Free Mercy's Prince by Katy Huth Jones Page B

help. Mercy dug up half the plants to collect the roots,
leaving the rest to grow as Papa had instructed her.
    The
light grew noticeably dimmer when the sun dipped below the tree line, and Mercy
gasped. She’d been out for hours. She grabbed her overflowing bucket and ran
back to the river to retrieve her water bucket and carry yoke. After filling
the empty bucket with water, she headed up the path to the village. Water
sloshed out of the bucket, splashing her skirt and feet, but she didn’t slow
her pace.
    Aunt
Prudence opened the gate just before Mercy could knock.
    “Where
have you been, Niece?” Prudence only called her that when she was angry.
    “I’ve
been out gathering medicinal plants.” Mercy swung the bucket closer to the
older woman so she could better see in the dimming light.
    “And
what about your friend, Serene? Don’t tell me she’s still out there picking
flowers.”
    “No.”
Mercy choked on the word and had to clear her throat. “She is lost to us.”
    “Lost?”
Her aunt frowned. “What do you mean?”
    “She
has run away with a man from the outside.” Mercy turned away before Aunt
Prudence could see her tears. “I must get home to Rafael now.”
    Mercy
walked slowly toward her cottage, leaving her aunt in stunned silence.
    ***
    When Valerian entered the quiet library and
scriptorium, peace settled over him. This was his favorite place in the entire
Keep. Father Preston, the priest in charge, saw him and approached.
    “How may we assist you, Your Highness?” The
older man’s voice was not much above a whisper.
    Valerian kept his voice quiet as well.
    “I must see the books of judgment recorded
during the last war.”
    Father Preston frowned thoughtfully.
    “That would be during the reign of your
grandfather, King Theodoric, I believe.”
    “Yes, Father Preston.” Valerian’s grandfather
had told him about that war. Only with great effort and loss of life had
Levathia prevailed over a much larger force of men that had invaded by sea. Now
the pressing question was whether any Levathians had refused to fight, and if
so, how they had been punished.
    Several monks worked silently at nearby tables,
most copying with black ink, but one used gold paint on an illumination. A pang
of grief stabbed Valerian’s heart. He would never join them now.
    “Brother Alban,” said the priest. “Fetch the
books of judgment from the reign of King Theodoric for His Highness.”
    The scribe disappeared among the rows of
shelves and returned carrying three bound leather volumes, which he set on an
empty table.
    Valerian thanked Brother Alban and moved a
stool to the table. He carefully opened the cover to reveal the sheets of
parchment, inhaling the familiar scents of ink and leather. Out of habit he
admired the even script and the small illumination on the first page, but his
urgent search pushed lesser matters aside.
    He scanned the pages one by one. There was
nothing helpful in the first tome, and he’d almost reached the end of the
second when he found one reference to a Devlin Birk who refused to fight and
was hanged. But the entry implied that Birk was sympathetic to the enemy, not
that he refused to fight for reasons of conscience.
    The third volume also covered the time after
the war, so Valerian didn’t read any more after that. As he closed the book he
realized how stiff his neck and shoulders had become and he slowly stretched to
relieve the pressure. When he stood, he saw that all but one of the monks had
left. It was Brother Alban.
    “Do you need any other assistance, Your
Highness?” The monk stepped forward to retrieve the books.
    “No, thank you. It must be later than I
thought.” Valerian realized he was very thirsty.
    “Yes, Your Highness. The others have just left
for Vespers.”
    “Vespers?” No wonder his neck had become stiff.
It had grown so late he’d missed his evening meal. “Thank you, Brother Alban.”
    He went straight to his room and found Kieran
placing