The Fairest (Book #1)

27: Prayer

For a quick second, he hoped his father would drop dead so he could claim the throne and change the Laws. But his heart ached for the man who hated his own son because of a ridiculous stutter. He recalled what Lord Hercones said about his father shunning him so not to taint him to be like everyone else. If that was true, it meant his father wasn't a lost cause. Despite his indignation towards him, Gris confirmed he didn't want him to actually die.

I only wish I was born into another family, he thought to the gods, who could change his life, form it, or delete it altogether. Gris chuckled dryly, sniffled, and wiped his nose with a dingy sleeve. He brought himself back to reality and continued to his temporary chambers.

Once there, he saw the door was open and entered with worry.

"Orlan?" he said. The tall, slim servant popped up from the bed beside the wall, eyes shifting quickly from side to side to avoid eye contact.

"I gathered your outfit for the ceremony. Found your sword and accessories," he said, indicating the large chest and the rack of clothing.

"My journal? The Book of Legends?"

"The soldiers wouldn't allow me up to the study," Orlan said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his long vest. He shifted his feet and seemed as if he were withholding information.

Gris sighed with irritation towards the older man whom he knew thievery was the cause of his marking as a Strange. Yet to think he'd grown to trust him over the years had clouded the uneasiness in his gut until this very moment. "Orlan? What of Mageia's letter? Did you find it?"

"I saw none on the table," he said quickly. Too quick to be unnoticed.

He didn't know how to read Orlan's behavior and didn't have the time nor the patience to try. "What do you m-mean you saw none? Rasheem said a p-parchment was there."

"I only saw an ink jar and quill," Orlan recounted. "Everything was scattered on the table."

Realization flooded him at once. "Eron must've found it."

Orlan blinked a few times and nodded smoothly. "Someone did. What was this letter about?"

"Rasheem allowed Mageia to-to write to her family," Gris explained. He could just die having failed Mageia yet again.

"Oh. Well, I hope she didn't address it," he said.

"I don't think she did."

"It's weird that he'd find and take that when your quarters are such a mess," Orlan mused. "How'd he know it was from that girl?"

Gris stared out a window where the sun had begun to set. His thoughts grew dark, like the sky. It was thick with clouds, with no wind, breeze, or rain... as though Mesori was holding her breath along with a horrific storm.

"Hasana..."

"What about Hasana?" Orlan asked.

Gris ran his fingers through his wild curls, his breath faltering. His skin crawled with a new layer of fear. "She was with Rasheem when Mageia escaped. She- she saw her at the table writing th-the letter."

"Okay..."

"Orlan!" he shouted, grabbing the man by the shoulders. "She was with me w-when Rasheem disclosed where Mageia w-wanted the letter d-delivered!"

Within a second, Orlan caught on to his worry. "No. She wouldn't...," he trailed, shaking his head. But the thought was already gnawing at him.

"She would if the commander threatened her to f-find out the information." Gris headed for the door. "I need to find her."