Alix and I find our father in the dungeons of the palace, in the dank, dark catacombs underneath. My father grips a hard leather riding crop in his hands, squeezing so hard his knuckles are turning white. The man in the cell before him is dressed in the expensive robes of a courtier. With a start, I realize I know him. His name is Hawkin. He’s been part of my father’s court for only a handful of years, but serves among the king’s council of advisors. His temple oozes blood; my father has already struck him once.
Hawkin’s thinning hair is mussed, his clothing streaked with grime. He glares at my father, his cheeks reddening. He sits on the cold stone floor, his arms wrenched behind his back. His expression is calm, with the hint of a smirk on his lips. Alix and I exchange a look. My twin is thinking the same thing I am: Hawkin does not look regretful. He isn’t ashamed.
“We intercepted messengers on their way to the Astrian border,” my father begins. “They’d been sent by Lord Hawkin to alert Astria to our military movements and resources.”
Hawkin sneers. “It took you long enough to find them,” he says. “Astria knows what movements you have planned for the foreseeable future. What resources you possess. It’s only a matter of time before they invade and destroy Odrend—”
My father wordlessly strikes Hawkin with the riding crop. His head whips to the side, blood leaking from a fresh cut on his cheekbone.
“How long has this been going on?” my father growls through gritted teeth.
Hawkin gives a noncommittal shrug, looking proud of himself. “Does it matter? They’d have gotten the plans anyw—”
My father hits him again. The slap of leather against skin is loud in the echoing stone catacombs. I hear the crack of bone breaking. “How. Long,” he grounds out.
Hawkin spits blood onto the stone floor. It splatters onto my father’s boots. “Six months,” he grumbles.
My father clutches the riding crop. Veins stand out on his temples, betraying the rage simmering below the calm expression on his face. “Impressive, for a traitor.” Alix and I glance at each other.
“Father,” Alix begins. “I suspect he’s been working with an accomplice.”
I nod in agreement, stuffing my hands in my pockets. “I agree. Getting that much information to Astria over such a long period of time…”
Our father purses his lips in thought, and slowly inclines his chin to us. He turns back to Hawkin.
“Well? Are my sons correct?” he asks. Hawkin grits his teeth, unwilling to answer. My father looks eager to hit him again.
Hawkin eyes the crop, poised in Father’s hands. He swallows, and answers, “Yes.”
Father’s fingers tighten around the crop. “And who has been helping you commit treason against your king?” he asks. He enunciates each word harshly, his anger becoming more obvious. I can see his pulse drumming at his throat.
Hawkin gives a sinister smile. The crop cracks once more against his face. Blood trickles over his mouth and chin from his broken nose.
“Who.”
Hawkin still does not answer. My father hits him again, and again. He growls his question, then shouts it, punctuating each demand with a heavy blow. I hear the whistle of the crop each time it whips through the air. Hawkin does not yield. He only bleeds as more cuts open on his face. One eye swells shut, his brow bone splintered. His head cracks back against the stone wall. The dungeon begins to reek of coppery blood.
I look to my twin, and he shakes his head just slightly. Do not get involved, his look says. Let Father do as he will.
I frown and look back to my father. He stands over Hawkin as the other man slumps forward. Father breathes heavily, his boots stained with the splatter of Hawkin’s blood. I see no movement from the courtier on the ground; my ears hear no breaths from him. Alix presses his arm against mine. I do not need to look at my brother to know he feels the same revulsion at the scene as I do.
The crop hangs limply from my father’s hand, snapped in half from the force of his blows.
He throws the crop to the floor. Father is silent for a while as his breathing slows and calms. He straightens, adjusting the lapels of his fine tunic. He exits the cell and gestures to a guard to remove Hawkin’s body.
“If he was truly not working alone,” my father begins, dabbing at his sweaty forehead with his sleeve. It leaves a streak of blood on his skin. “Then all of Odrend is in danger. We must not allow Astria to gain the upper hand.”
“How can we prevent our destruction?” Alix asks, his voice soft.
Father answers right away. “We must be vigilant. Guards must patrol the country day and night. No exceptions.” His voice is harsh. “I will meet with only my closest advisors. We will have to change all our plans to account for the information Hawkin spread to Astria.” He pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers.
“What will you have us do?” I ask.
“Speak of this to no one, my sons,” he replies. “Our citizens must not know anything is amiss.”
“And his accomplices?” I say.
My father grits his teeth. “We will hunt them down and crush them like the traitorous insects that they are. No one will threaten Odrend’s power again.”
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