The memories of the Chamber haunted his mind. Sleeping or awake, there was no release from the images he had seen there.
The door closed behind him. Tears were dry on his cheeks – the time for reflection had served to open fresh wounds. He shivered, wondering what the Chamber could show him that would be worse than life at the moment. Life without hope, it seemed.
He was not alone. Alan and Jon lay in a mangled heap on the floor. Their faces seemed impossibly aged, shrivelled and wrinkled. Alan's red hair flamed like a signal. Jon's, by contrast, remained the black of the midnight sky.
Raoul squeezed his eyes shut, but the image was imprinted on the back of his lids.
Alan's corpse became animated. The wrinkles smoothed and the suddenly agile page leapt to his feet.
"Cold," he mumbled, rubbing his hands together. "Cold, and so… alone."
I know. I'm sorry, Raoul thought, fighting to keep himself from uttering the words aloud.
"Nobody came. So many friends, and nobody came to help." The tone in the small boy's voice was wondering, as if he could not understand. Teetering on the verge of being asked was the question Raoul could not answer.
Why.
Why hadn't they come to help?
I know. I'm sorry.
"Nobody avenged us."
I couldn't. I'm sorry.
"He had his cousin killed, so you gave him the country?!" Alan hissed, violet eyes flashing with anger. Raoul reached out to touch him, to calm him, and-
And found himself in what was presumably the King's chambers. "Fools," a silky voice murmured. "Their precious Prince dies, and they crown the person responsible."
The scene changed, just as the two occupants linked glasses. Just as their triumphant laughter began to ring in his ears. Just as he realised they were Delia of Eldorne and Alexander of Tirragen.
That night, the Chamber took him through villages, starving because King Roger had raised taxes to fund his wars. Families, torn apart so the king could have his formidable army. The Gods, turning their faces from Tortall.
One thing was clear, he knew, as he stumbled out of the Chamber.
He had to bring Roger down.
"George, I need your help."
"Oh, aye?" The thief's hazel eyes sharpened. Raoul had a feeling he knew exactly what Raoul had to ask, and was wondering what had taken him so long about it.
He took in a deep breath. This was treason. It was ridiculous. Unthinkable. Necessary. "I want you to help me bring down the King."
The large knight was becoming impatient. He had already searched the mess hall, the library, Gary's rooms and the gardens. His friend was apparently nowhere to be found.
Raoul was wary of the practice courts, simply because Alex frequented there, and close contact with Alex was not a desirable thing. Still, he should be able to come and go easily.
Cautiously, he pushed open the door.
"Raoul? Fancy a fence?"