The Unfortunate, стр. 57
Deogol turned his head to avoid a direct hit, and it was then his and Marlisa’s eyes met, and he smiled … that smile.
Had it not been for that smile, the queen would not have been certain she had been seen, but she had. She was certain. It was an expression reserved for her alone. Usually it had filled Marlisa with joy, but there was no joy to be had. All the expression did was offer a slight comfort, but even that was not enough. Because when Fate at last struck, there would be nothing to combat its wrath.
The queen’s thoughts were again interrupted, this time by Banan’s announcement.
“We mortals are only pawns who must accept Fate’s decisions. It is for Fate to test us, but despite the number of choices we encounter, there are only two … loyalty or treason.” The prince paused and inhaled deeply. “And this man chose to defy my father, our king, with scandalous treachery.”
“SWINE! FORNICATOR! TRAITOR!” a few members of the crowd chanted, and the insults became louder with each repetition as more and more individuals joined. “SWINE! FORNICATOR! TRAITOR! SWINE! FORNICATOR! TRAITOR!”
“He has brought disgrace …” Banan had to raise his voice to continue. “He has brought disgrace upon my family and Armania, and for that …” The prince hesitated again, this time for a different reason. His voice was faltering, and it was apparent he was having difficulty.
If only he knew the truth. Marlisa again felt the urge to do something. She wanted to rush onto the balcony despite whatever criticism would occur and admit everything. She wanted to reveal the truth to make her son realize what he was about to do, but she could not. She could never tell Banan of his actual father, and this reminder was further strengthened by Deogol’s words from the last time he and the queen had spoken. The truth would not only be our downfall but also our son’s. If they were to learn Banan is not Beadurof’s issue, then he would have no claim to your husband’s title. Marlisa continued to hear the warning echo in her mind even as her son resumed speaking.
“And for that disgrace, he must be punished in accordance with Armania’s law.” Banan turned, retrieved a torch from one of the guards, and looked back to the crowd. “Let this serve as a warning to all that treason will not be endured,”
At first the prince remained still and looked at the flame as if he were considering otherwise. Or at least that was what Marlisa hoped her son was contemplating, but she knew what was expected of Banan, and she knew that he was too proud to show weakness.
With a final glance, Banan lowered the torch to the straws and timbers, and as the smoke increased, Deogol appeared more tense, but he did not panic until the flames leaped above the pyre.
Marlisa could see Deogol’s lips moving, and she knew it was a prayer, a prayer that had come too late and that would not be answered by anything except ridicule.
“SWINE! FORNICATOR! TRAITOR! SWINE! FORNICATOR! TRAITOR!”
Deogol’s pleas for mercy soon turned to wails that echoed throughout the courtyard, but Marlisa did not look away. Even as the flames roared as they engulfed the pyre in a towering pillar, and even as Deogol’s body flailed erratically, Marlisa did not avert her vision. She could not. All she could do was think of what was occurring.
Yet again he had been taken from her.
This time forever.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BEADUROF
Escape! Escape! There must be a way! And there had been, but it had nearly cost him his life. Not having wanted to be seen, Beadurof had traveled by foot and had avoided the rivers and major roads. It had required several weeks to reach Armania’s capital. And even after having returned, King Beadurof continued to relive what had occurred. The scaling of Ebordum Keep’s outer wall, the repetitive lunges and slow descent, and finally the momentary plunge.
It had been foolish of him to hurry because there had not been a need. He had not detected any guards, let alone any sudden movement. But hurry he had, and that is why he had lost control of the rope. Immediately his heart rate had become erratic. He had felt it pulsating throughout his body, and he had sensed the increasing burning and eventual bleeding of his palms as they had struggled against the rope.
Yes, it had been foolish to hurry. Although he had needed to escape, and although he had been successful, it could have all been for naught. Beadurof could have fallen to the base of the wall where he would have been discovered the next morning, likely unable to move or possibly even dead.
But that had not been Fate’s decision. Despite the pain and the burning of his hands, the king had managed to regain control, and he had paused momentarily to become settled before resuming his descent. Never, not even during the fleeting yet fearful plunge, had he looked down. And after he had gained his composure and had resumed his descent, even though part of him had wanted to know how much further, he had not been able to avert his eyes. Soon. I shall reach the ground soon.
Repeatedly he had lunged. The castle’s wall, however, which had become more like an endless descent into the deepest abyss, had only continued. But at last he had no longer been suspended, and he had slowly dropped to the ground, relieved. Beadurof had then looked up at the walls, and even in the darkness, they had appeared higher than he had recalled from his arrival. Admiration, however, had not been his reason for glancing to where he had been. The king had wanted to check one final time to ensure no guards were present before he had begun the final phase of his departure. For departure sounded more diplomatic than escape. And once he had discovered