“Father!” Percival cried, his eyes intense as they bored into the duke. “Father, I know he won’t believe me, but I need to be sure you know. I didn’t do this, Father! I was angry, but I had no hand in it. Someone must have knocked me out. I woke up on the grass, with my horse gone, and—”
“Enough.” The king cut Percival’s words off coldly. “You have been given more chances than you deserved, Lord Percival. Your actions today have shown that my lenience was a mistake.”
“But he’s telling the truth.” The duke’s face was light with relief. “Every word he just spoke was true. You know I can tell.”
“Norik.” Again the king sounded weary. “Do not perjure yourself as well. I understand your feelings—I am a father, too.” His eyes flicked to Prince Lachlan. “But the evidence is overwhelming.”
“No!” Heath cried. “The evidence wasn’t clear at all. It could all have been staged, like the other attacks.”
The king’s brow darkened, and Heath could tell he’d done their cause no favors by bringing up Percival’s other allegation.
“Execute me instead.” The duke’s voice was clear and calm, but Heath could sense the desperation beneath. “That was the bargain we made, was it not? When you released Percival from the dungeons?”
“Father, no!” True terror crossed Percival’s face for the first time. Heath could see his thoughts as clearly as if they were written on his face. He’d rather die than live with that weight, and Heath didn’t blame him.
A pained look crossed the king’s face, as if he couldn’t bear to witness his cousin’s anguish. “Norik, you know I cannot do that. We made that bargain in the event that your son evaded the consequences of his actions through use of his magic. But he has come quietly. There is no cause to shed innocent blood.”
“But he is innocent of this!” Heath cried. “He didn’t—”
“The matter is decided.” The king’s voice was final. He swept into the castle, leaving his guards to deal with the ashen-faced Percival.
The duke fell to his knees, his head gripped in his hands. Heath and Percival exchanged a look of agony as Percival was led away. They’d never seen their father lose control, and it was the most horrible sight imaginable. Heath forced his mind to operate, pushing aside the fear and despair.
“Father.” He knelt beside the duke, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I sent Reka to the manor with a message for Grandmother.”
His father looked up, his eyes searching Heath’s eagerly. “Yes,” he whispered. “She’s our best hope now.”
“Heath.” Lachlan’s voice was strangled. “Your Grace. I’m sorry. I didn’t…I don’t…” His eyes flicked between them. “Was he really telling the truth?”
“He was.” The duke stood at last, pulling himself together. “I know you have reason to doubt my honesty on this, but I swear to you. There was no deception in his words.”
Lachlan swallowed, a shudder running over him. “Father will never believe that,” he told them. “Not based only on your word.”
Neither of them answered. Heath shrugged hopelessly in his cousin’s direction, unwilling to share this particular plan even with Lachlan. He took his father’s arm, steering him firmly toward their city manor.
Heath had already told his father what had passed at the grain house. They waited in near silence for over an hour before the duke bestirred himself, asking Heath about the incident earlier in the day, when Heath had been publicly punished. That crisis seemed distant and unimportant now, and Heath struggled even to remember the details.
“Merletta’s gone,” he said dully, remembering that fact as he spoke it. “She went to Wyvern Islands, and the dragons tried to kill her. Reka and I followed her there, and we made it just in time. She fled, back to her home. I don’t know what will happen to her there, or if I’ll see her again.”
His father stared at him, clearly at a loss for words. Heath shrugged again, unable to articulate the maelstrom of emotions swirling somewhere deep inside him, underneath the frozen horror of Percival’s predicament.
The duke leaned forward, gripping Heath’s shoulder. His hold was so tight as to be painful, but Heath found it strangely reassuring. Neither spoke again as the hours trickled past. It was well after midnight when carriage wheels sounded in the courtyard, and both men sprang to their feet.
Not only Heath’s grandparents, but his mother and brother-in-law poured into the house, panic on all their faces. Laura must have stayed with the children, desperate as she would have been to help.
“Norik!” Heath’s mother burst into tears at the sight of her husband, throwing herself into his waiting arms.
Heath strode straight to his grandmother, seizing her hand in entreaty.
“Can you help him, Grandmother?” he asked desperately. “And will you? I know you said the conflict between the crown and the power-wielders needs to be resolved naturally, but—”
“Of course she can,” his grandfather said grimly. “If you’d seen what she can really do, you wouldn’t need to ask that.”
“And this is different,” his grandmother assured him, her expression grieved but not despairing like her daughter-in-law’s. “Of course I won’t let Matlock kill Percival based on such flimsy evidence.”
“In the king’s defense,” Heath said faintly, “it was all perfectly orchestrated to make it seem like Percival’s guilty. But he’s not,” he added fiercely. “I knew even before Father sensed the truth of his words! Percival would never do this.”
“Of course he wouldn’t,” Heath’s grandfather growled. “If Percival ever tipped over the edge like that—which I’m not saying he would,” he added hastily, “he’d come at the king head on, to his face. Not sneak around knocking guards out from behind and lighting fires.”