Page 61 of Charmless
The garrison commander’s office was as austere and unadorned as I would have expected it to be, the only furnishings, a scarred oak desk and several uncomfortablelooking chairs. A hanging lantern suspended from a chain provided sparse light for late night working hours.
On the wall behind the desk was the obligatory portrait of the king that hung in all government offices. A flag stand bearing the pennant with the Helavalerian coat of arms stood nearby. The only personal touch that marked the office as being Horatio’s domain was a set of prints depicting fine thoroughbred stallions. Although obviously not the work of any of the great fey masters like Peccano, the sketches were pleasing in their simplicity and reminded me of the foundling boy that Horatio had once been. The child whose humble dream had been to become a stable boy so that he could always be near the horses that he so loved.
Horatio stood near the narrow window. His back turned toward me, his arm against the wall as he stared down toward the courtyard far below. He appeared too lost in his thoughts to notice my arrival.
I shoved the door closed and rushed toward him. “Horatio, there has been some dreadful mistake. The Border Scutcheons don’t realize that the king pardoned the Hansons and the Baftons. They are being rounded up and?—”
“I know,” he interrupted, without turning around.
“You know? Then you must hurry back to the palace and?—”
“The king appears to have changed his mind. There is nothing more I can do.”
His curt reply filled me with dismay. “But I thought you had influence with the Great Mercato. Can you not go to the royal wizard and have him speak to the king?”
“Isaidthere is nothing more I can do.” Horatio swung around to face me. “I cannot fix everything, and you would do well to realize that.”
I was taken aback by his harsh words, but his anger seemed to be directed more at himself than me. His eyes were shadowedwith such a look of exhaustion and defeat, my heart ached for him.
“I am sorry. You did everything you could. I did not mean to imply otherwise.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “Was this why you wanted to see me? To tell me this?”
“No.” His face lit with a brief longing, but then his features hardened with such a stony expression, it sent a chill through me.
He seized hold of my hands and forced me away from him.
“Prunella Upton, I am obliged to inform you. You are under arrest.”
“W-what?”
Before I could fully absorb the impact of his words, the man I loved slapped a pair of iron manacles about my wrists and locked them.
Twelve
Istared at the manacles locked about my wrists, too stunned to speak. I gazed up at Horatio and faltered, “Is this a jest?”
“Do I look as though I am jesting?”
No, he looked like a man ready to march me downstairs to the gaol and fling me into the nearest empty cell. He seized hold of my arm. His grip was firm as he guided me around his desk to a straight-backed chair positioned in front of it.
“Sit down.”
The chair was lower than usual, and my legs started to tremble, making it difficult for me to comply. Because of the manacles, I could not use my hands for support. I held my burdened wrists up to Horatio.
“Are these things necessary? I am hardly any dangerous criminal.”
“That remains to be seen.” But he helped ease me down onto the chair before taking his own seat behind the desk.
This could not be happening. My head reeled with disjointed thoughts. What was this about? The orb. It had to be about that strange orb. Horatio had found out that I had stolen it. But how? Why had I ever helped Mal to take the blasted thing? And how had my father been involved with all of this? The mysteriousparchment I had tucked inside my bodice seemed to burn against my skin. Would I be searched?
I wished I had left the note hidden in the library. I wished I had never looked for it in the first place and - and my family. What about them? What would become of Imelda, Netta and Amy if I never returned home? Could Horatio really charge me with a crime and send me off to be locked away forever in the King’s Royal Prison?
I looked up, feeling more distanced from him than an expanse of wooden desk. I searched his face for the warmth I was accustomed to, some trace of the man who held and kissed me so tenderly yesterday, promising to love me forever. I didn’t find him because it was not Horatio sitting there, only the formidable commander of the Midtown garrison.
Mal had tried to warn me so many times.“You can’t trust him, Ella. He’s a Scutcheon. The king’s man through and through. His first duty and loyalty will always be to the crown.”
I hadn’t wanted to believe that. I still didn’t, but I was daunted by Horatio’s dispassionate expression. He avoided my gaze while he shuffled through some paperwork on his desk. The silence that stretched between us felt stifling.
Was this a tactic Horatio used to unnerve criminals, wielding silence like a weapon against them? Or was he finding his duty so hard and painful he needed time to steel himself to act against me? I prayed it was the latter reason.
