The Runaway King - Page 39/59

I paused and closed my eyes before speaking. “Does he know about you?”

Imogen shook her head. “I also heard that he volunteered to come to Carthya that night. Not because he cared about the message he was supposed to give you, but because he wanted you to know about him. Don’t you see how personal his attack on you was?”

I understood that very well. Enough to have carried that knowledge like a lead weight in my chest ever since I had last seen him.

I cocked my head. “You were not planning on telling me this?”

“I hoped the pirates would reject you and send you away, or that you’d see the foolishness of what you’re doing and leave before I had to tell you.” Forgetting the risk of anyone seeing us, she stepped closer to me. “Don’t you see? He’ll know it’s you as soon as he hears the name Sage. Of any name you might’ve chosen here, couldn’t you at least have thought that through better? Given yourself a name that wouldn’t call him to you?”

I lowered my eyes and Imogen drew in a stilted breath. “Oh,” she whispered. “That was the plan. You want him to find you. Please tell me I’m wrong.”

I sighed. “You’re not.”

That made her angry. “Do you forget he nearly killed you last week? And now you’ve left the safety of your walls and your armies and your friends, and come here alone? How does that make anything better? Don’t you know what you’re up against?”

I locked my jaw forward and stared away from her, but she wasn’t finished. “I know you’re strong and you can handle a weapon, but they say that Roden hasn’t set down his sword for a minute since the night you were crowned. And when he returns, it won’t only be him you’ll have to fight. It’s all of the pirates. They’ll be on his side and there’s no chance you can win against all of them. None.” She cupped her hands around my face so that I had to look at her. “Please. You’ve got to accept what I’m saying. No matter how angry you are at the pirates, or at Roden, you will lose here tomorrow.”

“You have so little faith in me?”

“Faith cannot save a person from reality.” Tears filled her eyes as she added, “I know it’s not in you to run. At any other time I’d admire that. But just this once, you must. Do it for me. Stay alive for me.”

“Is that really who you want me to be? A person who cowers for the rest of my life, like some helpless prey?”

“I want you to be a person who chooses to live! That’s what I care about, that you live! And if we return to Carthya by morning, you can prepare your armies against an attack from the pirates.”

“Yes, and the vote for a steward is the day after that! I’ll have no control over those armies.” Gregor would have little trouble persuading the regents to make him the steward. Under our present threat of war, the regents would do anything he wanted, blindly following his commands.

I stumbled, suddenly dizzy, and aware of my heart pounding against the wall of my chest.

It’s time I learned who is in command. That had been Roden’s message. As much as the Avenian king wanted my land, or the pirates wanted my wealth, they had no control over me . . . yet. But there was someone within reach of my power.

Ask the right questions. Conner told me that. From nearly the moment after I left Conner’s dungeon, something had bothered me about our conversation. But for as often as I’d run his words over in my mind, I hadn’t known what questions I should be asking. Now I did.

Imogen touched my arm. “Jaron, are you all right?”

“No,” I croaked. As if the threat stood right in front of me, my hand locked on to my sword. In that moment, I knew what I had missed in Conner’s dungeon.

And I sank to my knees.

When I’d asked Conner where he had gotten the dervanis oil, Gregor had put his hand on his sword.

“Why would he do that?” I mumbled. “It was only a question. Why would Gregor reach for his sword?”

Imogen shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

Mott had told me that a month before my family’s deaths, my father had become suspicious of the regents and begun requiring them to be searched before they entered the castle walls. Yet Conner got in with the vial of dervanis oil from the pirates.

Ask the right questions.

The question wasn’t where he got the poison. It was how he got inside the castle with it.

Conner had needed help to kill my family. There was a second traitor in my castle.

Conner might not even have realized he had help. The pirates could have easily coordinated with someone else to let Conner pass through.

Only one man would have the authority to allow a regent to enter the castle without being searched. It was the same man who would have allowed the king of Avenia to enter my gates without identifying his attendants as pirates.

Gregor had reached for his sword in the dungeon because in that moment, he thought I knew he was the second traitor. He had expected to need his sword. Against me.

Gregor had known I would be attacked in the gardens. He knew Roden’s message was intended to frighten me into submission, and it allowed Gregor to make a case to the regents that I needed a steward.

And wherever Gregor wanted to send me into hiding, I was willing to wager the pirates knew about that place too.

The pirates didn’t care about killing Conner. His connection to them was already exposed. But Gregor needed him dead, to protect his own involvement in my family’s murders.

In two days, Gregor would have himself declared steward over Carthya. And all that stood between him and success was Tobias, who was, at that moment, pretending to be me. Tobias was in grave danger. And what of Amarinda, who’d be caught in the middle of them both?

I glanced up at Imogen, who looked half-panicked by then. “What’s happening?” she asked.

After standing again, I said, “It’s time to go. Meet me in the stables tonight. One hour after the last light goes out in the camp.”

“Vigils guard the camp.”

“Can you avoid them?”

“Yes.” Imogen paused a moment, then wiped a fallen tear off her cheek. “Thank you, Jaron.”

I nodded back at her and then closed my eyes, trying to piece together everything that would have to happen next. When I opened them again, Imogen was gone.

Fink was already seated when I came to dinner that night. Erick sat across the table and several men down, but Fink scooted aside to make room for me. However, after an unenthusiastic hello, he pushed his bowl forward and laid his head on his hands.

“Sleepy?” I asked. “Didn’t get your afternoon nap?”

“Hush.” Fink’s irritable tone took me by surprise. I thought we had firmly established as a rule of our friendship that I was the cranky one.

“Sit up or they’ll ladle stew onto your head.” He glared at me but obeyed. Then I asked, “What’s the matter?”

Fink snuck a look around to see whether any of the nearby pirates were listening. As if their top priority was eavesdropping on a kid too young to even be considered for piracy. Then he leaned in to me and whispered, “I want to go home.”

“What home? Back to the thieves?”

“Maybe. I don’t like it here.”