The King's Scrolls

  Kyrin couldn’t see much of the crete girl’s face, but it was enough to understand the look she gave Timothy. Leetra shook her head and opened her mouth, but was slow to speak in a low murmur. “There’s nothing I can do.”

  Timothy just stared at her a moment, his jaw muscles tensing, and moisture gathered at the rims of his eyes. It was as though Kyrin could see right through them into his heart as it broke with grief. Tears rushed to her eyes.

  Josan gripped Timothy’s arm, and his gaze jerked down.

  “Timothy,” the crete gasped, putting great effort into his words. “You must . . . listen.”

  Timothy grasped Josan’s hand and leaned forward so the crete wouldn’t have to try so hard to speak. Everyone moved back to allow Timothy and Aaron to have their last moments with him. Even so, Kyrin could still hear their quiet words.

  “You have to . . . tell them,” Josan said as he looked up into Timothy’s eyes. “Now that the Scrolls are gone, they need to know. They need hope.”

  Need to know what? Kyrin exchanged glances with her friends, but not one said a word as Timothy only nodded.

  Josan coughed and choked as he fought for another wheezing breath. “I don’t know why Elôm chose to spare me over your father, but it’s been a privilege . . . to watch over you and see the faithful young man you’ve become. Be strong, Timothy . . . and steadfast in your faith. Elôm has called you . . . to a powerful ministry. Continue to pursue it diligently. He will guide you and strengthen you to fulfill it.”

  A tear slipped down Timothy’s cheek. He nodded again and spoke hoarsely. “I will.”

  Josan’s eyes shifted to Aaron. “I know you’ll continue to watch over your brother.”

  “Until the day I die,” Aaron said in a solemn oath.

  “You’re a good man. Your father would be very proud,” his eyes slid back to Timothy, “of both of you.”

  Timothy managed a sad, but fleeting, smile. More tears fell. “Thank you for everything. For taking care of us, and for . . . this.”

  Josan smiled, peaceful and satisfied. “It was an honor.”

  Letting out a slow, seeping breath, his eyes closed, and his chest did not rise again.

  No one moved. Disbelief froze Kyrin like the ground beneath her feet, the cold sinking deep into her bones. Their mission had been to save Josan and the Scrolls. Now both were gone. In one cruel, unexpected instant, they’d failed. Her eyes followed each individual tear that rolled in silence down Timothy’s face. Somehow, his still, forlorn expression and quiet tears were far more heartbreaking than if he’d cried aloud. Her own tears wavered on the edge of falling.

  A dragon’s wing flaps tugged her blurry eyes away from Timothy. Glynn landed at the edge of camp and rushed to Darq, gripping his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  The captain gave a short nod. “Where’s Falcor?”

  “I lost him in the fog.”

  In that moment, it was as if a thunderclap echoed in Kyrin’s head and vibrated all the way down to her feet. She put a hand to her chest as the air rushed from her lungs, and her knees went weak.

  “Father!” Her wide eyes flew to the others. “If Falcor is working with the emperor, what if he told him about my father? What about Talas?”

  The wave of horror that had just overtaken her swept through the others and cleared their expressions of all but the terrible implications of this betrayal.

  “And what about Sam, Tane, and Aric?” Trask asked. “Does he know about them?”

  They looked at each other, and then all eyes came to rest on Kyrin. She stood lost for a moment before understanding—she was the only one who could truly remember what information Falcor had been privy to. Her mind choked, still processing both her sorrow and her fear. She closed her eyes and strained to focus. Images and snatches of conversation flashed in her mind as she tried to pick out any names or sensitive information. She grimaced. Already her head pounded and nausea stirred her stomach.

  After a moment, she shook her head. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember any of us mentioning them by name.” A miracle. She looked at Darq. “Have any of you told him about them?”

  “He knows we have people in Valcré, but only a select few know who.”

  Confident these three were safe, Kyrin’s concern jumped back to those who weren’t. “We have to find out about my father and Talas.” A horrible feeling rolled through her middle that Talas’s absence wasn’t on account of the noble reason Falcor had given.

  Kaden moved first and grabbed up his sword. “I’m going down to the city.”

  “I’m going with you.” Kyrin turned to snatch up her weapons. Her heart pounded with pleas to Elôm for her father’s safety. Nightmarish images of him in Auréa’s dungeon overran her thoughts. She’d known this was a bad idea. She should have begged him not to go!

  “Wait.”

  They both turned to Rayad.

  “It could be a trap, and the two of you are too well known. If you’re recognized, you might not escape.”

  “We can’t just stay here,” Kaden responded, his voice raised.

  “I’ll go,” Rayad said.

  Kaden looked ready to argue, but Jace cut him off.

  “So will I.”

  Kyrin looked up into his eyes as he stepped in front of her. He touched her shoulder. His firm, yet gentle grip, along with the earnestness in his expression, instilled in her a small ounce of encouragement.

  “We will find out where he is. I won’t come back until we do. I promise.”

  Kyrin believed him, but her heart cried out to search for her father herself. The waiting would be more than she could stand. It was a war of wisdom against emotion. Fighting the emotion, she forced a nod. “All right.”

  With her acceptance, Kaden surrendered as well.

  Jace and Rayad rushed to buckle on their weapons. Holden joined them, since he knew the city better than they did. Just before the three of them left camp, Jace looked at Kyrin again. He said nothing, but his promise rested in his eyes. He then followed Rayad and Holden down the rocky slope away from camp. They disappeared in the fog and snow that swirled around the mountains long before they reached the trees. Kyrin drew a shaky breath. She was supposed to see her father ride up that slope, not watch more loved ones leave. She did not move until she heard Darq’s voice.

  “Glynn, scout the area. The emperor would be foolish to send men against our dragons, but make sure.”

  Glynn nodded and hurried to the dragons again. As he flew off, Kyrin prayed Jace, Rayad, and Holden weren’t walking right into the hands of Daican’s men.

  “Leetra.”

  Darq’s voice had taken on a sharper tone. The girl flinched. She hadn’t moved from her place a few feet away from Josan’s body. Her face was gray and slack, her eyes larger than ever. It was as if she were just now coming back to reality.

  Darq stepped toward her, but grimaced and stopped. His tone, however, did not soften. “Did you know about Falcor?”

  At the name, her face paled yet another shade. “No, Captain.” Her lips trembled, and her eyes turned watery. Kyrin had never seen her so vulnerable.

  “You’re the one who requested he join us. How do we know we can trust you?”

  Kyrin thought Leetra might burst into tears at this question, but she gathered her resolve and held herself up straighter. “You don’t, Captain. You’ll have to arrest me until you know for sure.” Her voice lost a little strength at the end.

  “She’s telling the truth about Falcor.” Darq’s eyes swung around to Kyrin, and she reinforced, “She didn’t know.” The brokenness and betrayal in Leetra’s eyes and her voice couldn’t be faked.

  “You’re sure?” Darq questioned.

  Kyrin nodded in certainty. Leetra had been just as blindsided as the rest of them.

  Accepting her word, Darq gave a nod and then winced again. “Leetra, I need you to take a look at this wound.”

  She didn’t move at first, except to cast an uncertain glance at Josan?
??s body, but then she hurried to where Darq took a seat by the fire. While Leetra helped him take off his jerkin and shirt, Kyrin’s gaze shifted to Timothy. He and Aaron still knelt beside Josan. His tears had ceased falling, but they lingered in his eyes.

  Then he wiped his bloodied hands in the snow and brushed the backs of them across his face. After covering Josan with the blanket, he pushed to his feet, his sad eyes meeting Kyrin’s. He walked over to her and Kaden, and cleared his throat. “I’d like to pray with you for your father and Talas.”

  Gratitude and awe for his concern after just witnessing the death of his mentor filled Kyrin’s heart. “Thank you.”

  Timothy bowed his head, and she and Kaden did the same. His quiet, but steady, voice rose with prayers to Elôm, and the snow crunched around them as the others joined in.

  A horse’s hooves echoed in the fog before they could see who approached. The remainder of their group stood at the edge of camp with weapons ready just in case. Kyrin breathed in and prayed with all her might it would be her father—that he would ride into camp to see them, just as he’d said he would when he left the morning before. She squeezed her fists. “Please.”

  A few moments later, dark shadows took shape in the cloud of white. She squinted. The first form she recognized was Jace, followed by Rayad and Holden. But her eyes sought the horse. A fourth figure appeared and stood even taller than Jace. He led the horse behind him. Kyrin recognized Tane in the same moment it became clear the horse’s rider was too small to be her father. A wave of cold dread washed through her. The rider hunched in the saddle was Talas.

  Jace broke away from the others, jogging the rest of the distance to her and Kaden. The moment she looked into his eyes, she knew. Every muscle, every nerve, every thought froze in unwillingness to believe it. Entirely numb, she stared up at him.

  Jace’s chest rose and fell heavily. Pain invaded every inch of his face, but nowhere more so than his eyes. He opened his mouth, but his voice wavered. “Your father . . .” He faltered, and his eyes glimmered with moisture. His next words were only a ragged whisper. “He was executed.”

  She was paralyzed—trapped inside her own body with a rising tide of emotion and sorrow. She fought to breathe, but her lungs collapsed. Her thoughts spiraled and tangled into a panicked, desperate attempt to find a way for this to be a mistake. It couldn’t be true. This couldn’t happen.

  Tane appeared at Jace’s side and pulled something from his pocket. As soon as her eyes locked onto the blue stone, it hit her, shattering her will and hopeless denials. All over, she began to tremble, barely managing to grasp the necklace in her hands. Her eyes remained fixed on it, but it blurred behind a flood of tears. Tane’s words penetrated the suffocating haze, but were low and distant.

  “He wanted to make sure you had that . . . so you would always remember him.”

  No! The frantic scream clawed up her throat and broke free in an anguished sob. “No! No!”

  Again and again, she choked out the word. She stumbled back blindly as streams of hot tears scalded her cold face.

  “No!” She fell to her knees. “Elôm, why? Why?”

  She bent over. Sobs ripped through her chest and racked her body. An arm closed around her, and she turned into Kaden’s chest. She wrapped her arms around him, grasping a handful of his jacket in one hand and the necklace in the other, holding on as if they might be torn away from her too.

  She sobbed into his shoulder until she could barely breathe. Waves of pain tore through her nerves every time the reality hit her. Their father was gone. Never again in their lifetime would they feel his strong embrace, see his loving smile, or hear his kind voice. Kyrin squeezed her eyes closed and clenched her teeth so hard that pain shot through her jaw as her heart still screamed for it to not be so.

  Beneath her chin, Kaden’s shoulders shook with his own sobs. Tears poured afresh from Kyrin’s eyes, and again she asked why. Why their father? Why now? Why like this? He’d placed himself in danger to retrieve the Scrolls, Elôm’s Word. Why did he have to die for it? And now the Scrolls were gone. Had he died for nothing? Another deep sob tore from her throat. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t lose him like this. Her father was too good a man. But there was nothing, not a single thing in all the world, that she could do about it. Some way, somehow, she would have to live with it, but she couldn’t imagine the future without him.

  Daniel brushed past his parents, his boots smacking hard against each snow-covered step up to the palace entrance. The guards barely had time to open the doors for him before he barged through. Inside, he yanked off his cloak and practically flung it at the waiting footman. He didn’t usually treat the servants so discourteously, but he was about ready to snap. If the weather hadn’t been so cold and miserable, he would have gone straight to the stable for his horse and ridden as far from here as he could. If only he’d succeeded in freeing Captain Altair. He could have gone with him and left this life for good.

  He immediately started for the staircase to his room, but his father’s commanding voice echoed behind him.

  “Daniel.”

  He froze and curled his fingers. Good thing the large vase sitting on the pedestal to his right was just out of reach. He would have taken great pleasure in smashing it and seeing the painted depictions of Aertus and Vilai in a hundred shattered pieces. Even more pleasure in the look on his father’s face if he did.

  He looked over his shoulder and forced his voice through clenched teeth. “What?”

  “We need to talk,” his father said in no uncertain terms and strode down the hall with a clear expectation for Daniel to follow.

  Daniel contemplated refusing. He didn’t want to talk to his father. Ever. He looked at his mother, who gave a firm nod. Fine. He’d do it for her, but he didn’t expect it to accomplish anything.

  Trailing his father, Daniel walked into one of the sitting rooms, specifically avoiding any other breakables. He didn’t trust himself not to hurl one at the wall . . . or his father. His mother and Davira came in after him, and his mother closed the door. Daniel almost scoffed. As if the servants wouldn’t hear them arguing anyway.

  He turned to his father, who gave him the infuriating “what’s wrong with you?” look he’d used when Daniel was a child. Daniel tightened his fists again and answered it with the most defiant expression he could muster.

  His father’s eyes narrowed. “I won’t have you sulking around like a weakling for the next few days all because of the execution of a traitor.”

  “He is a weakling,” Davira muttered as she joined their father.

  Daniel glared her. If they’d been children, he’d be sorely tempted to pull her hair. Hard. She would be his next target if he started throwing things. He switched his glare to his father. “I don’t see how I’m weak for not understanding why you would execute a good man like Captain Altair.”

  “He had a chance to prove his loyalty,” his father ground out. “I could’ve had him arrested the moment he set foot in the city. I gave him a chance to come clean and make things right. Instead, he betrayed my kindness and aided our enemies.”

  Daniel shook his head as the urge to break something surged within him. “So he took some old scrolls. So what? What did he do to warrant death? What did any of them do?”

  “They have turned their backs on their emperor and their gods. In the absence of such loyalty, they are capable of anything, and could tear this empire apart.”

  “You mean like Miss Altair’s fake attack against you?” His father’s eyes rounded and sparked with anger. Anyone else might have feared that look, but Daniel didn’t. He gave a short, hard laugh. “What, you thought I actually believed that like all the other people you’ve lied to?”

  His father took a step closer, and Daniel stood up taller.

  “It does not matter what she did or didn’t do to me,” his father responded in a low, aggravated tone. “What matters is that she stood before the gods and denied them in front of me and the entire staf
f. What’s to stop her or others from doing the same to me? If they won’t respect the gods, they won’t respect the authority the gods have placed on Arcacia’s throne. And if enough turn their backs on them, why would Aertus and Vilai bless and prosper our empire?”

  “Do you really believe these gods of yours are real or that powerful, or would even care about any of this?”

  His father’s eyes flashed and he snapped, “Of course they do.”

  “Well, it sure seems they made a huge mistake when they made me your son.” Daniel let sarcasm drip from his every word. “Perhaps I was accidentally switched with some other poor fool, who would comply with all your demands like a good, obedient heir.”

  “I should have been the heir,” Davira said, shooting him a venomous look.

  Daniel gave her a twisted smile. “Maybe you should talk to your so-called gods about that.”

  “Oh, I will and, maybe, if I’m lucky, they’ll strike you dead and then I will be.”

  “I look forward to their answer. No doubt I’ll be waiting forever.”

  Daican stepped between them. “Enough. I’ll not have either of you praying harm on each other.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me.” Daniel peered around his father to look into his sister’s furious eyes. “I have no need to pray to non-existent gods. And I have no fear of them striking me dead either.”

  His father whirled on him. “I don’t know where you picked up such a blasphemous attitude, but I will not stand for it. You will change it, and you will learn to respect your gods or, so help me, I’ll find a way to change you myself.”

  Daniel almost dared him to try. “You know what the problem is in all this?” He leaned a little closer. “You’re a tyrant.”

  Absolute outrage morphed his father’s expression, but Daniel didn’t give him a chance to reply. He turned away and walked toward the door, reaching for the knob.