Rachel said, stroking her husband’s scant hair. “We lived in a cottage on the castle grounds, and I tended a portion of the King’s gardens. They were the best years of our lives.” Owen said, “He mentioned a son.” The Scribe looked to his wife. “We had a son and two daughters, didn’t we?” She nodded. “When the Dragon took me to find out what I knew and to erase my memory, he used—” At this the man broke down, his face in his hands. Rachel whispered, choking back her own tears, “After his work on The Book of the King, we returned to our village. But by then darkness covered the land. The Dragon had heard about the book and wanted to know more. So he took my husband. . . .” The Scribe wiped his eyes. “I wish I could show you what you’re up against. Torture. Unspeakable pain. It’s as if he were able to crawl into my mind and root around with his sharp talons.” “But he did not break you concerning the missing chapter,” Rachel said. “How could he? I did not know where it was.
