Jesse felt like throwing up. We have to do something. What? What can we do?
He glanced at Prince Corin in panic. He was still staring forward.
“Doran!” Lady Taralyn cried. Dimly, Jesse realized that she was nearly hysterical. “You can’t do that!”
“If it had been intentional, it would have been fifty lashes,” Chancellor Doran said without emotion.
“But she could die!”
“You should have thought about that before you were careless.” Jesse couldn’t understand how his scolding could be so calm and measured. “She seems to be sturdy enough for her size. But if she doesn’t pull through, we’ll send the steward to the market tomorrow to buy you a new one.”
Before another word was spoken, Jesse watched numbly as Prince Corin stepped out from behind the pillar and began to walk toward the throne. Jesse didn’t stop him. He couldn’t have if he tried—he was too terrified to move.
“Who are you?” the governor’s voice demanded. Jesse leaned over, peering out from behind the pillar. Prince Corin was striding straight up to the dais at the front, as if this were really his own throne room and everyone else were just an illegal occupier.
“Prince Corin of Dagen.” Jesse noticed that Lady Taralyn’s head jerked up at that.
“What are you doing here?”
“Listening,” Prince Corin said calmly, walking closer to the thrones. “And I feel this is a great injustice in Amarias, that you would let an innocent one suffer with such cruelty.”
“That is none of your concern,” Chancellor Doran said, eyeing him as if he were a persistent and annoying fly buzzing around his pudding. “You call yourself a prince, but your father’s so-called kingdom is not half the size and power of this great city. You have no authority here in Amarias.”
“I do not ask for authority,” Prince Corin said. “I am simply here to protest an injustice. This girl has done nothing wrong.”
Chancellor Doran sighed loudly. “Would you have us whip the lady, the only treasure and heir of this throne?”
Lady Taralyn looked at him with wide eyes.
Prince Corin shook his head. “No,” he said. “Since nothing but a whipping will do for you, I offer myself in her place.”
No, Jesse wanted to yell. It’s not right! He, Rae, and Lady Taralyn all shared part of the blame for the fire, but Prince Corin did not.
The governor laughed again, harder this time. It was a while before he had calmed down enough to speak, and even then, he had to gasp out enough breath to speak. “Did you hear that, Doran? The royal pup wants to take the whipping for the servant girl!”
“Most amusing,” Chancellor Doran agreed, although he didn’t join in the governor’s laughter. Jesse glanced at Lady Taralyn, who was looking at Prince Corin like he was some kind of tragic hero. Rae, though, looked just as horrified as Jesse felt.
“Of course, it can’t be done,” Governor Elias said, waving Prince Corin away. “There’s no precedent. I’ve never heard of this happening before.”
“I have,” Chancellor Doran said, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Prince Corin. “Once.”
Prince Corin smiled. “I think I know to what you refer, and I am honored by the comparison.”
“What is he talking about, Doran?” Governor Elias demanded.
But it was Prince Corin who answered. “‘He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, so that we might die to sin and live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed.’”
Jesse remembered the piece of crossed wood in Prince Corin’s tent, and he felt a sudden surge of hope. Of course. Prince Corin believes in God. God wouldn’t let anything happen to him…would He?
“So, you’re one of them,” Chancellor Doran said, spitting on the ground. Something in his voice was different, in a way Jesse could hardly identify. It was more than disgust, more that hatred, even. “I would kill you if I could.”
Evil, Jesse decided. His voice has evil in it.
“Chancellor,” Governor Elias said in a mildly scolding tone, the kind that Jesse’s mother used to tell him not to take too much butter for his bread, “you know that could create an international incident.”
“Of course, my lord,” Chancellor Doran said smoothly, never taking his eyes off of Prince Corin. “However, if this foolish boy sees fit to offer himself in place of the girl of his own free will, I see no reason why we cannot grant his request.”
“Father,” Lady Taralyn pleaded, “you cannot do this.”
That seemed to settle the matter for Governor Elias. “I can,” he said tonelessly, turning as if to leave. “I have killed hundreds of men in my years. Ordering one to be whipped is no concern of mine, even if he is one of the higher born among the island heathens.”
There was movement on the side as Rae stepped forward, both fists clenched at her side. “It’s not fair!” she cried. “He didn’t do anything!”
“The boy chose the punishment. It is fair by every law in the land,” Chancellor Doran said. He’s enjoying this, Jesse realized, feeling sick.
“And you are sure, Doran, that this won’t create an…incident?” the governor asked. “I would hate to close off our supply of kalem because of this bothersome mess.”
“Quite sure,” Doran said, never looking away from Prince Corin. Rae had just been a meaningless pawn, but Doran seemed to truly hate Prince Corin.
God, please protect him.
But hadn’t Parvel said that God allowed His own Son, Jesus, to die?
“But it’s not right!” Rae looked straight at the chancellor. “It’s not right,” she repeated.
He smiled slightly. “No. No, it is not.”
“Evil always accepts a willing sacrifice, doesn’t it Doran?” Prince Corin said, almost triumphantly, as if he was the one who had the power.
And from the darkening scowl on Chancellor Doran’s face, Jesse wondered if, somehow, he actually did. “We will hear no more from you, boy. Leave us!”
The attendant started to take Prince Corin away, but he signaled with his hand that he was not yet ready. The attendant paused, then stopped, bowing almost respectfully to the prince.
“You have no power anymore, Doran—not since the Holy One died. Your power died that day on the cross, with him.”
“Begone, I say!” Chancellor Doran shouted, his face red with anger.
The governor shrugged carelessly. “As you say, Chancellor Doran.” He waved his hand at the attendant. “Take him away. By order of the governor, and all that.”
The attendant clamped a hand down on Prince Corin’s wrist, but he pulled away. “No need,” he said simply, twisting free with one easy motion and striding down the middle of the throne room. Strange clothes and all, Jesse would never have doubted that Corin was indeed a prince.
Jesse was torn between relief and horror. Rae is safe…but Prince Corin…. He wanted to run and fall before the governor or tell the real story behind the fire or grab Prince Corin and jump out the window—something, anything. But he didn’t.
The doors closed behind Prince Corin. Jesse heard distant crying, and he realized that it was Rae. He had never heard her cry before.
“You, servant girl,” Chancellor Doran commanded. “Take Lady Taralyn to her quarters.”
Rae, her head bowed and shoulders shaking slightly, took Lady Taralyn’s hand and led her out of the throne room. Lady Taralyn seemed to be numb, walking as if she were still asleep somehow. She can’t understand what has just happened, Jesse knew.
As soon as they were gone, Governor Elias yawned loudly. “The women are always so emotional.”
Chancellor Doran was staring straight ahead at the heavy wooden doors. “I don’t trust him.”
“Trust who, Doran?”
“The island prince.” He took a step or two forward. “Perhaps everything happened as Lady Ta
ralyn said,” Chancellor Doran said, shrugging. “But there were no fragments of parchment in the ashes.”
“The Forbidden Book,” Governor Elias said, finally understanding.
“Gone,” Chancellor Doran confirmed. “If Taralyn told the truth, it was destroyed. If not…stolen, perhaps.”
“And you think Prince Corin had something to do with it? What interest could he possibly have in the Guard? Why would he steal the Book?”
“I do not know. I only know it must be one of those Christians.” Again, the voice of evil. Jesse’s heart beat even faster. “The Great One would not allow his shrine to be destroyed. He would not allow the Book to be stolen. I should have received a vision, a sign. It has happened before. But….”
“But their God is more powerful than the Great One.”
“Never!” Chancellor Doran hissed with so much force that Jesse jerked his head behind the pillar. There was a pause, then Doran continued in a much more controlled voice, “You must not say such things, my lord. The Great One keeps you in power. Even King Selen pays homage to him.”
“Whatever you say, Doran. You know I don’t believe as strongly as you. Leave the religion to the priests, that’s what I say.”
“Perhaps it’s better that way,” Chancellor Doran agreed smoothly. Then, bowing, he added, “If you’ll excuse me, my lord, I ask your leave. I will find great pleasure in watching this particular punishment.”
“Of course, of course,” Governor Elias said, waving him away. “I, for one, intend to get to sleep. Too much excitement in District Two at this time of night.”
As Chancellor Doran passed the pillar where Jesse was hiding, Jesse tried not to even blink.
The door shut. Everything was dark, and Jesse was alone.
Not completely alone, Jesse reminded himself. He kneeled down, pressing his forehead to the cold stone. Normally, when he talked with God, he liked to look at the sky, but now he couldn’t even lift his head up.
God, why didn’t You stop it? he prayed, and even thinking the words seemed to hurt. Why did he do it?
There wasn’t a sound in the throne room, but Jesse began to understand the answer. Because he didn’t want Rae to be punished, even though it was her fault, and Lady Taralyn’s, and mine. And we just stood there and watched.
I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry I was too afraid to step forward with him.
What was it that Parvel had said? “He took our penalty.”
Jesse hadn’t understood what that meant, why it was necessary, until now. But understanding didn’t make it hurt any less. He wondered how Jesus’ friends—Parvel had called them disciples—had felt when Jesus was gone. Especially Peter. Peter was Jesse’s favorite.
But Prince Corin isn’t going to die, Jesse told himself. He’s strong.
Still, Jesse thought he knew how Peter felt. Guilty, angry, helpless. Lost.
It should have been me.
Chapter 13
The next morning, Jesse didn’t wake up until noon. After Parvel had tended Prince Corin’s wounds the night before, each had agreed to stay awake for a different shift of the night in case he needed anything. Jesse had gone first, and fell asleep immediately after Silas took his place.
When he rolled over to Prince Corin’s bed, he saw that the prince’s eyes were open, though he was not moving. Parvel was kneeling at his side.
Prince Corin tried to sit up, but fell back. A look of understanding dawned on his face. “Don’t move,” Parvel advised him. “You’ll break open your wounds.”
Prince Corin just groaned.
“But he has to get up,” Jesse said, glancing at Silas and Parvel for some confirmation. They looked doubtful. “It’s the second day of the tournament.”
“The tournament,” Prince Corin mumbled, as if he had forgotten. He tried to sit up again.
Gently, Parvel pushed him back down. “Absolutely not,” he said with a firm shake of his head. “If you want to have any chance to heal at all, you shouldn’t move at all, much less go sword fighting with your crazy acrobatics.”
“It’s not sword fighting today,” Prince Corin corrected. “Archery.”
“Are you any good?” Silas asked, and though he asked it casually, Jesse could tell that he was very interested.
“Fair.” Prince Corin shrugged, and the movement caused his face to contort in pain. “I should not have done that,” he mumbled, closing his eyes again.
“Whatever event it is, you are not to move,” Parvel insisted.
“So, the slave is giving the master orders now,” Jesse said.
“Correct,” Parvel said. “And I have a right to. My father was a member of the king’s court, and as part of my studies, I learned some basic medicine. So I am the doctor here.”
Jesse saluted, keeping a perfectly straight face. “Yes, sir. At your command.”
Parvel acknowledged him with a nod, then turned back to Prince Corin. “Now, turn over and let me examine those wounds.”
“You just told me not to move,” Prince Corin pointed out, offering a faint smile.
Jesse and Silas smirked at that, but Parvel pretended to be frustrated. “Turn over, and then don’t move.”
Carefully, Parvel unwound the bandages around Prince Corin’s back. The shredded, bloodied robe that Silas had folded neatly and placed on the ground the night before was a reminder of Prince Corin’s condition after the whipping.
“Hmm,” Parvel grunted, examining the welts that criss-crossed Prince Corin’s back. Immediately after the last bandage had been pulled away, they began bleeding again. “The swelling should have gone down some by now. Not infected, though.”
“I know some herbs for bringing down swelling,” Jesse said. He hadn’t learned in a palace court like Parvel, but old Kayne back in Mir had taught him a few tricks for healing.
“Hesperid plant?” Parvel asked, glancing up.
Jesse nodded. “Or sallion, although I don’t know that they sell those here. They usually only grow in the mountains.”
Silas began ripping up one of the linen sheets from Prince Corin’s trunk. Parvel dipped one in water and dabbed the wounded back. Prince Corin winced visibly.
“I’ll go to the market and find some,” Jesse volunteered. He hated to admit it, but the sight of blood was making his stomach turn.
“Very good,” Parvel said, nodding. “Just don’t get sold into slavery again.”
He was joking, but Jesse thought he might have a point. “I’ll stay to the main streets,” he promised.
After taking a few small coins from Prince’s Corin’s store, Jesse hurried out through the linen curtain, into the loud, crowded maze of suitors and their servants.
“Is he all right?” a voice demanded in his ear the minute he dropped the curtain.
Jesse’s heart nearly stopped before he realized that the person was Rae, trying to see past him into the tent.
“Yes,” Jesse said, then shrugged. “As well as could be expected, anyway.”
“I couldn’t sleep last night,” she said quietly. She didn’t need to say why. They both knew.
“Lady Taralyn sent me to find out how he’s doing,” Rae explained. “She seemed very concerned about him.”
“Well, she should have thought of that earlier, before announcing her crime in front of everyone,” Jesse said bitterly. “She must have known that you would be punished in her place.”
Rae looked thoughtful. “I don’t think she meant for anything like that to happen, Jesse. And she’s truly sorry.”
“How do you know?”
“She didn’t sleep either,” Rae said. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to know, but I was awake and could hear her crying through the door.”
In a flash, Jesse could almost picture her, freckled face streaked with tears, trying to muffle her sobs in her silk and velvet pillows. “Well, t
ell her that Corin is recovering, although he is in no condition to continue with the tournament. He’ll have to withdraw.”
Rae made a face. “That’s news I’m in no hurry to bear. I have a feeling that Prince Corin was a favorite of hers, especially after his heroics last night.”
“That was more than heroics, Rae,” Jesse said, thinking she was being sarcastic. “That was….”
He paused, not sure what to say.
“Selflessness? Sacrifice? Courage?” Rae offered. She nodded in her direct way. “I know. So does Lady Taralyn. I think she’s half in love with him for it.”
Without saying more, Rae darted away into the crowd to tell her ladyship that her favorite suitor could no longer compete. Jesse didn’t envy her the task.
He gripped his staff and limped toward the drawbridge. This put him against the crowd, since most people were rushing toward the castle for the afternoon’s contest.
Even though he knew he should focus on his task, Jesse couldn’t help glancing around at the carnival-like sights around him. He had never seen so many rich people in one place, and the finery was almost overwhelming. Once, he paused at a bright red tent, admiring the detail of the standard emblazoned on its material. It was a gold falcon on a field of white, clutching an axe in its talons.
Magnificent, Jesse thought, tracing the outline.
Just then, the tent flap, a few inches from Jesse’s hand, began to move. Out of habit, Jesse limped around the corner of the tent, not wanting some rich suitor to accuse him of spying.
He was about to continue walking, when he heard a man declare loudly, “Servant! Where is my armor-bearer? The competition begins soon, and I want my bow.”
Jesse froze. It felt like only his heart was moving, beating furiously inside his perfectly still body. That voice….
“Of course, Sir Roland,” a submissive voice replied. Jesse heard footsteps as the servant retreated, but he paid them little attention.
Roland. It had to be him: Roland of the Rebellion, the one Jesse and the others had escaped from only days before in Riddler’s Pass. The one who had wanted them all dead.
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