? All he has to do is read your thoughts and you are dead
as well as your conspirators.”

“The
new Seer is one of us,” Lewes smirked. “Sir Caelis, I am prepared to forfeit my
life for the cause of southern independence.” His gaze hardened. “I would
rather die than continue to live under the House of Alden. These northerners
have no regard for our concerns in the south.”

Caelis
sat back, studying his cousin. When had he become such a passionate
revolutionary? If Waryn was still alive, Caelis would have been incensed by
Lewes’ traitorous contempt for the House of Alden. But Waryn was gone, and the
ruling family would never be the same. King Orland had revealed a weakness for
mercy, and between Valerian, Orland’s brother, and the brother’s son, there was
no capable heir to take Waryn’s place.

A
page entered the room and bowed to Sir Caelis.

“Lewes,
Sir Brandon has need of you.” The boy did not leave.

Caelis
and Lewes both stood. Caelis held out his hand, and his cousin grasped it.

“My
word is my bond,” Caelis said. “I will consider what you have said, and we will
discuss this further.”

“Thank
you, Sir Caelis.” Lewes bowed gravely and met Caelis’ gaze once more before
backing away.

The
page opened the door and bowed to Caelis. “Thank you for coming, sir,” he said.

Caelis
nodded and stepped into the hall. His belly roiled, and his knees began to
quake. What had he just done? Given his word to a traitor? He should go
straight to the king, demand to be heard, and reveal what he’d just learned.

But
didn’t Lewes’ words stir up loyalty to family and the south within him? Even
though Caelis still hoped to persuade the king to make him heir instead of
Valerian, he was not about to turn on his own family. If Lewes and others felt
so strongly about separating from the current ruling house, perhaps Caelis
could ally himself with them and demonstrate his superiority over all
candidates for king, north and south. Not only would he save the land from the
marauding Horde, he could unite the factions in Levathia and prove himself the
one most fit to rule them all.

Mercy
entered the dark cottage, set down the buckets, and groped for a candle, flint
and steel. She lit the candle and placed it on the table. Her brother huddled
in a corner of the room, rocking himself. His braid had come undone, his hair
disheveled as if he’d been pulling on it. Alarmed, she rushed to his side.

“Rafael?”
He didn’t look up. “Rafael! What’s wrong?” She gently touched his shoulders.

He
flinched as if she’d struck him.

“Rafael.”
Mercy forced the panic from her voice. “Come to Sissy.”

After
a moment he stopped rocking and turned toward her. Mercy stifled a gasp. Her
brother’s eyes appeared vacant. She shuddered and held out her arms in a
welcoming gesture.

It
seemed an eternal minute, but the light of recognition returned, and Rafael
cried out, throwing himself into Mercy’s embrace. She sat on the floor and
pulled the child onto her lap, rocking him and crooning a lullaby until he
relaxed. At last he looked up, his cheeks wet with tears.

“Sissy?”

“Yes,
love, what’s the matter?”

“Is
Papa dead because of me?” Rafael wiped his cheeks.

Mercy’s
heart skipped a beat.

“Why
would you think that?”

“Mama
died b-because of me.” His breath caught on a sob.

“No!
That’s not why Mama died.”

“But
Aunt Prudence said Mama died because I was too big.” He put two fingers in his
mouth.

How
dare her aunt say such a thing in the child’s presence! Mercy held Rafael close
and started rocking again, this time to calm herself so she could carefully
choose her words. She stopped and held Rafael’s face between her hands so he
had to look at her.

“My
dearest brother, do you remember where Sissy had to go yesterday?”

Rafael
nodded and removed the fingers from his mouth.

“To
help Sister Faith’s baby get borned.”

“She
almost died, but it wasn’t the baby’s fault.”

Rafael’s
eyes widened.

“Do
all mothers die when they have babies?”

“No!
Faith lives, and most mothers live to have many babies. Please, Rafael, it was
nobody’s fault that Mama died.”

Rafael
sat in silence, and Mercy wondered,
Did I say the wrong thing?
She
stroked his head and absently combed his silky hair with her fingers.

“Sissy?”

“Yes,
Rafael?”

“Are
you going to leave me, too?” He stared at her with a calm that chilled her.

Before
she could answer, there was an urgent knock at the door. Rafael slid off Mercy’s
lap and together they opened the door. Diligence, Grace’s young daughter, stood
there, wringing her hands. Mercy stepped outside and Rafael followed.

“What’s
wrong, Dilly?” Mercy asked when tears welled up in the girl’s eyes.

“Grandmama
fell and hit her head. There is blood everywhere. Please, help her.”

“I’m
coming.” Mercy grabbed her sack of herbs and immediately thought of the
bloodroot she’d found earlier. She pulled two of the roots from the bottom of
the bucket.

Then
she saw Rafael’s face. How could she leave him alone again? She just couldn’t!

“Go
on,” she said to Diligence. “I’ll be there as fast as I can.” When the girl ran
off, Mercy went down on one knee and brought her face close to her brother’s.

“Rafael,
would you like to be Sissy’s helper?”

“Oh,
yes! I can help you.” He actually smiled.

Mercy
picked up her sack with one hand, took Rafael’s in the other, and together they
ran toward their patient’s cottage.

***

Valerian stood in the middle of a grassy field.
Enormous white stones encircled it. Beyond were ancient oak trees, their leaves
rustling in the breeze.

He lifted the sword in his hands when he heard
the whoosh of enormous wings. The ground shook as a mighty dragon landed in
front of him. It rose on its back legs, towering over him. The great mouth
opened, the beast took a deep breath, and when it exhaled, fire burst from its
mouth with the overpowering odor of sulfur….

Valerian startled awake and sat up in the bed. Thoughts
and images flashed through his mind too quickly to grasp and examine. They
pounded against him, made his head throb. It took him a moment to remember
where he was.

His brother’s room, his brother’s bed.

He’d had that dream about the dragon and the
sword again. It was a dream, but it felt so
real
. Had Waryn sent the
dream to torment him? Did the dead haunt the living through dreams?

Valerian lay back and closed his eyes. He tried
to breathe deeply to calm the pounding of his heart. His head threatened to
crack open from all the painful things inside: Waryn’s death, Caelis’ hate, his
father’s pressing him to make life or death decisions as crown prince, his
unsettling ability to read the thoughts of every person with whom he made eye
contact.

One question rose above the cacophony in his
mind: How could he fairly punish the Brethren when deep in his heart he agreed
with them and envied their choice to follow their conscience?

Gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain,
he pulled a robe over his nightshirt and put slippers on his feet. As quietly
as he could, he opened the hidden panel behind the bed, identical to the one in
his old room, and groped his way down the secret passageway. At the first
intersection, he turned right until he came to the door under the tower staircase.
From there he was able to descend to the dungeon.

The keeper sat on a chair, snoring softly. When
Valerian rattled the metal grate, the man snorted, opened his eyes, and
recognized the prince. He stood, wide awake.

“Your Highness? What be your will?”

“I must see the leader of the Brethren.”

“Now, Your Highness? ’Tis the middle of the
night, is it not?”

Valerian straightened to his full height and
glared down at the man.

“If I cannot sleep, then neither shall he.”

“O’ course, Your Highness.” The keeper fumbled
with his keys and opened the grated door. “Come this way.”

The door closed behind them with a clang. Valerian
had never been inside the dungeon before. He hadn’t realized how dark and
oppressive it would be, cave-like with no windows to let in even one ray of
sunlight. In the cold dampness hung the stench of centuries of unwashed bodies.

Imprisonment was intended to crush the spirit
from a man. Valerian steeled his heart against compassion for the unfortunate
criminals trapped inside these walls. Execution would be preferable to
captivity in a foul place like this.

The keeper took a torch from its wall cresset
and led Valerian down a narrow passageway. Rough-hewn walls dripped with
moisture. Valerian’s lungs labored to breathe in the stifling air. The way soon
opened into a cavernous single room. Its only light came from the keeper’s
torch.

Rows of stocks held the pacifists’ legs
immobile, forcing them to sit on the cold damp stone. Had they been here in
total darkness, seated in this uncomfortable position the entire time? No way
to get up and relieve themselves? With rats and other vermin crawling over
them?

Horrified, Valerian advanced to the nearest
group of men.

“Why are they locked up like this?”

“Your Highness, there be many of them and only
one of me.” The keeper brought the torch closer.

“These are not violent men. They will not harm
you.” Valerian put as much authority into his voice as he could. “Release them
from the stocks.”

“But, Your Highness—”

“I said, release them!”

Shrugging, the keeper handed the torch to
Valerian. He fumbled with his keys until he found the right one and unlocked
each of the stocks. With groans and exclamations of thanks, the Brethren slowly
lifted the upper pieces of wood and pulled themselves out. They had difficulty
standing.

The keeper took the torch from Valerian.

“Which of you lot is the leader?” said the
keeper.

“I am.” Gabriel hobbled forward. He inclined
his head to Valerian. “Thank you for your mercy, Your Highness.”

“You may not have cause to thank me.” Valerian
gestured for the keeper to stand back and immediately regretted it. He could
not see Gabriel’s eyes in the gloom and, therefore, could not read his
thoughts. He lowered his voice.

“I am ordered to determine your punishment for
refusing to fight. How is it just for the king to let you live when others have
died to protect their homes and families? Have you no regard for your own women
and children?”

Gabriel shifted his feet but otherwise stood
calmly.

“Our families understand as we do that there
are things much more terrible than death. To break our solemn Oath of Peace is
far worse than leaving this life prematurely. We believe that an Afterlife of
peace and joy awaits us.”

The horror of the two battles Valerian had
already experienced flashed in his mind: Waryn’s warm blood gushing through his
fingers as he died, and Ruddy’s severed leg twitching. A fire-breathing dragon
reared up inside him.

“How dare you speak of joy and peace while
other good men are made to suffer and die performing their duty to king and
country? Don’t you think I would prefer peace over war?”

Gabriel did not flinch at Valerian’s words.

“Then why don’t you join us, Your Highness? The
way of peace is open to all.”

Valerian clenched his fists. It took all his
self-control not to strike Gabriel.

“I cannot join you because I have my duty,
whether I wish it or no.” He whirled away from Gabriel’s maddening calmness and
confidence. “Keeper! Take me away, but leave a light for these men.” Valerian
strode out without a backward glance at the Brethren. He couldn’t bear to look
at them again.

Once he regained his bedchamber, Valerian lit a
candle and set it on the large table. He found his stash of blank parchments,
quills and ink and sat down, willing his hands to still their trembling. Quickly
he began to write in his careful, even script.

“I, Valerian d’Alden, by the grace of God,
Prince of Levathia, do decree that the pacifists known as the Brethren, of the
Village of Peace in the Southern Woodlands, must forfeit their lives as set
forth in the King’s Statutes for Times of War because of their refusal to fight
to protect the citizens of Levathia against a hostile force invading from
Mohorovia.”

Valerian did not sign the document. He reread
the words he had just penned and shuddered. What a terrible price to pay in
order to stay true to their consciences, but Valerian could find no loophole in
the laws of Levathia. Disobedience to the king’s command was a serious breach
during peacetime; it was treason and a capital offense during times of war. If
the Brethren were allowed to refuse to fight, wouldn’t it make it easier for
others to pretend to have a “conscience” against going to war so they wouldn’t
have to make any sacrifices? What else could he recommended to the king other
than their deaths?

He continued to stare at the words until they
blurred together. Valerian rubbed his eyes and reread the phrase “forfeit their
lives.” Something occurred to him. Perhaps there was a way to follow the letter
of the law without having to execute all those peaceful men. Valerian took a
fresh sheet of parchment and began to write again.

“I, Valerian d’Alden, by the grace of God,
Prince of Levathia, do decree that the pacifists known as the Brethren, of the
Village of Peace in the Southern Woodlands, must labor as the land’s needs
dictate for the duration of the war in order to ensure that necessary work does
not go undone while other men are taking up arms to protect Levathia from
invasion.”

There. Involuntary servitude would be
sufficient punishment yet vague enough that King Orland would be able to put
the Brethren to any task he deemed most needful at the time. Gratefully he
signed the decree with a flourish and set his seal below the name.

The sun’s rays came in the window, illuminating
the parchment. Turning over the first sheet, Valerian set it on top of the
stack. He would erase the ink when he returned. After all, parchment was not to
be wasted. Kieran quietly entered.

“My lord, I apologize for not rising sooner.
What can I do for you?”

“You can come with me to deliver this to the
king and then we can break our fast together.” Valerian picked up the sealed
document. He wanted to get the Brethren out of that miserable dungeon as
quickly as possible.

Kieran glanced down at Valerian’s nightclothes.

“Do ye not want to change first?”

Valerian almost said he’d wait until after he
spoke with the king, but then he remembered the sudden call to arms the other
day.