A Spoiled Rule

Chapter 28

"So you're the king?" asked the old man, shivering on the floor.
"A king," replied Liam. He sat close to the door, but he couldn't get the sour stench of the room out of his nose. He felt sorry for the man, and anger toward Oliver. Liam was naive to think he'd be able to grab Oliver and get him away from Dínam. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it had been enough time to lull him into a sleep and wake him up again.
The man coughed, not having even the little energy needed to cover his mouth. When he was done hacking, he said shakily, "Why're you here?"
Liam sighed. He peered out into the hall, eyeing the single guard that sat at its entrance. "I underestimated the influence that Oliver has here."
The man grunted. He pushed himself into a sitting position. Despite the fear coursing through Liam's veins, he found himself at the man's side, helping him to sit up. Liam's own hands were shaking, but he was raised better than to leave this man alone.
"Thank you," said the man. He leaned against the wall and coughed directly in Liam's face.
Liam sat back and tried to hold his breath. "What... How did you end up in here?"
The old man shrugged. "I offended Mettiam."
A shock ran through Liam's system. "How long have you been here?"
The man smiled helplessly. "A long time."
A silence passed, during which Liam tried to conjure a plan to get the people of Dínam on his side. With Liam's seal, Oliver could make anything seem true and deceive the people. Stealing the seal would not make Liam look much better. The only way to reverse the lies was to have Coulím endorse Liam.
"I'd heard stories of Harksgold when I was a lad," said the man, his gaze far away. "Our ancestors got along."
"We fell out of touch," said Liam. "I'm sorry. I should have known..." He shook his head, filled with familiar disappointment.
"You shouldn't have," said the man. "Blame those who came before you."
"I can't," said Liam. "I must respect my father."
The man coughed, taking rattling breaths. "You must be true to your heart, should it bring goodness. Goodness is the importance. Then, if you still feel guilty, ask for forgiveness. It is simple."
Liam smiled at the man's simplicity, but the smile didn't reach his heart. He knew there was honesty and wisdom in what the man spoke.
Liam suddenly remembered a law of prison. Any captive was entitled to a representative, typically full of financial wisdom to handle the captive's money while he was incapacitated. Oliver certainly was aware of this fact; he was testing Liam's knowledge. Liam stood and gripped the bars. "Excuse me," he said loudly to gather the guard's attention. "I'd like to announce my representative."
The guard hesitated, but then he stood and tilted his head. "The king has a representative?"
"His name is Theo," said Liam, though a part of him wanted to squirm. Stephen would never let Liam see the end of this. "He may not be my ideal representative, but my other one passed when the plague broke out in Harksgold."
The guard wrinkled his nose. "And where can we find this Theo?"
"On the shore," said Liam. His heart was pounding. He was not used to this sort of scheming. "With a couple of other survivors. He will be the one wearing no shoes; the one who draws riches."
The guard began to laugh. "Riches, you say? Is this a bribe?"
Liam quickly shook his head. "Of course not. My representative may not be an honest man, but I trust him nevertheless."
The guard studied him, meeting his eyes. After a moment, he sighed. "I shall notify Oliver. We will have your representative in the morning to get your affairs in order." He left without another word.
Liam sat back, resting his head against the wall. He met the old man's gaze, which was between humor and curiosity. "There was a notorious family of thieves in Dínam," said the man. "Did you happen to meet them?"
Liam smiled. "One of them."
The man suddenly fell into a series of coughs, and Liam grabbed the only bucket that was in the room and placed it in front of the poor man. It was all he could do. The man coughed into it, his breaths shaking his entire body. He tried to speak, but Liam shook his head. "Don't try to speak." He recognized the signs of disease. There was blood in the bucket. The man's lungs were being torn apart.
Just then, a guard entered the hall and stopped at their door. He opened a small latch at the bottom and slid two plates into their cell. Immediately, Liam wrinkled his nose. Boiled fish sat on the platters, and the smell did not bode well with the sickness lingering in the air.
Liam's stomach dropped. "How long have you been eating this fish?" he asked the man.
The man slid the plate over and gave Liam an odd look. "Do you know where we are?" he said in a raspy voice. "Nearly everything we eat is fish!"
"How long have you been sick?" asked Liam.
"Long, long time." The man began picking at his food.
Liam couldn't be sure whether to trust this fish. He needed to eat. He felt weak from lack of food, and his clothes were damp from being underwater. However, he couldn't bring himself to eat the fish. That was how poorly his trust had deteriorated with Oliver. He adjusted his position against the wall and closed his eyes. He wanted to cry out in anger and frustration, and it took all his strength to remain quiet. His father hadn't prepared him for this. Perhaps if he'd been taught differently, he wouldn't have made this rash decision.
With thoughts of despair, he fell asleep.