In the Enemy's Service (Annals of Alasia Book 2)

by Annie Douglass Lima

  Anya hesitated, distracted by the sight of Erik standing like a statue just beyond the prince, his hands behind his back, only his eyes moving as he scanned the courtyard for… what? Enemies? Signs of danger? Was he just going to stand there like that the whole time?

  Abruptly, Anya realized the prince was waiting for an answer, and that he had hinted she needed to be quick. “Oh. Um–” She paused, suddenly unable to remember how she had planned to begin her little speech. If she didn’t do this just right, Prince Jaymin might not be convinced, and Father’s life depended on how well she could persuade him.

  Father. Anya licked her dry lips, her mind blank, as silent seconds stretched away between them.

  An attendant appeared from around the corner and handed the prince a glass of water. Grateful for the interruption, which gave her another moment to think how to begin, Anya found herself distracted once again. Why wasn’t anyone bringing water for Erik? He must be just as thirsty.

  Prince Jaymin nodded his thanks to the servant and downed half the glass in one draft. Without turning, he reached behind him to pass the cup to his friend, who took it and drained the rest. Wordlessly, the bodyguard handed the cup back to the servant, who bowed to the prince and backed away.

  Prince Jaymin returned his attention to Anya once more, waiting expectantly.

  “It-it’s my father, your Highness,” she stammered finally, unable to stand the awkwardness any longer. Forget her speech. She just had to say something. “I wanted to ask you to please spare his life.”

  The prince frowned. “Has he been condemned to death?”

  “Yes.” The word stuck in her throat.

  “May I ask why?”

  No, Anya thought miserably. She didn’t want to have to explain it, didn’t want her father’s mistakes laid out before the future king and his silent and mysterious bodyguard. But she had to tell them; surely Prince Jaymin wouldn’t grant mercy to someone whose crimes he didn’t even know.

  “He was convicted of selling information about Almar to the Malornians before the Invasion,” she managed.

  “Ah.” Prince Jaymin’s eyes lit up in understanding. “He was one of those who went on trial the other day, wasn’t he? I read a transcript of the court case.”

  “Yes, your Highness. He’s scheduled to be–” Anya swallowed. “To be executed today.” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep a little quaver out of her voice. “The only thing that could save his life is if you grant him a royal pardon.” She swallowed again and looked hopefully into his eyes.

  The prince was silent for a moment. His expression, though sympathetic, looked as though he were trying to decide how to say something he knew she wouldn’t want to hear. Anya’s heart sank. I won’t cry, she told herself firmly. No matter what. I won’t cry in front of him and Erik.

  “I can only imagine how hard this must be on you,” Prince Jaymin said finally, and there was genuine compassion in his voice. “But thousands of lives have been lost in the last six weeks because of the people who helped Regent Rampus invade our land. To let those who allowed this disaster to happen escape unpunished would be to make light of the tragedy that’s devastated our kingdom. And more importantly, their executions are to serve as a warning to others.”

  “He doesn’t have to go unpunished,” Anya pleaded, though she knew it was disrespectful to argue with the prince now that he had apparently made his decision. She wouldn’t, couldn’t give up this easily. “You could – I don’t know – fine him or banish him or make him spend the rest of his life in the dungeon, even.” Afraid he would cut her off with a refusal, she let her words come tumbling out. “I know what he did was wrong, and he knows it too, and he’s terribly sorry. I’m not saying he should just get away with it. But he never meant to betray Alasia. He didn’t realize what he was doing at the time.”

  She half expected the prince to respond angrily to her lack of respect, or to end the conversation in annoyance and go get ready for his breakfast appointment. But he merely asked, “What do you mean? How could he not have realized?”

  Briefly, Anya explained about the financial trouble their family had been in and her father’s encounter with Dannel. The prince nodded.

  “So Karro is your father. Yes; now that you mention it, I remember that from the court transcript too. I understand that he was in a difficult situation, but from what I read, every one of the traitors – including Talifus and Phenniel – had reasons and excuses and explanations of extenuating circumstances to explain why they did what they did.” He sighed, and Anya saw the pain in his eyes. “But the fact remains that my parents are dead, along with two hundred fifty-two guards, twenty-six palace staff and their family members, two thousand two hundred fourteen Alasian soldiers, and who knows how many civilians from around the kingdom. I’m sorry to remind you of this, but your father is part of the reason all those people are no longer with us.”

  Anya’s throat felt as though a lump the size of her fist was stuck in it. She could barely swallow, and tears were building up inside her and threatening to break loose like the bursting of a dam.

  “I feel awful about all those people, your Highness,” she whispered, staring down at her hands in her lap, “and so does my father. And I’m terribly sorry about your parents especially. But executing my father won’t bring them back. It would just add one more death to the list.”

  There was silence for a moment, and Anya was afraid that this time he really would be angry with her. But when she finally dared to raise her eyes again, she saw that Prince Jaymin’s gaze was far away, and his expression had softened. Considering how much he probably missed his own parents, maybe he didn’t like the idea of someone else’s being killed, now that he thought about it like that. She felt a tiny flicker of hope. Was there a chance after all?

  “And yet why does your father deserve grace more than any of the other traitors?” the prince asked finally, his gaze returning to Anya’s. From the way he said it, it almost seemed that he was looking for a reason, an excuse to single one man out for favor. Perhaps he had been lamenting the need for those extra deaths, wishing for a good reason to show mercy to someone. In any case, the answer was easy.

  “My father doesn’t deserve grace, Sire,” Anya told Prince Jaymin earnestly, “but would it really be grace if he did?”

  The prince looked at her in surprise, his expression changing to one of startled respect. Then he chuckled thoughtfully. “No, I suppose you’re right. It wouldn’t, would it? And we all need a little grace now and then.” He sat back and sighed again, but he was smiling now, and Anya’s heart lifted.

  “All right, Anya. We’ll say that you’re giving up the reward you earned for your service to Alasia in exchange for your father’s life. I’ll have his sentence lightened from execution to ten years in the dungeon. He’ll be in the upper level, so you can visit him as often as you like, and you could even bring him a few things from home to make his stay a little more comfortable.”

  Now that the danger to Father’s life was over, Anya was unable to keep back the tears. They finally overflowed, spilling down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sire,” she sobbed. She suddenly realized she had never dropped to her knees the way she had intended to, but this seemed an appropriate moment. “My family and I – we could never thank you enough.”

  “Please, get up.” He sounded almost embarrassed. “You’re welcome.”

  It was odd, Anya thought, as he helped her to her feet, that this boy only a little older than herself had the power of life or death over her loved ones, and everyone else in Alasia, for that matter. He was so ordinary looking. He could have passed for one of the boys at her school, tired and sweaty after a rousing game of tag at break time. Yet he had just given her family what no one else could. And looking at his face now, she could see that sparing her father’s life had made him happy.

  “You’re going to be a good king,” she blurted out through her tears, and then could h
ave bitten her tongue in embarrassment. What a stupid thing to say to a prince!

  Prince Jaymin, looking surprised, gave a self-conscious laugh; and Erik grinned in the way any ordinary boy might, enjoying his friend’s embarrassment. But she knew that Erik was certainly no ordinary boy any more than the prince was.

  “Well, thank you,” Prince Jaymin replied finally, graciously. “I certainly hope I will. And I have a feeling that this is going to be one of my favorite parts of the job.”

  Chapter 22

  The next morning, Anya and Arvalon rode into the palace courtyard together on a cart piled with pieces of home. The prince hadn’t specified exactly how many things Anya could bring for her father, so she had decided to assume there was no particular limit unless someone told her otherwise. She and her brother had spent several hours the day before sorting through their household possessions, trying to decide which ones would help make the next ten years as bearable for Father as possible. At the same time, they had been packing their own things, choosing what to bring for their move to Sazellia. This morning they had given the spare key to Bronin and Merla, who had promised to look after the house and everything they were leaving behind.

  Arvalon parked by the stable, and Anya climbed down as her brother tied the horses to the hitching bar. The two of them gathered as many of Father’s things as they could carry, stumbling clumsily across the courtyard and up the palace steps as they made their way in with their arms full.

  “Good morning, Sergeant,” Anya politely greeted the guard on duty as she and Arvalon arrived at the dungeon door with their first load. “May we see our father, please?”

  “Your father’s not in here at the moment,” the sergeant told them. He glanced at a schedule on the desk before him. “He’s working at the stable this morning, but he’ll be back in half an hour or so.”

  “Could we go down and wait in his cell? We brought some things we want to arrange in there,” Anya explained, indicating her armload of clothes and bedding. “Prince Jaymin said it would be all right.”

  She held her breath, wondering if the guard would question this, but he merely shrugged. Perhaps he had already been informed of this exception to the rules. “Don’t know why not. I need to inspect everything you’re bringing, though.”

  He confiscated the razor Arvalon had insisted their father would want, but let them take the rest of the items down the stairs.

  “I guess Father’s going to be growing a beard,” Arvalon joked as they set everything on the floor just outside the open cell. “I’ll go back and get the rest while you start setting things out.”

  Anya looked around. Yesterday after she had spoken with Prince Jaymin, she had rushed straight down to the dungeon to relate the good news to Father. Then, at his insistence, she had hurried home to tell Arvalon. Her brother had accompanied her back to the palace, and the three of them had spent hours working together under a guard’s supervision to scrub the floor, the ledge, and all the walls of his new cell here in the upper level. The same cell, ironically, that had been Anya’s, and the only one in the dungeon that was now occupied.

  She was confident it was perfectly clean; in fact, Anya could still smell the soap they had used. Now all it needed was furnishings. She was going to make sure that his home for the next ten years was, if not the loveliest room he had ever had, at least the loveliest room this old dungeon had ever seen. The kind of room she would have liked when she had spent a cold and uncomfortable day and night here a week ago.

  In the next half hour, she and her brother transformed the lonely gray cell into a cozy, colorful chamber Father could be comfortable in. Anya had brought a pillow and four of their warmest blankets, which she draped neatly over the ledge so Father could sleep with two under him as a sort of mattress and the other two for covering. She spread the cheerful red and blue rug that used to lie at the foot of his bed back home across the stone floor, pleased that it fit almost exactly right.

  Arvalon carried in the furniture, setting the little desk from Anya’s bedroom – the one from Father’s study had been far too big – against the wall opposite the ledge. Anya covered it with the red tablecloth and tucked a kitchen stool underneath. She set a lamp on top, along with a stack of parchment, a large bottle of ink, and several pens, so Father could write letters to them. A few sets of clothes – Father had told them which ones he wanted – she neatly folded up and squeezed into the drawers.

  Against the back wall, between the desk and the ledge, Arvalon placed the low nightstand that used to squat by Father’s bed. His comb and a bar of soap in a little dish sat on top, and inside went a small towel and a washcloth in hopes that he would somehow be allowed to bathe now and then. Finally, Anya set his extra shoes and a new pair of blue slippers she had knitted for him under the makeshift bed and stood back to admire their handiwork. There wasn’t much room to walk around – in fact, the little cell was decidedly cramped – but it looked homey and comfortable, not depressingly bare and stark as it had been for her.

  Wennish had promised to bring Father books to read from the palace library and make sure the other guards treated him well, and Eleya and Tonnis and Bronin had all said they would try to visit every evening after work. Not only that, but Father would receive a proper breakfast, lunch, and supper straight from the palace kitchen each day; and even dessert now and then, Lutian had assured Anya. Not to mention that he would have to spend several hours every morning outside working, so he would get sunshine and fresh air and the chance to stretch his legs. Under guard, of course, but at least he would be out of the dungeon for a while. So Father’s next ten years wouldn’t be that bad.

  Then why did a lump keep finding its way to Anya’s throat and prickles of tears to the corners of her eyes when she looked at those thick metal bars?

  Father, when he finally descended the stairs and returned to his cell under a guard’s watchful eye, was most impressed. “What a transformation!” he exclaimed, gazing around at their handiwork. “Why, the two of you have made it look better than my bedroom back home!” This wasn’t true, of course, but Anya smiled proudly back, forcing the lump and prickles away as she hugged him tightly around the waist.

  Even the guard was impressed. “No other prisoner in all my years here has ever had anyone dress up their cell like this. I daresay you’ll be the most comfortable prisoner this dungeon has ever seen.”

  Anya and Arvalon exchanged pleased grins. That was exactly what they had been hoping for.

  “Technically I’m supposed to lock you back up now,” the guard told Father, “but I’ll give you a moment to say goodbye to your children first.” He must know that they were leaving today. Anya was grateful that he retreated as far as the stairway to allow the three of them some measure of privacy.

  They sat down on the ledge, Father in the middle. He put an arm around each of them, and for once Arvalon didn’t shrug him away.

  “You’re a grown man now, son,” Father told him seriously, “and I’m counting on you to look after your sister. I know you’ll do a good job helping your Uncle Kindrin with the business, too.” He hesitated. “And I hope to see you every few weeks, at least, when you come to trade in Almar.” Something in his voice hinted at a new vulnerability, loneliness, the dread of the long, solitary months and years stretching before him down here in the quiet dimness.

  Anya leaned against his shoulder and stared glumly at the rug, wishing she could stay with him. This was the part of Father’s plan that she didn’t like at all. Yesterday he had reminded the two of them that they were still supposed to move to Malorn now. “You’ll stay with Uncle Kindrin and Aunt Jenzie,” he had explained while they scrubbed his cell. “They’ll look after you, and that way Arvalon and Kindrin can work together to keep the business running. Before I was brought back to Almar, he and I planned it all out, though of course we’d assumed I’d be there as well. And Anya, they’re going to try to arrange an apprenticeship for you with a tailor in Sazellia who owes the family a favor. Yo
u’re to bring a sample of your work for him to inspect.”

  Anya’s heart had leaped at the news. She had always dreamed of being a tailor’s apprentice, spending all day sewing and learning new techniques, creating her own designs, fashioning beautiful clothes that rich people would be proud to wear. But she had never dreamed of living so far away, and who knew if this tailor would be any better than Merla, anyway? If he wasn’t, she would rather just stay in Almar where she could visit Father every day. Now, slumped gloomily beside him in his cell, she reflected that this would be the last time she would see him for a long time.

  Her father turned to her as though reading her mind. “By the time my sentence is up, you’ll be a grown woman,” he smiled, squeezing her close. “You’d better come and visit me a few times before then, so I’ll be sure to recognize you in ten years.”

  “Of course,” she promised anxiously. “I’ll come with Arvalon every time he makes the trip.”

  “Well, maybe not every time,” Father cautioned. “You’ll most likely be busy with that apprenticeship, which you had better take seriously. It’s a wonderful opportunity for you.”

  “I know, Father,” Anya assured him. “I’m looking forward to it, but I’m going to find ways to come and visit you whenever I can get time off. I can’t just go for ten whole years without seeing you.” Again those prickles at the corners of her eyes and the lump in her throat.

  “Time’s up, I’m afraid,” the guard announced, reappearing in the cell doorway, keys in hand. “Sorry.”

  Anya hugged her father with all her strength, as though that could keep him close across the miles about to separate them. “We’ll come back and visit as often as we can,” she repeated, half choking on the words.

  “This isn’t really goodbye,” Arvalon agreed, hugging him too. “It’s probably only for a couple of weeks.” But as the guard shut the cell door behind them and fitted his key into the lock, Anya turned and saw that Father was blinking back tears of his own. He gazed silently after them as the guard ushered her and Arvalon toward the stairs, and she and her brother both fished in their pockets for handkerchiefs and blew their noses in unison.