“Father?” Anya ran the rest of the way, her arms outstretched. “Oh, Father!”
They embraced as well as they could through the bars. “Anya. Oh, Anya,” her father whispered over and over, his voice breaking with emotion. “I’ve missed you dreadfully. It’s so good to see you again, but I wish you didn’t have to see me like this. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I did this to you and Arvalon. I’m sorry I did this to Alasia. You can’t imagine how sorry I am.”
Anya hugged him tightly, the bars cold against her face and chest. For a moment she couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of anything to say. Her throat felt tight and she wanted to cry, but she was afraid that would upset her father even more. When she realized he was crying, it only made her feel worse. She had never seen him cry before.
“Oh, Anya,” he repeated, sobbing quietly into her hair. “You don’t understand, do you? They probably told you your father betrayed Alasia for his own profit. How can I try to explain it?”
“You don’t have to,” she whispered, his tears wet against her forehead. “I know about what happened. Arvalon and I found out. It wasn’t your fault.”
“Oh, but it was,” he whispered back. “I should have known why they wanted that information, or I should have guessed. I should have made them tell me why before I took the money, but we needed it so much, and I was worried about all the bills I couldn’t pay.” He let out a shuddering sigh. “Thousands of people have died because of what I did,” he groaned, and Anya’s heart ached at the anguish she heard in his voice.
“It wasn’t just you,” she protested, but he wasn’t listening.
“I deserve whatever the judge says tomorrow,” he told her brokenly. “I deserve it. But you don’t deserve to grow up without a father or a mother. I’m so sorry I did this to you.”
“Maybe the judge won’t say you’re guilty,” Anya suggested desperately. “You never know. Isn’t there someone who would be allowed to go to court with you and tell them what a good person you really are? I could do it!”
“I don’t think children are allowed in court,” her father told her, pulling back and wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “You’d have to be sixteen at least.”
“Arvalon’s sixteen. He could go!” Anya brightened, her own idea filling her with hope. “I’ll run home and tell him right now, and he can meet you at the courthouse in the morning. The judge would have to let him in. They can’t have a trial without witnesses.” She had learned about that in school.
“I’m sure they’d let him in, and they might even let him speak, but it wouldn’t make a difference. No one will care if I’ve been a good father or a good person. They just want to know if I really sold the Malornians information that helped them invade Alasia and kill the king and queen.”
“But Arvalon can explain why you did it, and that you didn’t realize what you were doing,” Anya objected. “He and I overheard your conversation with Dannel that time in your study. He can explain it to them.”
Her father sighed. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.” His voice didn’t sound particularly hopeful, as though he were agreeing just to make his daughter happy. But Anya refused to be discouraged.
“We’ll make this work,” she announced firmly. All her life Father had protected her, provided for her, comforted her, encouraged her. Now he was the one helpless and in need. It seemed strange to have their roles reversed, but after everything she had been through in the last month, Anya felt braver, stronger, more capable than before. It was only fair that she take her turn, and she was prepared to do whatever she had to to take care of her father.
“I’m not going to give up,” she informed him. “I’m not going to let you be killed.”
Killed. Something about that word made Anya’s throat tighten up again, and she felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. But she wouldn’t let him see. She had to be brave and hopeful for his sake.
“I’m going to go make a plan with Arvalon right now,” she announced, forcing herself to smile with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. “Don’t worry. We’ll plan exactly what he needs to say to convince the judge, and it will all turn out all right. You’ll see.”
Her father put a hand through the bars again and stroked her hair. “Goodbye, Anya. I love you.”
Something about the way he said it sounded so final. Anya swallowed and blinked hard. “Goodbye for now, Father,” she replied brightly. “I love you too, and I’ll see you later.” She reached through the bars for one last hug, then forced herself to turn and skip lightly down the hall. Ten pale faces turned silently from their cells to watch her go.
The next morning Anya waved staunchly as the wagon that bore her father and two of his fellow-prisoners rolled out through the palace gates and rumbled across the drawbridge. Father couldn’t wave back, since his wrists were bound, but he smiled bravely in return. Anya kept waving until the wagon was out of sight, and then she leaned against the clinic wall and sighed, blinking back tears once more.
She had done all she could. She had hurried home yesterday and spent all evening with Arvalon, explaining the situation and helping him plan what he would say in court. The two of them had cooked supper together and stayed up late talking about everything that had happened since the Invasion. It felt good to be back with her brother and to spend the night in her own bed for the first time in a month, but it was strange having Father’s place at the table empty, his room closed and silent.
This morning when Arvalon had left for the courthouse, Anya had returned to the palace, determined to cheer her father up by waving goodbye as he left. Now he was gone, and it was all up to Arvalon and the judge.
She spent the rest of the day helping in the clinic without really knowing what she was doing. Eleya, seeing her distraction, gave her only easy tasks, like boiling water. Anya was grateful, unable to concentrate on anything for more than a moment or two. She kept rushing over to the windows to see if Father was returning yet.
What made matters worse was that everyone else in the palace seemed cheerful and happy. A date had been set for the prince’s coronation in just over two weeks, and everyone was talking about the event. Apparently the prince had already met with his father’s Council of Advisors, including Sir Edmend and Sir Olling, and had begun making all sorts of plans for Alasia. A larger, more powerful military was rumored to be in the works to ensure that nothing like the Invasion would ever happen again. More palace guards were being actively recruited, but Lieutenant Evvits – soon to be promoted to captain in a ceremony planned for the next day – assured everyone there would be strict standards and background checks. “No traitors will be hired this time,” he declared to a tableful of listeners at lunch.
Wennish was alight with excitement. “Guess what?” he demanded, grinning from ear to ear as he hurried after Anya just as the clinic staff were leaving the dining hall. “You’ll never guess!”
“You’d better tell us, then,” Tonnis suggested dryly.
“Prince Jaymin wants to meet with me!” Wennish was beaming. “Just me! Cleetas, his secretary, came and told me this morning. Apparently the prince’s schedule is so busy he hardly has a single moment to himself between now and his coronation, but he wants me to join him upstairs for coffee and dessert tomorrow after supper.”
“Congratulations.” In spite of her worry over her father, Anya was impressed. “Why do you think he wants to see you?”
“He heard I was the only guard to survive the Invasion in the palace,” Wennish told her proudly. “Cleetas said that makes me a sort of celebrity. The prince probably wants to congratulate me and ask what it was like.”
Wennish’s enthusiasm was contagious, and Anya was happy for her friend, but her cheerful mood didn’t last long. The worry came creeping back as soon as Wennish had gone, and her heart was heavy with it all afternoon.
The sky was growing dark when at last she glanced out of the clinic window in time to see the prisoners’ wagon rolling back through the gates and into the cou
rtyard. With a gasp, Anya dropped the kettle into the sink and darted through the clinic and out the front door. “Father!”
The wagon rolled to a stop before the stable, and grooms scurried forward to unhitch the horses. Guards surrounded the three prisoners, unfastening the ropes that tied them to the wagon and helping them down the steps at the rear, their wrists still bound behind their backs.
“Father?” Anya wormed her way into the group, but one of the guards put an arm out and pushed her away.
“Keep your distance from the prisoners, girl. We’re taking them back to the dungeon for now.”
Anya ran around behind him, where she could see her father standing between two other guards. “Father, did it work?” she called desperately.
But as he turned toward her, one look at his face told her everything she needed to know.
Chapter 21
“Now, don’t despair,” Eleya encouraged Anya later that evening. She and Tonnis sat one on either side of Anya on the couch up in the sitting room, trying to cheer her up. Anya had cried for nearly an hour after she had discovered that her father had indeed been declared guilty and sentenced to death. Though she had known all along that it was a distinct possibility, she realized now that she hadn’t really been prepared for the news at all.
The execution of all the traitors was scheduled for the day after tomorrow. “And that’s plenty of time to think of some other way to save him,” Eleya insisted. “You can’t give up all hope just yet.”
“But the judge said it’s final,” Anya whimpered, wiping away the tears that kept oozing out. “It’s too late to make him change his mind.”
“Too late for one of us to make him change it, perhaps,” put in Tonnis, and something about the way he said it made Anya pause and look up at him. “But there is one person in Alasia who has the authority to overrule a judge’s decision.”
“Of course!” exclaimed Eleya, brightening. “Why didn’t I think of that? Prince Jaymin could grant your father a royal pardon.”
Turning from one to the other, Anya gaped at them through her tears. “Really? Do you think he would?”
“He could, certainly,” Tonnis told her. “I can’t say for certain if he would, but perhaps if you explained the situation, the prince might consider it. It’s worth a try.”
“But how do I arrange to meet with him?” Anya wondered, sniffling. “I’ve hardly seen him around the palace at all since he got back, and the few times I have, he’s always been busy talking to important-looking people.”
“You’d have to ask Cleetas to help you with that,” Eleya told her. “He’s the one in charge of the prince’s schedule now. One of us or Wennish can take you up to his office in the morning.”
Anya wiped her tears away and sat back, weak with relief. Cleetas knew who she was. She had often seen him working in the kitchen with Thessa and Lutian and the others over the last few weeks, and he had always greeted her with a smile when she had come in to get meals for the clinic. Surely he would be willing to arrange for her to talk to the prince.
There was still a chance for Father after all.
The next morning, Wennish led Anya up to the third floor and down a wide hallway into a wing of the palace where she had never been before. It was strange, she reflected, not to see anyone in red and black patrolling the corridors. The green uniforms of the Alasian soldiers and the blue and white of palace guards and attendants looked much friendlier. Several people smiled at her or cast curious glances her way, and the guards they passed all exchanged greetings with Wennish, who did seem to have become a sort of celebrity. But nobody demanded to know what they were doing or ordered them to get back to work. It’s nice not being a slave anymore.
Wennish led her to a large door with fancy designs carved into the wood. He knocked, and a voice from inside called, “Come in.”
Anya found herself in a spacious office, with a large desk on her right, surrounded by shelves and cabinets. Comfortable chairs were arranged almost sitting-room style at the left, and another fancy door stood closed in the opposite wall.
Cleetas, dressed professionally now and seated behind the desk, looked up as they entered and rose to greet them. “Wennish and Anya. Good morning.” He smiled at Anya. “Are you enjoying having free rein of the palace now that the Malornians are gone?”
Anya smiled back. “Yes, very much. And you must be happy not to have to work in the kitchen anymore.”
“Oh, I certainly am,” Cleetas agreed with a chuckle. “No more dishes to wash. Finally I’m back at my real job.” His expression turned sober and he glanced at Wennish. “Of course, it isn’t the same without King Jaymin on the other side of that door, or so many of the people we knew. Your colleagues on the guard, especially.”
Wennish nodded sadly. “I know. But at least there will be another King Jaymin soon. And in our own little ways, we each get to play a part in helping him put our kingdom back together.”
Cleetas nodded in agreement. “And an honor it is to be back at this desk serving Alasia’s true ruler. And not having to scrub any more greasy pans.” They all chuckled.
“Anyway,” Wennish told him more seriously, “Anya here badly needs to meet with the prince. It won’t take long.” He glanced at the closed door at the opposite end of the room. “Is he free right now, by any chance?”
Cleetas shook his head. “I’m afraid not. He’s in a meeting with the Council of Advisors. The poor fellow’s been busy almost every moment since he got back. So many issues to sort out and decisions to make. It will probably take months before everything settles down again and Alasia returns to anything close to normal.”
“Well, could you possibly squeeze Anya into his schedule sometime later?” Wennish pressed. “Just for a brief conversation in between other appointments.”
Cleetas sat down behind his desk again and picked up a large sheet of parchment covered with straight lines forming a grid. Every square in the grid was filled with tiny writing. He frowned thoughtfully as he ran his finger across the top row. “You’re one of dozens of people who have requested appointments with him this week alone,” he told Anya, studying the calendar. “His schedule is almost completely full. But it looks as though he might have a few minutes after next Monday’s Council meeting before the luncheon with the Wistran businessmen.” He picked up a pen and dipped it in a jar of ink. “I’ll write you in there just in case, though we may have to reschedule it if the meeting runs long. They often do.”
“But next Monday will be too late,” Anya protested. “I have to talk to him today. It’s urgent.”
“I’m sorry,” Cleetas told her sympathetically. “Prince Jaymin literally doesn’t have a moment of free time today. Even his meals are scheduled with various people. I hope that boy has a lot of energy. He hasn’t got so much as half a day off in the next three weeks. He’ll be running himself ragged before he’s even crowned king.”
“Then I know what to do,” Wennish announced as Anya sagged in disappointment. “Give her my appointment with him this evening. I can meet with the prince any day, but her issue is time-sensitive.”
Cleetas examined the calendar again and frowned. “I could do that if you had requested the meeting, but Prince Jaymin specifically asked to meet with you. It wouldn’t be proper to change that sort of appointment. However, if it’s truly urgent, you could explain the situation to the prince when you see him tonight. He might consider ending his time with you a little early and having Anya brought in during part of what would have been your turn.”
Anya and Wennish both brightened. “I’ll do that,” Wennish agreed enthusiastically. “Don’t worry, Anya. I’m sure Prince Jaymin will be kind enough to give you a few minutes of his time.”
That evening after an early supper, Eleya helped Anya wash her hair under the pump and comb all the tangles out while it dried by the fire. “You ought to look your very best for your first meeting with royalty,” she told her proudly, braiding Anya’s hair and tying it with a ribbon
.
Anya carefully mended a torn hem in her dress and put on the new white stockings she had finished knitting a few days ago, and Tonnis helped her clean and polish her shoes. She was ready for the meeting that could save her father’s life even before Wennish stuck his head in the clinic door to let them know that he was about to head over for his coffee and dessert with the prince.
Wennish had obviously gone to some trouble to make himself look good, too. He had shaved and gotten his hair cut, and he was dressed in a new, crisply ironed uniform. His black boots had been polished so shiny that Anya could see her reflection in them. A sword hung from the left side of his stiff leather belt and a dagger from the right. He looked handsome, professional, and as excited as a schoolboy.
“Have a good time,” Eleya urged him as he stood grinning in the doorway. “Don’t forget to tell Prince Jaymin that Anya needs to talk to him.”
“Of course not,” Wennish assured them all. He snapped to attention and saluted formally. “I will not fail in my mission.”
“But don’t tell him what it’s about,” Anya warned. “Just say it’s important. He might not want to bother if he thinks I’m just coming to beg for mercy for a traitor. I have to explain it all properly.”
“I know. Don’t worry; I’ll let you give him the details. I’ll just say it’s important and that you have to see him tonight.” Wennish waved as he turned and headed back out across the courtyard toward the palace.
Waiting in the clinic, Anya grew more and more nervous. Someone would come to summon her if and when the prince agreed to see her, she knew. Either Wennish or one of the many servants now on duty in the palace. In the meantime, she paced anxiously back and forth from the front room through the back one and down the hallway by the patient rooms, chewing her thumbnails and trying to plan out what she would say. She had to get every word just right. Her father’s life depended on it. No speech had ever been this important before.
In the Enemy's Service (Annals of Alasia Book 2) Page 31
