A Feast of Dragons - By Morgan Rice Page 0,39
lecherous faces, and some of them hissed at her as she passed. She doubled her speed, trying not to look too closely.
Finally, after turning down several more corridors, the guard led her to a single cell, the last one on the left. He stood behind her, waiting.
“Leave us,” Gwen commanded.
The guard looked at her, hesitated a moment, then turned and left, leaving her alone.
Gwen looked through the cell, her heart pounding in anticipation, and stepped closer. Finally, Kendrick appeared, looking too pale, and smiling at the sight of her.
“My sister,” he said.
He reached up and grabbed her hand through the bars.
She smiled back, as his face lit up, and it felt so good to see him, to see that he was alive, that he was okay. Her heart broke at the sight of him, at the indignity of Kendrick being in this place. He had been treated unfairly. And yet still he wore his kind, noble, compassionate smile. He was the finest man she knew.
“My sister,” he repeated. “You do me a great service to come here.”
“The service is to myself,” she replied. “It is an honor to see you. I’m sorry I’ve not come sooner.”
“I’m amazed you were able to come at all,” he said, clasping her hand in both of his. His voice was weak and raspy, and she reached into her shirt and pulled out treats she hid for him. She slid it between the bars, and he looked down in wonder.
“Dried venison,” she said. “Your favorite. Enough to give you strength.”
He grabbed it and immediately took a bite, tearing the meat off the stick. He gulped it down, starving.
Gwen reached into her pocket and extracted a sack of water, and he drank. Then she reached into her waist and grabbed a pouch.
“I wanted you to have something sweet,” she said, smiling. “Honey cakes. I pressed them myself.”
She handed him the pouch, and his eyes welled with tears.
“You do our father a great honor,” he said. “You know that I did not kill him, don’t you?” he asked desperately.
She nodded.
“Of course. Or else I would not be here.”
He nodded back. The sight of him down here nearly brought tears to her eyes; it made her madder at Gareth than ever. She burned at the unfairness of it all.
“Gareth considers us a threat,” she said. “That is why you are here.”
Kendrick stared back.
“That has always been his nature,” he said. “His entire life’s ambition has been our father’s throne. And why would he feel threatened by everyone around him, unless he himself had a hand in the murder?”
Gwen stared back meaningfully.
“I’ve been thinking the same thoughts,” she said. “After all, who else stands to gain?”
“But you must prove it. You must find the murder weapon,” Kendrick said. “The dagger used to kill him. The one that is missing. That will be the key.”
“Have you any idea where to look?” she asked.
Disappointingly, he shook his head.
“Gareth probably disposed of it, or had it disposed of,” he answered. “And without it, it will be very hard to prove anything. It is all circumstantial. And until they prove anything, I may be down here until my execution.”
It broke Gwen’s heart to think of it, and she felt a chill race through her body.
“I will not allow it!” Gwen cried out. “I will find a way to stop him. I promise you. I will.”
Kendrick shook his head.
“I wish I shared your optimism, but you are up against forces greater than you can imagine. There is a conspiracy to cover up the death of our father, and its tentacles, I am sure, reach deep. Be careful in how you tread. Do not underestimate Gareth’s villainy. Remember, you are up against the dragon?”
“The dragon?” Gwen asked.
“There are many types of dragons in this world. The evil of men’s smiles can be more insidious than the fiercest dragon in the wild.”
Gwen sighed, thinking about that. She knew he was right.
“There must be some way, someone who can help us get you out of here,” she said.
As he stood there, shaking his head, suddenly, she had a flash of inspiration.
“Mother,” she said, dreading it even as she spoke the words. If there was anyone she hated more than Gareth, it was her mother, and the one good thing that had come from her father’s death was her mother’s catatonic state, her leaving her alone. She had vowed to never see her again, and the idea of talking to her made her feel physically ill. But for