The Eyes of the Dragon

49

On his first night as King, Thomas the Light-Bringer awoke straight up and staring in bed, his face stark and horrified, his hands crammed against his mouth as if to stifle a scream. He had just had a terrible nightmare, one even worse than those in which he relived the awful afternoon in the Eastern Tower.

This dream had been a kind of reliving, too. He was in the secret passage again, spying on his father. It was the night his father had been so drunk and furious, striding around the room and shrilling defiance at the heads on the walls. But when his father came to the head of Niner, the things he said were not the same.

Why do you stare at me? his father shrieked in the dream. He’s killed me and I suppose you couldn’t stop that, but how could you see your brother imprisoned for it? Answer me, damn you! I did the best I could, and look at me! Look at me!

His father began to burn. His face turned the dull red of a well-banked fire. Smoke burst from his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He doubled over in agony and Thomas saw that his father’s hair was on fire. That was when he woke up.

The wine! he thought now, in horror. Flagg brought him a glass of wine that night! Everyone knew that Peter brought him wine every night, so everyone thought Peter poisoned the wine! But Flagg brought him wine that night, too, and he never did before! And the poison came from Flagg! He said it was stolen from him years ago,

He would not allow himself to think of such things. He would not. Because if he did think of such things-

“He would kill me,” Thomas whispered, horrified.

You could go to Peyna. Peyna doesn’t like him.

Yes, he could do that. But then all his old dislike and jeal-ousy of Peter returned. If he told, Peter would be let out of the Needle and would take his place as King. Thomas would be no one again, just a bumbling prince who had been King for one day.

It had taken only one day for Thomas to discover he could like being King-he could like it very much, especially with Flagg to help him. Besides, he didn’t really know anything, did he? He only had an idea. And his ideas had always been wrong.

He’s killed me and I suppose you couldn’t stop that, but how could you see your brother imprisoned for it?

Never mind, Thomas thought, it must be wrong, it has to be wrong, and even if it isn’t, it serves him right. He turned over on his side, determined to go back to sleep. And after a long time, sleep came.

In the years ahead, that nightmare sometimes came again -his father accusing his hidden, spying son and then doubling over, smoking, his hair on fire. In those years, Thomas discov-ered two things: guilt and secrets, like murdered bones, never rest easy; but the knowledge of all three can be lived with.