The Keeper marches through the halls to the dungeons, guards open the doors and follow him in, to protect him from the heathens within. When he enters he expects the women and children to be yelling and ready to riot but what he finds is the women and children sitting quietly in the over-sized cell. “Ladies, I was told you were ready to riot?”

“Indeed we are, Thorn.” Madam Margery stands up and approaches the iron bars.

“What did you call me?”

“I called you by your given name.” The woman snaps, knowing full well that by now the whole kingdom knew of Throne’s arrest and the detention of his people, so any move against them would just make them a martyr.

“You will call me ‘Your Grace’ heathen.”

“I’ll only call the true king that, Thorn.” Margery grips the bars and gazes out at the flustered man. Silence looms as the Keeper debates about his next course of action, with a sigh he motions for the key-guard to come forward.

“Release them.”

“Your Grace?”

“Do as I say! Release them.” The guard pushes passed him and unlocks the door, “Only the women, their children, and the orphans though.” The guard nods and opens the door letting the women and children out of the cell and locking it again leaving the men within.

“Where are we to go?” Margery asks, hands on her hips.

“Anywhere, you are free to go.” Margery pauses a moment, staring hard at the man. “Be gone, Madam Margery, take your girls and leave.” Without further contemplation Margery urges her girls and the children out into the hall where they are escorted out of the palace into the streets of Cypress, the Keeper sighs and shakes his head, his men do not question his choice. He turns and walks out of that wing and into the other, entering the massive cell that Throne is being held in, the bandit stands with his back to the door, hiding his face from the Keeper King. “Your women and children are free, Throne.”

“What?” Throne glances for but a moment over his shoulder at the king “You… You let them go?”

“I’m tired of the fighting, Throne. I want peace.” The Keeper sighs and leans against the stone wall. “We’re not different, you know. We both want whats best for our people.”

“I’ve never murdered anyone to get what I want.” Throne mumbles, the king frowns.

“Is it not time for that rumor to die?”

“You tell me, Jacob. You tell me.” The Keeper’s eyebrows come together in confusion.

“You and your men will stay here for your trial, may the gods have mercy on your soul.”

“I won’t need their mercy, I walk in the light of divinity.” The Keeper rolls his eyes and walks out, slamming the door behind him and listening to the heavy lock sliding into place before smiling and exiting the dungeon.

“I walk in the light of Divinity…” He chuckles to himself, waving away confused glances as he enjoys having his political opponent locked in his dungeon awaiting trial for treason, theft, murder, and whatever else he can tack on to either get a life sentence or the death sentence for Throne.

Lost [chapter 13]

Advertisements