The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [47]
Jonner stared at him, as if waiting for the truth to come out.
Then Richon had an idea. “If you wish to give me something, there is another thing I would value more than the books.”
The man seemed terrified, but he simply nodded. “Whatever the king commands,” he said.
“Information,” said Richon. “What news have you heard in the last few days?”
“They said—there was a battle. A week ago. Magic,” the man stammered out. “And then—you turned yourself into a bear and fled the palace.”
Richon looked about for Chala and found that she had drawn herself away from him, watching. He motioned for her to come closer, and felt better when he could smell her breath next to his.
“Anything else?” he asked the man, who looked back and forth between the king and Chala and said nothing.
The man shook his head. Then he bit at his lip and added, “There is something about the southern border.”
Richon went rigid. “What about the southern border?” He had always had difficulty with the kingdom in the north, threatening war. But not the south.
“They say that what remained of the army has gone to the border in the south.”
“Why?” asked Richon, his head and heart suddenly pounding.
“Because there is another army there, from Nolira, ready to invade. It is said they have been gathering for months now, a new surge with each sign of your weakness, begging Your Majesty’s pardon. Now they have begun to attack what little of our army remains after the fight with the magical animals.”
Richon felt a terrible weight on his chest. He had known none of this, had never been informed of the gathering army. And had never insisted on being told.
Chala came closer to him and put a hand on his arm, but he could only think of what he had done to his people, to his kingdom.
Jonner spoke again. “Perhaps this is all a ploy. You meant to lure your enemies into battle so that you could defeat them in their pride.”
There was a long silence, and then the pressure on his arm from Chala increased until Richon realized he must respond. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course.”
“The money that you have taken to yourself, selling so many of the palace artifacts from your father these last few years—it must all have been spent on secret supplies of weapons and armor. Ah, what a great surprise the king of Nolira has in store for him,” Jonner said excitedly.
“Indeed,” said Richon, though it was not true. He wished he had been so wise as to plan to protect his kingdom, but he had not.
Why had the wild man sent him here if his kingdom was to be conquered by another? What purpose for a king that was no king?
Well, Richon would not give up easily. And if false hope was all he had to offer, he would not stint of it.
“I will not speak of seeing you unless you wish it,” said Jonner. “So as to make sure the surprise is all the greater for the enemies of our kingdom.”
“Thank you,” said Richon, relieved. He sent the man on his way.
Then he and Chala made their way to the edge of town. It warmed him to see the familiar parts of his kingdom stretching out before him, the waving fields of grain and orchards of ripe, fragrant fruit trees. But he also knew they were several days from the palace.
“We must hurry,” said Chala.
“If we are not too late already,” said Richon.
Any other woman would have given him reassurance, but Chala gave him the truth.
“If not that,” she said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Chala
FOR THE NEXT two days, Richon allowed less and less time for rest. They slept only a few hours at night and hardly stopped for more than a drink from a stream during the day. They ate what they could take from passing fields on the way, and Richon thought nothing of it.
He spoke to Chala only infrequently and with a distant expression on his face. She understood his need for focus. It was animal-like, and she thought it was the right thing to do in the circumstances.
Nonetheless, she was surprised at how painful she found it to spend hour after hour in silence, crossing through a country that was both