Chapter 46
Artham slept again, and for the first few hours it was a deep, restful, healing sleep. But as he drifted upward from the dreamless nothing of pure exhaustion, the darkness turned into a nightmare.
His eyes flew open and he gasped, his heart pounding wildly.
“Artham, what’s wrong?”
Esben leapt up from where he was sitting at the desk, tossing his sketchbook aside.
Artham shook his head and immediately regretted it. If he was at all better than the last time he woke up, he couldn’t tell.
He stared at the ceiling, and let the broken memories he had of what had actually happened run through his mind. They were horrible, terrifying memories, but the dream had almost been worse.
“Nightmare?” Esben asked, watching him.
“Yeah.”
“It wasn’t real,” Esben said in a quiet voice as he sat down again, and he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“It almost was,” Artham whispered. There was a long, heavy pause.
“Oh. Dr. Idrion said to take this. It's supposed to help with your head. And your arm. And-well, it's for the pain. He’s coming to check on you in a while,” Esben said, reaching for a glass on the nightstand.
“Who?” Artham asked, grimacing as he sat up and took the cup Esben handed him. Esben looked at him strangely and sighed.
“Dr. Idrion. Our doctor? Last time he treated you was when you got shot in the shoulder.”
“Oh.” Recognition crossed Artham’s face, then he paled.
“Why do I keep forgetting things?”
“Arth, you hit your head really hard. But Dr. Idrion said it shouldn’t last more than a few weeks at most.”
“A few weeks? No. That’s not going to happen,”
“Anywhere between a couple days and a few weeks.”
Artham groaned.
“Well, how soon can I be up again?” He asked after a pause. Esben huffed in exasperation.
“Artham, you almost- you were knocked out for two days. Please, can’t you just-I don't know, accept that you’re human? You are really hurt! For once just let yourself rest!”
Artham looked at his brother for a minute.
“Are you…mad at me for something?” He asked.
“Yes! No! No…I-I’m not mad at you. I was just…Arth, I was really, really scared.”
“Of what?” Artham asked in a soft voice
Esben took a deep breath and leaned back. When he spoke his voice was small and he sounded younger.
“That…you would leave me too. Before Dru showed up, and we were still in that outpost…and you wouldn’t wake up…it scared me so, so bad.” Esben brushed a hand across his forehead, trying to forget.
“So please just try to get better and don’t scare me like that again.”
“Look at me, Es.” Artham said quietly. “If I ever go, it will be protecting you. That is the only reason. I’m your Throne Warde. And unless that happens, I’m not going to leave you. I promise.”
Esben looked at the ground, twisting his coat around in his hands. “Okay. Because I don't know what I’d do… if…” Esben trailed off.
Artham sighed and put a hand to the bandage around his forehead.
“And Es?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry for the argument at the gate. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“I was supposed to apologize for that first, Arth. It was my fault. But I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine.”
Artham smiled. “Done.”
Esben looked up and quickly changed the subject.
“If you feel up to it tomorrow we can go back to Oak Hill. Staying in the Keep is a pain.”
The next day they did go back to Oak Hill, and once Connolin was by Artham’s side again, he absolutely refused to leave. He growled at anyone who tried to make him leave the room.
In the three days that followed, Dru, Josif, Aspen and Io visited him twice, and Arundelle was there every day. The first time she saw him after he was awake, after a greeting she sat on the bed in front of him, and wordlessly she reached out and touched his face, brushing her cool, soft fingers gently across his bruised face. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them her hand had drifted to the bandages around his arm, and her eyes were shining with tears.
Artham reached out with the arm that was not injured and gently wiped them away.
“It's okay, Aru.”
Their reunion ended with her head resting on his chest and her arms around him. He stroked her hair and for a few minutes she cried, letting out her fear and worry that she had carried in her heart since he had left her at the Keep, and then she cried in pure relief because the Maker had let her Artham come back to her.
And of course they were interrupted by Esben. Again. He opened the door to Artham’s bedroom without knocking, and walked in without looking up.
“Arth, I-” then he looked up and his eyes widened and he looked extremely awkward as he walked right back out.
Artham laughed, then winced. Laughing hurt.
Arundelle leaned back too, laughing a little, brushing away her tears and smiling.
The fourth day after he had recovered consciousness, despite the constant, pounding headache and the pain that still hadn’t left him, Artham insisted on at least walking around inside Oak Hill Manor. It drove Esben, Thaerin, and Dr. Idrion crazy.
But as much as it frustrated him, Artham wasn’t up for long when his whole body felt on fire again and he saw stars.
He walked back to his room and sank down in his armchair, exhausted and angry.
But the worst part, and what drove him crazy was that he kept forgetting things. His memory of the fight at the outpost was still hazy, but the nightmares kept it growing clearer. He couldn’t stand the feeling of not knowing what was going on, of forgetting if he had seen someone before or said something earlier.
The other thing was that he still couldn’t use his right arm. He could move it moderately well now, but he couldn’t reach or grab or lift anything without spikes of pain shooting up through his arm muscles.
Esben spent a lot of time on the porch, talking with someone who visited frequently. His sketchbooks filled in record time and he had finished his painting of the girl in the snow. He seemed happier than he had in a long time.
On the fifth day Artham had remembered enough of the fight to ask about Aro.
He was sitting in his chair next to the window, an enormous stack of books next to him. He held a book closed in his lap. He had read for about half an hour before a pounding headache stopped him.
Esben was sitting at the desk, sketching.
Artham furrowed his brow and put his left hand to the place on his head. the bandage had been taken off, and Dr. Idrion said it would leave a small scar. But it was still swollen and bruised, and though he didn’t want to admit it, it still hurt almost any time he moved for more than a few minutes.
His eyes were angry.
“Aro was there. And he looked like a Wanderer. He watched me…and then he tried to escape. The leader tried to kill him. What was he doing there? Where is he now?” He paused for a moment. “He betrayed us, didn’t he.”
Esben turned his chair so he was facing his brother and nodded slowly, busying his hands crumpling and smoothing out a piece of paper.
”He had been spying on us since he became your scribe. He’s been a Wanderer his whole life. He’s in the dungeon of the Keep right now. I-I went to see him. To ask him some questions. That’s where I had been before you woke up.”
Artham gazed unseeingly out the window, thinking through what Esben had said, letting it drastically change his view of the reserved, awkward, eager to please boy he had known. The boy who insisted he took care of himself and didn’t want to depend on anyone and almost always acted far older than his fifteen years. Now Artham saw why.
“Why did he run like that?”
“He went to get help, Artham. That was the second time he tried. The first was when they were taking me to the outpost. He fought to get away, but…Artham, have you ever seen him afraid?”
Artham thought for a moment. “No, not really. He tries to hide it when he is.”
“Yeah. Well he was terrified of the leader. The first time he tried to run, and then the second time, he looked scared to death.”
“It still doesn’t make sense why he ran. He betrayed us.” Bitterness and anger creeped into Artham’s voice.
“I know. But he did. And when I went to ask him questions, he barely said anything to me, he wouldn’t look at me. But…I think he’s fighting himself.”
Artham started out the window.
“What are you going to do about him, Es? He’s a traitor. He plotted to kill you. That’s treason.”
“I know. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”
“I should go try tomorrow. He might talk to me. And I need to see him.”
The next day, Artham went by carriage to the Keep. Thank the Maker, he somehow escaped running into anyone other than the prison guards.
One of them held a torch and he followed them down the long, dark stone halls. He shivered.
“Do you want one of us to go in with you?” One of the guards asked.
“No. I think it will be better if I go alone. And please let me in. I don't want to talk to I’m with bars between us.”
The two guards looked at each other worriedly.
“That one’s a fighter, sir. Not sure you want to be in a closed cell with him.”
“Do what I ask.” Artham said. The guard looked doubtfully at Artham’s bandaged arm.
“Fine, if that’s what you say,” they walked down one last corridor. Artham heard someone move quickly inside one of the cells and chains clattered against the stone.
“In here,” The Durgan unlocked the door and stepped back to let Artham inside closing the door behind him but not locking it, then walking around the corner.
When the guard had come to the door, Aro had pressed himself back into the corner, sitting on the one bench that was in his cell, lifting his chin defiantly, his eyes flashing anger.
When Artham stepped in Aro’s eyes went wide with surprise and then relief, fear, and concern crossed his face.
“Artham!” He clapped a hand over his mouth as if he hadn’t meant to speak, and then he looked down angrily. Artham saw that his hands were cuffed, with a short length of chain in between them. A chain attached to his left wrist trailed across the bench a few feet and was clamped to an iron ring in the wall.
Aro looked up again though, and concern flashed across his face. “Your arm-”
Artham looked down with a sigh of exasperation. His bandaged arm was also in a sling now.
“Oh. This isn’t as bad as it looks. I kept using my arm, and this was Esben’s alternative. He threatened to lock me in my room.”
Aro glanced at him in confusion, and Artham laughed.
“He did it before as a prank, when he was twelve. I had to climb out the window. That’s not happening with this arm.”
Aro looked away and down at his chained hands.
“Can I sit?”
Aro nodded slowly.
Artham lowered himself to the bench, a few feet away from the boy sitting in the corner.
The cut on Aro’s forehead had a bandage around it, and his fading bruises made his dark eyes look even darker.
The streaks of bloodrock still across his face was what sparked Artham’s anger again.
He is a traitor.
There was a long, painful pause.
“How much of it was real?” Artham asked. Aro flinched and Artham was surprised at how much anger had been in his voice.
Aro mumbled something indecipherable.
“What?”
Aro glanced around. “I-I don't know,” he stammered, lifting his feet so they rested on the edge of the bench and his knees were pressed up against his chest.
“How can you not know? How much of it was an act?”
Aro shivered. “I don't know. I really don’t know.” The second time he finally met Artham’s eyes. He looked utterly lost.
“Was it you who snuck into Esben’s room? Did you attack us in the woods? Or are you just their spy?” Aro went pale, and fear and guilt flashed across his face.
“No. I didn’t do any of that.”
Artham looked at him doubtfully.
“I-I’m not lying. Not this time.” For some reason it was hard for Aro to say it. And something told Artham to believe him.
“Why didn’t they kill Esben as soon as they had him surrounded in the woods?”
Aro put his arms around his knees, pulling them to his chest.
“Ryith was going to hold him for ransom. In the Woes, at a mine. Just you, alone, with gold for the ransom. If you came, he’d get rid of you both and have the gold. If you didn’t, or if you came with an army, he has a small army of his own, but he knows the mines and the rock gorges around them well enough that if he had to, he’d get rid of Esben and disappear, and you’d never find him. Either way he’d have accomplished the mission, and there was a chance you could get you both with a bigger payoff.”
Fear ran cold through Artham to hear what they had escaped.
“Who wanted you to murder Esben?”
Aro shrugged. “Ryith never told me.” There were any number of kingdoms and people who would benefit from the King of Anniera’s death and the kingdom’s following instability.
“What part did you have in all of this?” Aro looked down and bit his lip. He was very pale and still hugging his knees to his chest, frantically rubbing his fist into his scarred left hand.
“Aro. What did you do? I know you spied on us, but was there anything else?” Dread filled Artham. He almost didn’t want to hear the answer.
Aro shook his head violently, shaking his shaggy hair over his eyes, but somehow it wasn’t a denial, just a refusal to answer.
“Aro, tell me.”
“It was me. A-at the bridge. In Anniera. I-I tried to shoot Esben.” Aro’s voice was a low, terrified, halting whisper. His eyes darted around the cell and finally fixed on Artham’s face, panic rising in his black eyes. Artham sat frozen, hands clenched into fists. The day at the bridge flashed through his mind and his eyes blazed with anger again.
Aro let his feet rest on the ground again and pressed himself further into the wall, watching Artham’s face.
After a moment of dead silence, Artham stood up quickly and strode across the room.
Automatically Aro’s chained hands flew up to protect himself, his eyes clamped shut, but then he heard the cell door crash closed, and Artham’s uneven footsteps echoing down the hall. Slowly he lowered his hands and pulled his knees to his chest again.
He realized he was shaking.
He almost wished Artham had at least yelled at him because that was an anger that he understood and knew how to deal with.
But he had seen Artham angry. When it came to his brother,
I tried to kill his brother.
When it came to his brother, the Throne Warden’s anger was as dangerous and unpredictable as wildfire.
So is Ryith dead??? And this was amazing!!! Artham is soooo cool.