The King's Secret Read online

  caravel. The ship was made to sail fast and explore. We could

  get to Astodia quickly, but we’d have to go around Amghadon to avoid any means of attack.

  Isabel let out a shuddering sigh.

  “What about food?” Xavier asked. “Supplies?”

  At the same time, Jax lowered the gangway from above, shouting, “there’s enough to last us about eight days!”

  I groaned, gripping my shoulder as the pain started to become unbearable.

  “We’ll ration the food. We’ll just have to . . . eat less,” Isabel said, clearly distressed.

  Staying alive meant small rations.

  We had no other choice.

  THREE

  The first two days were manageable. I got enough rest; we ate enough to go on through the day and complete all the tasks.

  Xavier’s skin had turned golden from the sun. He barely ever went below deck; he probably even slept up there. Sometimes, he’d check on me, talk to me, and sometimes, he’d lay next to me without talking at all.

  It was just the four of us, so we each had our private cabin to sulk in. It’s not that we wanted to avoid each other; by the fifth day, we were too hungry to speak. We were running out of food, and with it, all our energy.

  I rolled myself out of my hammock, making my way to the top. Xavier stood alone at the bow, dark hair whipping around his head. My stomach rumbled, and my dry lips begged for water.

  “Xavier,” I managed to call out as my stomach growled again. He looked over his shoulder; eyes squinted from the glare of the sun. He had tossed away his blood-soaked shirt, standing in pants and his boots. He looked much thinner, but I could still see his muscles flexing as he pulled on some of the ropes.

  “How does it look out there?” I asked, trying to get to him as fast as I could.

  “The ocean is clear,” he responded. “Are we going the right

  way?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Do you have the map I drew you?

  And the compass?”

  Xavier patted the side of his pants. “Northwest?”

  “Exactly.”

  He snaked an arm around my waist. “You’re losing weight. You look like a skeleton.”

  “So do you,” I raised my eyebrows, reaching up to drag a thumb across his cheekbone. “I can practically see your bones.”

  “Ah, well. As long as you’re fine, I’ll survive.”

  I wasn’t fine.

  I was not fine.

  I was so far from fine.

  Something was very wrong. I could feel it. It wasn’t the pain, but that little shiver that ran up through my wrist every few minutes.

  I stared down at my palm. It would get better. It—

  Xavier wrapped his cold hands around my right wrist, causing me to wince against my will.

  He furrowed his eyebrows, eyes scanning my face.

  “How bad is it, from one to ten?” he asked with a smile, trying to add a little bit of childish humor.

  “Two.” I tried to pull my arm back, but he held on. With his other arm, he reached up, putting pressure on it. I let out a yelp and then cursed myself for it.

  “What the hell did they do to you?” he asked, rage filling his eyes and voice. All the humor had disappeared. “I could hear them, but I didn’t know they . . .”

  They had destroyed my arm. After escaping from Trella, I had been shot in the arm with an arrow. Shortly after, to get answers out of me on the location of the secret weapon, Augustus and his men used that injury as a way to torture me, thus worsening it. I couldn’t even change without screaming and having Isabel help me. I didn’t want to be weak, to feel weak, and I didn’t want Xavier to see me helpless. I tried to fight the pain, but I couldn’t survive it much longer.

  I kept my arm pressed to myself, tears of pain filling my eyes. He saw them.

  Xavier’s expression softened. His shoulders seemed to slump with a sudden sadness.

  “Let me see,” he murmured, trying to raise my sleeve up, but I shook my head.

  “No, Xavier.”

  “Let me see—”

  “Xavier, don’t—”

  “I need to know if there’s anything I can do.”

  “There’s nothing you can do!” I shouted and immediately regretted it.

  He cupped my face gently with his hands.

  “This is not a weakness,” he said softly. “You will overcome this as you do everything else. But to do that, you have to let me help. Or Isabel, or Jax. Anyone. But we have to try.”

  So I let him.

  He was careful and smooth as he rolled my sleeve up slowly, each movement feeling as if someone was ripping my arm off slowly and torturously.

  I clenched my teeth, keeping my eyes away from the wound as he slowly unwrapped the bandage. I tried not to scream.

  I failed.

  I could see the reflection of my pain in his eyes.

  Just then, I wondered how I looked. How terrible, how exhausted. My face felt black and blue, my fingernails still caked with blood and dirt. My knuckles were scabbed, and my hair hung in matted clumps, framing my bony face.

  I looked ugly.

  I felt ugly.

  Xavier took my left arm, rolling up my sleeve just as carefully as he had the right one and turned my arm gently to see

  the bruises decorating them.

  Purple, blue, green, yellow, splotches of red. The rainbow

  patterned my skin—an incredibly ugly version of it.

  He hadn’t seen my back. My stomach. My legs. I looked disgusting.

  Xavier looked up, his enraged eyes meeting mine.

  “If we see him again,” he said, his voice shaking with anger and emotion, a contrast to his calm face, “I will rip out his throat myself.”

  Augustus.

  “We have to clean this,” he said to me. “Everyday. New bandages twice a day, and alcohol.”

  “Xavier,” I pleaded. “Just leave it alone.”

  I could handle myself. I could protect myself. I could save myself.

  “Why won’t you trust me?”

  I brought myself to look up at him and was immediately sucked into a current of sorrow. For almost twenty-one years, I had taken care of and protected myself.

  I stared at Xavier’s pleading eyes, his forehead creased with concern, and I realized . . . Maybe I didn’t have to be alone anymore. Perhaps, for once, I could be cared for.

  I was sure Jax and Isabel were rattled by my screams as Xavier helped me change the bandages.

  They had been close to bonding with the wounded skin. It was probably already infected.

  “Again, from one to ten,” Xavier leaned back, wiping the

  sweat from his forehead, “how bad was that?”

  Words. What were words? There were so many, yet my lips

  couldn’t find a single one.

  I didn’t reply, and I didn’t expect him to push me.

  And he didn’t.

  So I slept.

  I slept away my hunger, exhaustion, and pain. I couldn’t imagine what Jax, Isabel, and Xavier were going through, but I couldn’t look past my blinding misery. They were more mentally drained than physically, but it was the other way around for me.

  By day eight, we had two days’ worth of supplies left.

  I heard a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” I mumbled. It swung open, Jax walking in.

  “Water. Drink up.”

  I groaned. My right arm lay by my side, my left fist on my stomach. The ship jerked, causing the hammock to swing. My arm adjusted itself, making my vision shift in and out of focus. I let out a pained gasp.

  “Drink water,” he repeated, handing me the tin cup. I took it with my left hand, taking a sip. Heavenly cold water slid down my throat. At that moment, it was like I had just drunk sweet nectar sent down from up above, and I felt so much better.

  “You must be hungry,” I said, trying to sit up, my voice no longer as croaky.

  He scowled. “We�
��re not your children. It’s you you should be worrying about—have you seen Isabel? Xavier? They haven’t slept in days because of you.”

  “They have to—”

  “Adalia,” he said, his face softening, “you’ve done so much

  for us. If you dare ask about one of us again, I won’t visit you anymore.”

  I sighed.

  “At least tell me—have we crossed the worst parts yet?”

  Jax nodded, patting my knuckles. “We’re almost there. By your map, we’re about six days away.”

  When he left, my face fell. I sat up, rage bubbling in my throat as I tried to lift up my arm.

  Useless.

  You’re useless.

  I managed to hold myself together long enough, but everything fell apart on the twelfth day.

  I was sitting, eating the last bit of dried, salted beef, with a side of peas.

  Three round peas.

  I held up the spoon with my right hand. I had to keep it moving; holding it in one place too long would weaken my muscles, and I didn’t need to be any weaker than I’d already become.

  I rolled a pea onto the spoon, and let it sit there. I was alone. No one could see me.

  Come on, Adalia, I urged myself.

  With a grunt, I managed to raise up my right arm, gripping the spoon. So far, so good. As long as I could eat, I was all right.

  I slowly raised it to my lips, opening my mouth. I was doing fine. If I made it this far, I was okay.

  And suddenly, my hand jerked. The pea rolled off, and I stared at my fingers as the metal spoon clanged against the wooden boards below me. My eyes were wide. My lips stayed parted.

  My fingers trembled.

  “No,” I gasped. “No, no, no, no.” I clawed at my sleeve,

  trying to pull it off. Suddenly, I couldn’t breathe. I was choking, suffocating in my own skin.

  I staggered off the chair, slamming into the wall as the ship rocked with me, mirroring my anguish.

  “No!” I screeched, hearing the wail in my voice. Without my arm, I was nothing.

  This was how I ended.

  I wailed.

  I raised the plate above my head, slamming it to the floor. A considerable dent appeared with it, the floorboards splintering. The two remaining peas rolled away, slipping through the boards, the dry piece of beef sliding somewhere I couldn’t see.

  I kicked the wall.

  I slammed my good fist against the table, earning a few painful splinters and a cracked surface to eat on.

  I fell to my knees and stared at my limp arm, realizing I had lost everything I’d worked my entire life for.

  FOUR

  I stretched, fighting the pain, trying to clear my head and keep my arms moving. Three days had passed since my meltdown.

  I felt hot. I was sweating through my shirt, but then, I was cold. I was burning, I was freezing, I felt beads of sweat drip down my forehead.

  I was getting sick.

  The door opened, letting sunlight in, making me cringe.

  “Close the door,” I snapped.

  Xavier shut the door behind him, walking down the steps.

  “I’m here.”

  He sat across from me. I lay on my back, resting head on his thigh.

  “I’m sick.”

  “You’re going to make it.”

  “Xavier, the wound’s too far gone.”

  “If it were, we would’ve been hauling your body portside,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Xavier, if I die,” I mumbled, pushing myself up, “I just want you to know—”

  “You’re not going to die. You’re not going to let a scrape end you.”

  “Xavier—”

  “I can’t lose you. Not again.” He looked up at the ceiling,

  running his fingers through my hair. “When I left Astodia, not a day passed where I didn’t regret leaving you behind. I hated myself. To me, making you leave Astodia was a selfish decision. I knew you could handle yourself without me—”

  I finally snapped, like a twig. “Why does everyone think I’m stronger than I am?” I shouted, as loud as my throat would allow. “Don’t make my decisions for me.”

  “I won’t. Not again.”

  “Then listen to me, and let me die. I can’t live like this,” I gasped, looking down at my arm.

  Xavier was calmer than I thought he’d be, and I gave him credit for that. I wasn’t in my right mind. I could feel it, but I had no control over it.

  “Just let me die,” I wheezed out. “Let me . . .”

  He continued to let his fingers run through my hair until I fell asleep.

  “We’re here!” Jax shouted, banging on the door.

  I groaned, raising my good arm to block the light that flowed in through the opening.

  For a moment, I’d forgotten where I was. I sat up, a small weight on my waist. I looked down to see Xavier’s arm stretched across me; we’d fallen asleep on the uncomfortable floor, and my hip ached.

  “Xavier.” I nudged him. He grumbled a bit before sitting up.

  “What is it?” He blinked sleepily.

  “We’re here.” My voice cracked with relief. “We’re here. Get up.”

  I stumbled to the deck, feeling nausea rising up my throat.

  There it was. The kingdom. The docks.

  Intact.

  My job was done. They were safe.

  Jax, Isabel, and Xavier were safe.

  The castle had been notified of our arrival immediately. Our unknown pirate ship caused quite the ruckus. People gathered below; fishermen, those who had come for trade, young children playing near the water. Jax headed near the end of the ship, holding up his arms. Isabel followed.

  “Come, dark prince,” Jax motioned his head. “They know you. They won’t shoot.”

  Xavier had slipped into a tattered old cloak, pulling up his hood. He looked ashamed, embarrassed, and trapped.

  I hated myself for not realizing how he must’ve felt returning to his old home after so long, surrounded by the people who had once looked up to him. He was back, and they would destroy him for it. Xavier would be known as a liar, not a prince.

  I could hear his heart breaking.

  “Don’t shoot!” Jax shouted as I raised my good arm. “We’re here with a message for the queen!”

  Xavier had his head bowed, raising his arms up as Jax docked the ship.

  “Isabel, lower the anchor!”

  She did as she was told.

  Xavier backed away slowly, helping them lower the gangway.

  The ship stopped moving.

  Jax and Isabel were the first to walk down the gangway. The guards had already appeared, grabbing Isabel and Jax and

  patting them down. I turned to Xavier.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay, come on. No one knows you.”

  “I can’t,” he wheezed. I knew how he felt—returning after

  so long seemed to awaken horrible memories I’d spent so long

  covering up, sending jolts of fear running up my spine. I wondered how I had put up with King Sadim’s ways of torture to train me into his perfect assassin.

  I could almost feel his lungs constricting from here.

  “You can. I’ll be with you.”

  I stayed with him, rubbing his arms, speaking careful and encouraging words.

  Finally, he nodded with hesitation. We made our way down where everyone stood, confused, intrigued, awed.

  I stepped off the ship, exhaustion dragging me down. My body ached. My arm was in pain.

  If it were infected, I’d have to get it cut off. I felt a wave nausea rising. I fell to my knees over the edge of the dock, heaving. The contents of my stomach were emptied out into the water below. I sat back on my haunches, wiping mouth on the back of my rotting sleeve.

  “Just a few more minutes,” Xavier whispered from behind. “You’ll be okay. Just keep walking.” He tried to help me to my feet, but I pushed his hands away. It wasn’t a rude gesture, I just didn’t want him to
see me like this.

  I leaned over the edge, feeling another wave of vomit rise up. My stomach heaved, but there was nothing left for me to throw up.

  I staggered to my feet.

  We were home.

  FIVE

  I’d been asleep through the whole thing. There had been no infection, but some of my nerves had been severed. Some areas in my hand would feel numb for a long time—maybe forever. There was only a small chance that all the feeling would return to it in the future.

  But they didn’t cut it off.

  I wouldn’t be able to use my arm for a few weeks, but I could still move my fingers. My hand still worked; there would just be a few numb spots around my inner forearm, wrist, and palm.

  Still, something didn’t feel right. After the first week of being back, I lay curled up in bed. I didn’t want to get up. I couldn’t eat. Every time I did, I would end up vomiting everything.

  The second week, I came down with a high fever. Xavier would visit every day, and when he thought I was asleep, he would kiss my burning forehead.

  The servants helped me take a bath. I lay in there, letting the dirt and blood soak off me, letting them wash all the filth from my scalp, from the tangles that hung matted around my face.

  “She’s come down with something,” Jax had said as Isabel placed a damp cloth to my forehead.

  “Could it be an infection?” Isabel asked, fear in her voice.

  “No,” he shook his head. “If it were from the wound, her arm would be unrecognizable. The healers said it wasn’t infected.”

  “Then what could it be?” she wondered aloud. Jax sat next to her, placing one hand on my wrist.

  “Exhaustion?”

  “If this fever becomes worse,” Isabel said, swallowing, “she can’t come back from it. It’s impossible.”

  “She’s strong. A fever is the last thing that could kill her.”

  By the end of week two, the fever broke.

  I was drenched in sweat. I felt pale. My mouth was dry.

  I sat up, slowly bringing my legs to the side of the bed. I slipped on my slippers, getting to my feet. My legs shook.

  I dragged myself to the dresser across the room, pulling the chair back. It raked across the floor. I sat on the soft seat, bringing myself to look in the mirror.