The Unfortunate, стр. 52

I pray Fate guides your decision and that you accept.

He needed a closing that would not only culminate the request but one that would also cause Ryce to consider the implication of refusal. “You need my assistance, so help me help you,” Banan whispered and immediately shook his head.

The wording would not do. It was not strong enough, and the prince did not want to appear weak. He pondered momentarily, dismissing phrases as quickly as he had conceived them, but eventually he smiled and dictated the words as he wrote. “We both are aware your forces alone cannot match King Aengus’.”

Although the proposal was not an ideal example of diplomacy, and although his father would likely not hesitate to call it a questionable act, it would suffice. It would have to. He reread the proposal, and for the first time since the plan had been introduced, Banan’s qualms were awaken like an animal from its hibernation, and like the animal the feelings of doubt were hungry and prepared to feast on the weak. But he could not allow that to occur. He was not weak. He had come too far to surrender to the possibility of failure. The prince again glanced back to the parchment.

In this the year two hundred sixty-nine, I, Banan of the Royal House O’Nechtan, Prince and Lord Regent of Armania …

Perhaps— NO! It will serve the purpose. Will it? Yes. It must. He had done exactly as his father would have, mostly. He had pledged support to Yorcia because it was his obligation as an ally. The only difference was he had asked for a substantial return. But it is for the greater good, is it not? Banan did not allow his scruples an opportunity for rebuttal before he prepared to sign his name. With the tip of the quill inches from the parchment, he stopped. The sound of gentle knocking had been the interruption, and the prince sighed and cursed to himself before eventually ordering, “Come.”

The door slowly opened, and Raedan entered.

He cursed again. What does he not understand about someone wishing to be alone?

Despite his frustration, however, Banan remained quiet and offered a smile, but the expression was nothing more than an act, and it was quick to fade when the advisor explained, “Apologies for the interruption, but there is a matter of urgency.”

A matter of urgency. How many times have I heard those words? But thinking it nothing more than a ploy to gain attention, the prince casually probed, “Yes?”

“I have reason to believe there is danger.”

“From what? And who will it affect?”

“Not what,” the advisor countered without hesitation. “It is from whom, and it will affect us all.”

✽ ✽ ✽

For Banan the bowels of Caberton Keep had always been an area unlike any other. There was a different atmosphere that was overwhelming to all and pleasant to no one. Even with numerous torches, it was still utterly dim. Sight was limited to only twenty-five, perhaps thirty paces. And then there was the smell. Even without any prisoners, the chambers where the holding cells were located always retained an appalling scent—a stale mixture of urine, feces, and sweat. In the dungeons the odor still lingered, and it was accompanied by the heavy mustiness and metallic-like stench of blood. Only on a battlefield with mounds of rotting corpses was the vileness of death more prominent.

“What does this threat concern?” the prince eventually inquired.

Raedan continued to gag occasionally as he struggled to explain. “Recently …” the advisor again retched and pushed the cloth closer to his nose and mouth. “Recently I discovered a possible threat … an attempt to bring about disorder.”

“Who? And by what means?” The young man inquired, still not having received a direct answer.

“A former knight … the one who assisted with your training when you were a boy.”

“Deogol?” The prince unconsciously spoke his thought.

Even though the name had been expressed as an inquiry, Banan had not done so for clarification. He was expressing disbelief.

“Yes, there is …” the advisor again struggled to reply. “There is reason to believe he means harm.”

“No. He would never.”

“No? Do you not recall his dismissal and the reason?”

The prince nodded. It had been of the most severe charges.

Raedan adjusted his cloth and added, “He was suspected of treason.”

The prince expressed his understanding with another nod. He had heard the story many times and how supposedly, a word not usually included in the account depending on the speaker, Deogol along with another sworn shield had convinced a small group of guards and lower-class members of the court to revolt against their king. The outcome, not surprisingly, had been failure, but whereas most of the rogue servants had been executed, there had not been enough proof to condemn Deogol. Not enough evidence. The words continued to echo in Banan’s mind as he repeated the events of his memory to not only obtain clarification and but to also remind Raedan of the truth. “But was he not deemed innocent?”

“Yes. Because of a lack of evidence, but—”

“Other than the possible existence of past grudges”—the prince interrupted, still hesitant to believe Deogol would be disloyal—“what recent charges have been presented?”

“For the past several weeks, the prisoner has been interacting with an individual of rank.”

“Who?” Banan began to open the door to the dungeon, but he stopped abruptly when he heard Raedan’s answer.

“Queen Marlisa.”

My mother? No. The accusation was even more outlandish, and the prince countered with a more-than-apparent tone of disbelief. “You are certain?”

“Without doubt. On more than one occasion, my spies have seen her enter and depart the prisoner’s house. At odd times I might add.”

The prince experienced a surge of emotions. He knew his mother and Deogol had always been close, but that was all. What more can there be? But then it occurred to him. The Plan! Has my mother mentioned anything about what was occurring with Drunacht? And if she has, has Deogol revealed anything? Fate be kind. Let it not be!