Page 72 of Charmless
I had already suspected as much from that strange memory I had recovered, but I said tartly, “Is there anything else you failed to mention to me last night? No wonder you were so eager to accept my offer to search my father’s library for that missing page.”
Mal hesitated before asking, “I don’t suppose you found anything yet?”
I looked away from him, conscious of the parchment hidden in my bodice. Ordinarily, I would have been eager to tell Mal about what I had remembered and shown him the missing page, but I could no longer trust him. The thought left me feeling bleak and empty.
I locked my arms across my bosom and said, “If I did find anything, I would never give it to you now.”
“Ella,” Mal protested. He tried to approach me again but a black look from me stopped him in his tracks.
“No. This madness of yours must stop.”
“My grandfather and your father didn’t think it was mad. They believed in the legend.”
“Then they were as deluded as you are. Why didn’t he and Papa use the orb to find this lost heir years ago?”
Mal frowned. “I am not entirely sure, but my grandfather made some reference in his diary to the time not being right. I imagine it meant that the prince was too young to assume his rightful place. But he must be a man fully grown by now.”
“If he even exists.”
“He exists.” Mal struck his fist against his chest. “I feel it here.”
“Then why hasn’t this mythical hero of yours already come to save us all?”
“I have a theory about that too. I believe he has been raised somewhere in obscurity. I daresay he does not even realize himself he is our lost prince.”
“Will you listen to yourself, Mal?” I demanded. “You imagine this, you believe that. I always thought you were one of the most practical men I knew. How could let yourself get swept up in this fantasy?”
“Because I must have faith in something, Ella or everything would seem truly hopeless. There are rumors floating about that the king is dying. I would rejoice except for one thing. Prince Florian! Arcady has suffered enough under King August’s tyrannical rule. How much worse will it be when Florian assumes the throne? Even his own brother accused him of being a monster.”
“Ryland lies as well as you do,” I said. “He could have spoken out of jealousy or spite. The king’s majordomo paints a far different picture of Florian. He views him as a spoiled young man who could learn to be a good king with the right guidance.”
“Do you really believe that, Ella?”
No, unfortunately I didn’t, but I argued, “What makes you think this mythical lost prince of yours would be any better than Florian?”
“He has to be,” Mal said. “He has the blood of Queen Anthea the Magnificently Wise flowing through his veins and according to the legend, one day her true heir will return to save Arcady from tyranny and ruin.”
“And what do you expect Florian to do if, by some miracle, this did happen? Hand over the crown, saying,oh, sorry, I didn’t realize this really belonged to you.”
“Of course, not. The League is prepared to fight. We have been amassing weapons, recruiting more men to our cause.”
Mal’s words sent a shiver of apprehension up my spine. A horrible thought struck me as I recalled Tom Piper’s distress and anger as he had prepared to hurl a rock at the Border Scutcheons.
I glared at Mal accusingly, “Never tell me you have been heedless enough to get that poor boy, Tom Piper involved with this mad league of yours! He is only a child.”
“I could not have kept him out of it if I tried,” Mal said. “Tom stopped being a child the night he came home from foraging for food and discovered Bluntvale had dragged his parents and little sister off to the swamps.” Mal gestured angrily around the empty cottage. “This used to be the Pipers’ home before Tom’s father was injured and unable to work and the family fell behind on their taxes. Ever since that night, Tom has been living in a room above Long Louie’s livery stables, hustling about the kingdom, trying to earn what he can in hopes of being able to rescue his family from exile. I have done what I can to help him, employing him for odd errands, but the lad is fiercely independent, too proud to accept charity.”
I had seen the same traits in Tom myself. I had first met the boy when I sold my mother’s emeralds to Withypole Fugitate to obtain money for my family to attend the ball. When Mal had redeemed the earrings for me, he had sent Tom to bring them to me. Mistaking him for a beggar, I had insulted the boy by offering him food. Tom had thrust out his thin chest, informing me indignantly that he was respectable man of business.
I had always been amused by the boy’s cocksure, strutting attitude. Although, I could never have guessed what heartache lay behind his saucy grin, I felt dreadful about that.
Nonetheless, I admonished Mal, “You need to try harder to keep Tom away from this insane league of yours. You are going to end up getting him arrested or even killed.”
“I have no intention of allowing Tom to fight when the time comes,” Mal replied. He looked hurt and offended that I would even suggest such a thing. “I have enough able-bodied men for that.”
“Oh? Exactly how many would that be?”
“There must be at least three dozen of us fully committed to the cause.”
