Page 70 of The Stolen Princess
Adler lifted his eyelids, gazing through a small slit. “No.”
“It's actually true.” He reached for his coat pocket and pulled out a letter. “In fact, this letter came a few days ago. The kidnappers want you to trade your weapons for her safety. You need to tell me where they are so I can save her.”
Stoddard had no intention of saving the princess, but this would be all the push he needed to get Adler to divulge their location.
“No.” Adler bent forward like he meant to get out of bed. The small movement forced a hacking cough out of his chest. “Weapons…” He coughed. Stoddard could take a nap before Adler ever got his sentence out. “My-ka.” More coughs.
“I’m afraid I can’t give them the weapons in exchange for the princess because I don’t know where they are. You need to tell me where they are.”
Adler’s fingers twitched. “No…Myka.” His voice was barely audible through his coughs.
Stoddard leaned away as if he could somehow contract the king’s illness.
“My...ka…knows.”
Stoddard straightened, a touch of worry pulled on his brows. “Knows what?”
“The weapons,” the king wheezed. “I told her...” Adler’s lips smacked together as he summoned the strength to finish the sentence. “...Where they are. She knows. She’ll save herself.”
Stoddard’s expression fell. Was Adler telling the truth? Had the king told his daughter the location of the weapons, or was this the ramblings of a dying man?
“Myka is queen.” He garbled. “They’re her weapons.”
“Listen, you fool,” Stoddard said, getting into Adler’s face. “Myka is gone. She may even be dead. Don’t die with the location of the weapons. Tell me where they are!”
“Myka knows. I told her.”
“Stop saying that.” Stoddard grabbed the king by the collar of his silk pajamas, shaking him. “Tell me where they are!”
A thin smile moved across Adler’s lips. “They’re Myka’s. She’ll save herself.”
Stoddard’s muscles tensed. Adler was worthless to him. He wasn’t going to give up the location of the weapons. Even now, lying helpless in bed, he still thought himself better than Stoddard. He grabbed the loose pillow at the side of the king’s head, placing it on top of Adler’s face. He pressed the pillow down, the vehemence hardly necessary considering how weak the king was, but Stoddard had never done anything by halves. Adler’s hands went to Stoddard’s forearms and his legs kicked out. His body squirmed, but he held the pillow firmly over the king’s face. Adler jerked over and over until eventually his body went slack and flattened out.
Stoddard wasn’t second in command anymore. He was in charge.
Nothing had ever felt so satisfying.
Stoddard stormedthrough his office door with Captain Nyler on his heels. “We need to deliver a message to the kidnappers.”
“They left instructions on where to leave the king’s response,” Captain Nyler said.
Stoddard pulled out the chair to his desk. He placed two pieces of paper in front of him and began writing. “Good. I’ll have a reply for you shortly.”
“From the king?” Nyler asked.
Stoddard glanced up. “The king is dead.”
18
Myka
Just before dinner, Portlend had come to the shack. “If you want to eat,” he had said, “then you need to work.”
At the time, Myka hadn’t know what Portlend had meant, but now that she stood next to the table by the fire, deboning a chicken, she understood. It was a new kind of torture. The entire act made her want to throw up. She couldn’t believe this was what the Tolsten House chefs—or anyone for that matter—had to do every time they ate chicken. She couldn’t believe that this is what Portlend had made her do.
If you want to eat then you need to work,Myka mocked.
Maybe if Portlend had any kind of skills with a gun, then they could be having venison for dinner instead of chicken again. Where were they getting all of these chickens anyway? Were the chickens being held hostage in a shack somewhere too?
