The Runaway King (2 page)

W
hen I came to, Roden and his accomplice had made their escape. Considering the injury to my arm and the thunderous pounding in my head, it was probably a good thing they were gone. However, Roden’s threats still lingered in the air. I was lucky he had not carried out the worst threat while I lay unconscious.

Wet from the fountain and bleeding from my arm, I stumbled into the courtyard to see another patrol of vigils running toward me. I singled out one of them and told him to give me his cloak, which he did. They said something about my needing a physician, but instead I asked he be brought into the gardens to attend to the men there. Then I ordered the vigils to keep everything as quiet as possible, at least until the funeral ended.

With a hand clamped over the wound on my arm, I slowly walked to the chapel, where the funeral was underway. I should’ve gone to the funeral in the first place, rather than to the gardens. The attack on me would have happened anyway, eventually, but at least I’d have paid proper respect to my family. They deserved that much from me.

I had always missed my family while I was on my own at the orphanage, but here at the castle, their absence haunted my every step. I desperately wanted to go inside where I could properly mourn for them. But looking as I did, that was impossible. So I huddled like a spy beneath a small open window to listen, hoping that wherever my family was, they would forgive me.

Inside I heard the voice of Joth Kerwyn, my high chamberlain. He had been my father’s adviser and my grandfather’s adviser too. Possibly even further back. It seemed to me that Kerwyn had always existed. He was speaking of my brother, Darius, now, and I barely recognized the description of him. Darius was four years older than me, and had been about my age now when I last knew him. Still, if there was any truth to Kerwyn’s words, Carthya now had the lesser of Eckbert’s sons for a king. As if I needed another reminder of that.

Next, each of the regents was offered the opportunity to speak. Those who did gave predictably exaggerated honors to my family. A few were coarse enough to work in their politics. From Master Termouthe, who was currently the most senior of my regents: “And now we have King Jaron, who will certainly honor all his father’s cautious trade agreements.” Or Mistress Orlaine, a friend of Santhias Veldergrath, who couldn’t contain the ridicule in her voice as she said, “Long live King Jaron. If he leads us half as well as he entertains us, then Carthya has a truly great future ahead.”

Even in my condition, I nearly barged into the funeral then. I had in mind a few impolite words that would’ve provided weeks of entertaining gossip for the court.

“Jaron?”

I turned, not sure whether to be pleased or embarrassed to see Imogen walking toward me. She moved cautiously, clearly confused about why I was here and not inside.

Imogen had been a servant at Conner’s estate of Farthenwood and had undoubtedly saved my life there. One of my first acts as king was the small repayment of making her a noble. It was interesting how little her new status had affected her. Certainly, her clothes were finer and she often wore her dark brown hair straight down her back rather than in a servant’s braid, but she still remained friendly with everyone, no matter their status.

Her eyes scanned the dark skies. “Did it rain? Why are you all wet?”

“A nighttime bath.”

“Fully dressed?”

“I’m modest.”

Wrinkles formed on her forehead. “When you didn’t show up at the funeral, the princess asked me to come find you.”

Princess Amarinda of Bultain was the niece of the king of Bymar, our only ally country. Because of that, it had been arranged from her birth that she would marry whoever sat on the throne of Carthya, sealing the alliance. This was supposed to be my brother’s duty, one I believed he was happy to fulfill. Now the duty had come to me. The happiness over it had not. Amarinda had made it clear she was equally miserable over our betrothal. Compared to Darius, I felt like a consolation prize, and a poor one at that.

For the first time, Imogen noticed my wounded arm. She gave a soft cry, then moved closer to get a better look. Without a word, she crouched down and lifted her dress just enough to grab the fabric of an underskirt. She tore off a length, and used it as a bandage to bind my arm.

“It’s not so bad,” I said as she wrapped the injury. “The blood makes it look worse than it is.”

“Who did this?” I hesitated, and she said, “Let me get the princess.”

“No.”

Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “This is important. You have to talk to her.”

I’d talked to Amarinda plenty, with every polite phrase I’d ever learned, such as “That’s a nice dress,” and “This dinner tastes good.” But we’d both avoided any of the things that really needed to be said.

Imogen kept pushing. “Jaron, she’s your friend, and she’s concerned about you.”

“I’ve got nothing to say.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to her!” An awkward silence fell, until I added, “Amarinda’s friends are already inside the chapel.” She courted friendships with the regents who disrespected me most. And she had laughed so much with the captain of my guard at supper last night that I finally went to my room so I wouldn’t be in their way. I wanted to trust her, but she had made that impossible.

After more silence, Imogen murmured, “Then talk to me.” She smiled shyly, and added, “I think I’m still closer to you than anyone else.”

She was, which was a tragedy. Because now that she’d put it into words, I realized someone else understood it too. Roden said he knew exactly whose death would hurt me most.

Imogen
. If the pirates wanted to hurt me, they’d take Imogen.

I couldn’t imagine a day of my life without her there in some way. But if I failed to keep the pirates out of Carthya, then Roden would lead them straight to her. The thought of what might happen then was unbearable. A hole opened up inside me as I realized how dangerous it was for her to stay here. Allowing her to remain connected to me in any way was a potential death sentence.

As much as I hated the thought of it, I knew what must be done. Imogen had to leave the court. Worse still, she had to want to be as far from me as possible, so that nobody could ever suspect there was any benefit in harming her.

My stomach twisted, as if the lies I was about to tell were knives pulled from my gut. I slowly shook my head and said, “You’re wrong, Imogen. We’re not friends and never were. I only used your help to get back to the throne.”

She froze for a moment, unsure of whether she’d heard me correctly. “I don’t understand —”

“And you’re using me to stay here at the castle. Where you don’t belong.”

“That’s not true!” Imogen stepped away with a look of shock as if I’d slapped her. Once she recovered, she said, “When you were Sage —”

“I’m Jaron, not Sage.” My lip curled as I added the worst thing I could think to say. “Did you really believe I could ever truly care about someone like you?”

Imogen’s struggle to contain her emotions was clear. That tore at me, but I did not,
could not
, flinch. She bowed to excuse herself and said, “I’ll leave at dawn.”

“You’ll leave at once. A carriage will be prepared to take you home.”

Shaking her head, she said, “If there’s something you need to tell me —”

I turned away from her, so as not to betray my own feelings. “I don’t want you here. Gather your things and go.”

“I have nothing here,” Imogen said. “I will leave just as I came.”

“As you wish.”

She left without looking back at me and with her head held high. Watching her hide the pain I’d just caused was worse than if she’d let it show. I had never been so cruel to anyone, and I hated myself for it. She would hate me as well, and I’d never be able to explain that sending her away with such indifference, even hostility, would save her life.

A new sort of pain flared inside me, something different than I’d ever felt before. If there was ever someone I could one day give my heart to, I had just sent her from my life forever.

I
wasn’t alone for long. Only minutes after Imogen left, King Vargan walked out of the chapel doors, holding his back as if in pain. He didn’t see me in the darkness behind him, so I had a moment to watch him. Vargan was tall and well built but slowly wilting. He had dark eyes and a graying face of deep lines. His hair was still long and thick but the color of coals on a dead fire.

As I watched him gaze over the courtyard with a hungry eye, my hands curled into fists. Here he stood, having played some role in the attempt on my life only an hour ago, and yet I was powerless to stop him. The pirates wanted my life, Vargan wanted my country, and my regents wanted to paint rainbows over reality and claim all was well.

Luckily, I was dry enough now that my appearance looked sloppy, but not soaking. I rotated my cloak to hide my bandaged arm, pushed my hair off my face, then stepped forward.

Vargan heard me coming and twisted around, startled, then grabbed his back again. “King Jaron, I didn’t realize you were out here. I had expected to see you inside.”

“It looked pretty crowded. I thought maybe nobody had saved me a seat.”

He smiled at the joke and said, “You could’ve had mine. Those chapel pews torture my spine. Forgive me for leaving your family’s funeral.”

“I’m not sure it is my family’s funeral. Other than their names, I don’t recognize the people they’re speaking about in there.”

Vargan laughed. “Such disrespect for the dead! I’d expect that of an Avenian, but I thought Carthyans were better than that.” His expression grew more serious and he added, “I’m told you passed yourself off as an Avenian over the past four years while you were missing.”

“I was never missing,” I said. “I always knew exactly where I was. But it is true that a lot of people believed I was Avenian.”

“Why?”

“I can do the accent.”

“Ah.” He put a finger to his face while he studied me. “You’re such a young king. I barely remember being your age.”

“Then clearly we’re talking about how old you are, not how young I am.”

His amused grin faded as he said, “You look more like your mother, I think.”

I had my father’s solid build, but I was far more my mother’s son. I had her thick brown hair that tended to curl at the ends and her leaf green eyes. More than appearances, however, I had her mischievous nature and sense of adventure.

Thinking about her made me uncomfortable, so instead I asked, “Are our countries friends, King Vargan?”

He shrugged. “It depends on what you mean by that.”

“I’m asking how concerned I should be about protecting my borders from an Avenian invasion.”

His forced laughter came out awkward and condescending. I didn’t even smile, and his laughter quickly died out. Then he said, “I’m sure you have much bigger problems tonight than worrying about my armies.”

“Oh? What problems are those?” Vargan probably didn’t know the attack on me had happened earlier than planned. Therefore, I used the same innocent tone that had always worked on my father when I gave excuses for missing my lessons. Although the stakes now were far higher than a reprimand to my backside.

Vargan’s mouth twitched, but the smiling was over. “If you’re as clever as they say, how can you fail to see the danger in front of you?”

“You’re in front of me. Should I be more concerned about you, or my old friends, the pirates?” I paused to let that sink in, then added, “Or is there no difference?”

Without a flicker in his voice, he said, “The pirates live within my borders, but govern themselves, even have their own king. On occasion we may work together, but only when it’s for our mutual purposes.”

Obviously in my case, it suited their purposes very well.

“Will you pass them a message for me?” I said. “Tell them I’ve heard rumors of war on my country, and that if such a thing is attempted I’ll destroy them.” Vargan stared blankly at me as I continued, “I won’t start the battle, but if it comes, I will finish it. Tell them that.”

Vargan chuckled, but it didn’t hide his irritation. “That sounds like a threat against me, young king.”

“It couldn’t have been, unless you’re threatening me.” I arched an eyebrow. “Correct?”

With that, his face relaxed. “There’s some courage in you, and I admire that. In my own youth I was just the same. I like you, Jaron, so I’ll forgive your arrogance . . . for now.”

That was good news, though I didn’t much like him. He had fish breath.

Vargan leaned closer to me. “In fact, I’ll make you an offer. Let’s begin with an easy agreement. Before his death, your father and I were negotiating for a small area of land on our borders, near Libeth. The Carthyan land has a spring that my farmers need for their crops. Carthya has other springs nearby, so you won’t miss it.”

“My father wouldn’t have missed it, but I would,” I said, with no actual idea of which spring he meant. “It happens to be my favorite water source in all of Carthya, and I won’t part with it.”

Vargan frowned. “This is a time for cooperation. Work with me, as your father did, and keep Carthya at peace.”

“What’s the point of gaining peace if it costs us our freedom? I won’t trade the one for the other.”

He took a step forward. “Listen to me, Jaron. I’m trying to warn you.”

“And I’m warning you. Do not bring war to my country. Either from your own forces or from pirates working in your stead!”

This time when I mentioned the pirates, I saw a flash in his eyes, something he wasn’t able to control.

He knew. I was sure of it.

“Your Majesty?” Gregor Breslan, captain of the Carthyan guard, emerged from the chapel and approached with caution. “Where have you been? Is everything all right?”

Gregor looked exactly as a captain of the guard should. He was tall and muscular, with dark hair and a stern face that communicated his serious nature. He also had a close-cut beard that I’d heard he grew to cover battle scars from years ago. Gregor was highly competent and intelligent enough, but also a bit of a wart. We pretended to tolerate each other’s failings, and frankly, he was trying harder at it than I was. I completely blamed him for being so grating. But to be fair, it wasn’t his fault now for coming at exactly the wrong moment.

Still facing the Avenian king, I said, “It seems our privacy is at an end. I hope your back feels better, unless a sore back keeps you from invading me.”

Vargan laughed. “Give me no reason to invade, young king. Because if you do, a little back pain won’t stop me.”

We shook hands, then I gestured to Gregor and said, “Walk with me.”

He fell in step at my side as we crossed the expansive courtyard. “But the funeral —”

“Is nothing but good theater for nobles unable to love anything but their own reflections.”

“It’s not my business to tell the king how he should behave at his own father’s funeral, but —”

“You’re quite right, Gregor. It isn’t your business.”

Beside me, I could feel his temper boil, but in a carefully controlled voice he said, “What did Vargan mean about giving him no reason to invade?”

“He made me an offer. In exchange for a promise of peace, he wants some of our land.”

“A heavy request. But it always worked for your father.”

“It does not work for me. We will defend the borders of this country!”

“With what army? Your Majesty has sent nearly every man that could be spared down to Falstan Lake, for no other apparent reason but to take earth from one area and leave it in another. It’s a waste of manpower and an unnecessary decision.”

Actually, it was a tactical decision for a fallback plan if war did come to Carthya. I had wanted to share the plan with Gregor and my regents, but Kerwyn had cautioned me against it. The regents already questioned my competence as king. Kerwyn felt this would only reinforce their doubts.

“Bring the men back to Drylliad,” Gregor said. “I need them here.”

“Why? To shine their shoes and march in formation? What good is that to anyone?”

“Respectfully, sire, if we’re asking questions, then I might wonder why you’re wearing a vigil’s cloak, and why you’re hiding your arm.”

I stopped walking and faced him, but huffed extra loudly to be sure he heard me. Then, with some reluctance, I unfolded the cloak so he could see my bandaged arm. Most of my sleeve below the bandage was colored by blood that had soaked into the wet fabric.

At the sight of it, the muscles on Gregor’s face tightened. Still staring, he said, “You were attacked.”

Another brilliant deduction from the captain of my guard. Even through Imogen’s bandage, the wound’s exposure to air sharpened the sting, so I covered it again.

“Two pirates got inside the castle walls,” I explained. “Vargan must have helped them somehow.”

“Do you know this for a fact?”

“Yes.”

“And you have proof?”

“Well . . . no.”

Only thinly concealing his disgust, he said, “Your Majesty, what if this whole idea of war is just in your head? Maybe Vargan isn’t behind tonight’s attack, but you see it that way because you’ve already decided he might invade.”

“He is
going to
invade!” Gregor shifted his eyes from me, but I continued anyway. “They want our land, our resources. They will take all that we have and destroy all that we are.”

“We’ve had years of peace, sire. Your return home shouldn’t change anything.”

“Of course it changes things. Four years ago, my father let everyone believe I died in a pirate attack. Now that I’ve returned, these countries will consider my father’s lies to them a grave insult. There are consequences for my coming to the throne, and we have to deal with them.”

Gregor had pursed his lips while I spoke, but now he answered, “If you were older, you could order the soldiers to war right now, and I would lead them. But until you’re of age, you must accept that there are some actions you cannot take without the support of the regents. And if you will forgive me for speaking so boldly, the decision to give you the throne last month, rather than considering a steward, was granted too quickly and only in the enthusiasm of the moment. They should have welcomed you home as a prince and then given you time to adjust before putting the whole weight of the kingdom on you.”

“But they did,” I said. “And with your help, I can defend this country.”

His eyes narrowed. “You do not yet have the hearts of your people, or your regents. Nobody will follow you into a war based on your
instinct
. You need proof. Were these assassins captured?”

“They were messengers, not assassins.” At least, not yet.

“What was the message?”

“I already told you. That war is coming.” I held out my injured arm. “And this is your proof.”

But Gregor saw it differently. “The pirates must be open to negotiation. Otherwise, they’d have just killed you when they had the chance.”

“It seems their king wants to handle that part personally.” I didn’t dare to think of what that might involve, but it probably wouldn’t end up being my best day ever.

Walking again, I angled toward a rear entrance of the castle, used mostly for the transport of prisoners, their visiting families, and dungeon vigils.

“Where are we going?” Gregor asked.

“I want to speak with Bevin Conner.”

Gregor’s eyes widened. “Right now? In your condition?”

“He’s seen me in worse shape.”

“What could you possibly want with him?”

“Does the king need his servant’s permission now?” I asked.

“Of course not. It’s just —”

“What?”

“Jaron, you destroyed everything that man wanted.” Gregor’s tone had softened now. “You know what he’ll do if you see him.”

I set my jaw forward. “After what I’ve been through tonight, do you really think he can hurt me any worse?”

“Oh yes,” Gregor said solemnly. “He can and he will. Tell me what you want from him. I’ll get it while you rest.”

The idea that I might find any rest tonight was becoming increasingly absurd. I asked Gregor, “Do you know why the pirates tried to kill me four years ago?”

“Conner confessed it all, sire. He hired them, hoping to force your father into a war to protect our borders.”

“Clearly, the pirates haven’t forgotten their agreement.”

Gregor clicked his tongue. “Then tonight wasn’t about war. They intend to kill you.”

I picked up the pace and muttered, “Everything started with Conner. And if there’s any hope of ending this, I need his help now.”