Silent Kingdom Read Online Free PDF

coronation, or if they had guessed my identity because of the red armband of mourning I had been wearing. Or maybe it fell off in the water, I thought hopefully.
    Heart jolting with another fear, I lifted a hand to my tangled hair. Had they recognized me? I’d made few public appearances outside of balls and dinners spent with Misroth’s nobility, but I had my mother’s eyes and my father’s jaw and nose. Would my own features betray me ?
    Deep breaths, Halia. You aren’t home, or in the dungeons, or dead. If they haven’t returned you to the king yet, they must not know.
    Indeed, my surroundings were entirely foreign to me, as used to the castle’s extravagance as I was. Aside from the bed I occupied in the corner of the cozy room, it contained only a small hearth, a chest of drawers, a hand-woven rug, and a faded armchair. Everything was plain yet inviting, made for function rather than embellishment. Cream-colored curtains were drawn over a window beside me so only faint light trickled in. I pulled them back and gazed out on a small, empty patch of land backed by forest. A few leaves still clung to the trees, but most littered the ground. The moon stared down at me, so large and bright I had to blink to adjust my eyes. How many days had passed since the funeral, since the onset of the visions and truthful words that had nearly killed me?
    I turned toward the opposite wall, to a fireplace red and warm with dying embers. Beside it was a closed door with the soft glow of candlelight seeping in through the gap between it and the floor. Voices followed the light, and I strained to hear the words.
    “I know I’ve said it already, but I still can’t believe it. Who would do that to a child?” The woman spoke so low that I almost didn’t catch her words.
    “Perhaps she is awake now. We need to talk to her.” I recognized the voice of the man who’d rescued me.
    As they approached, I sank back onto my pillow and waited.
    They pushed the door open. The woman held a candlestick in one hand, shielding it with the other. “You’re awake,” she said, her voice soft, her blue eyes gentle. She stepped toward the bed, setting the candle on the nightstand and reaching out a hand to feel my forehead. “Your fever has broken. How do you feel?”
    Fine. I opened my mouth to speak the words, but no sound came out. Not even a groan. Instinctively, my hand flew to my neck, clutching at my throat as if I could assess the internal damage.
    The woman pulled up the chair sitting against the wall and sat beside the bed. Her husband stood behind her, his hands resting on the back of the chair. “It’s all right,” she said. “Your throat probably still hurts from nearly drowning. We only want to ensure you are safe and can return home.” She looked over her shoulder and patted her husband’s hand. “Fetch a pen and paper.”
    When he returned, he held the pen and paper out to me. I grasped them uncertainly, realizing with growing uneasiness that they would want to know who I was, who my parents were. What do I tell them? Where can I go now?
    “Could you tell us who you are and what happened?” the man asked.
    I swallowed. I am in danger, I scrawled across the paper slowly. My hand trembled, making my handwriting shaky and uneven. I can’t tell you more. You can’t tell anyone about me, or those who did this will find me.
    Glancing up, I watched concern flicker in the woman’s eyes. “I know you are frightened,” she said, “but you must have parents who are worried about you. They need to know you’re safe, and they can protect you from further danger.”
    They are the ones who did this to me. I drew a deep breath, trying to quell the pain and fear in my heart.
    “I’m sorry…” the woman began, reaching out a gentle hand to grasp mine.
    Pounding on the front door interrupted her, echoing throughout the house and matching the throbbing of my heart. The couple exchanged a glance, their eyes alert and their faces