The Shadow Throne

I remained facing forward while I said, “I am Jaron, the Ascendant King of Carthya. You will regret ever bringing war against me.”

And the doors opened.

It was an unusually beautiful morning, warm and bright, with sapphire skies that were better suited to a picnic than a hanging. A light breeze stirred the two nooses hanging from the gallows in circles. The beams weren’t tall, the kind that would snap a neck as soon as the floor collapsed, causing instant, relatively painless death. These were the shorter ones with a knot at the center of the neck. They’d cut off our air once the stools beneath our feet were kicked away, creating a slow and terrible death. That had been a deliberate choice, I suspected. They wanted me to suffer, and for everyone in the audience to have a long time to understand the consequences of defying King Vargan.

For there was indeed a large crowd gathered, many more than I had anticipated. Most of the audience was the soldiers of Avenia and Mendenwal. Tobias was now standing with my other regents near the front. Like those around him, his face registered dread for what was about to happen. But something more seemed etched into his expression — perhaps the conflicted feelings of guilt and relief that I had chosen him to escape the noose. I wished he wouldn’t torture himself with that. The choice had been mine, and I’d made the correct one. If he would’ve looked directly at me, I’d have tried to communicate that to him, but his eyes were cast downward, ashamed.

The other regents were looking at me, and I gave them a respectful nod for having come. I suspected that immediately after our deaths, they’d be taken to Vargan and forced to give oaths of fealty to him and Conner. Kerwyn was missing from the group. Either he was still in Mendenwal, or else he had escaped Vargan’s demands that he be in attendance. Standing beside Tobias was Harlowe. His eyes were filled with horror as he stared at me. Considering who walked beside me, it was wrong that he should care so much about my death.

I lowered my head and said to Roden, “There’s something I should have told you last night.”

Roden’s voice wavered when he spoke. “Yes?”

“You have a father, Roden. He’s alive, and he is here.”

“What?” Roden jerked his whole body toward me. “Who?”

I cocked my head toward the center of the crowd. “Rulon Harlowe, the prime regent.”

“How could you know that?”

“His wife was named Havanila. Harlowe is your father.”

“But —” Roden paused and considered that a moment. “He lost a younger son as an infant. Didn’t I hear that?”

“It was you. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you last night.”

“Do you think so?” He cursed and craned his neck to look in the crowd. I knew by the slump in his shoulders when he located Harlowe. Then his tone softened. “Does he know?”

“No. I thought you should tell him.”

“I wish I could.” We took a few more steps, then he said, “I know you tried to save us, Jaron. I forgive you for failing.”

With a coy smile, I glanced over at him. “What failure? Everything is exactly as it should be.”

“I disagree,” Roden said. “I can think of a thousand ways I’d rather spend my morning.”

“Think of ways you’d like to spend your evening, then.” With a smile, I added, “I intend to curl up in front of a warm fireplace, with Imogen beside me.”

“That sounds nice. But if you’re near any fires tonight, it might be that your soul landed in the devils’ lair.”

I chuckled. “That’s more likely than either of us resting with the saints. But if we do, just imagine the trouble we could cause there.”

He smiled back. “Good-bye, Jaron.”

“No, Roden. Not yet.”

At that, the commander pulled Roden onto the platform and directed him to stand on the stool. From my position, I could see the shaking of Roden’s hands, so fierce it rattled the chains on his wrists. A man standing at the front of the platform announced that here was the captain of the Carthyan guard, guilty of war against Avenia, Gelyn, and Mendenwal. Roden stood tall as the noose was tightened around his neck. He was heaving deep breaths, as if that might somehow delay the suffocation.

Conner had left my side and turned his back on me to greet other dignitaries seated on the steps of Farthenwood. It allowed me to work at the ropes around my wrists, while the position of his body also blocked others from seeing what I was doing. I wasn’t quite sure what I’d do once my hands were untied — I was still unarmed and surrounded by enemies. But it was a start.

Shortly before I was through the knots, Conner turned and grabbed my wrists again. Without calling attention to himself, he wound the loose rope back over my wrists. I couldn’t tell whether he knotted anything again, but if he did, any hope I had was lost.

It was my turn now for the noose. Conner escorted me to the platform and told me to get on the stool, which I did. Then he pulled the noose around my neck and tightened it a little, though it would surely pull tighter to kill me. The coarse threads scratched like claws against my skin and I was already feeling the pinch for air.

From here, I could see the audience better. I recognized a few of the thieves amongst the Avenian soldiers. They were nearly expressionless as they stared up at me; it was impossible for me to tell whether they were regretting or celebrating my death. Probably the latter. And oddly, I saw Erick in the audience. Only Erick, none of the pirates. He acknowledged me with a grim smile and a slight nod. I returned the gesture, grateful beyond words that he had come.

“King Vargan will have you speak now,” Conner said. “Remind our people of where their loyalties must be.”

My eyes shifted from him back to the crowd. When those from Carthya saw me looking, they went to their knees. So did Erick, and a few others I didn’t know. I swallowed hard to gain control of my emotions, and then said, “I am commanded by the king of Avenia to give you one last order and so I shall. Hear me now and always. Be loyal to the thing you know is right. Never bend to weakness, never yield to a false crown. Right will always triumph in the end, and you will want to be on that side when it does.”

The ending I had intended would’ve been even better, if Conner had not cut me off by crashing his fist into my gut. A gasp spread through the audience, who went to their feet in my defense. Kippenger shouted to the crowd to ignore my last words or be hanged next. His soldiers left the platform and quieted a few of the more rowdy objectors with the hilt of their blades.

I had recovered from the punch, but my balance was threatened. I might’ve fallen then, but Conner put his hands on my arms to steady my weight. When he did, I felt something cold run up my sleeve and caught the end of it in my hand.

Conner had given me a knife.

It was small, but felt sharp enough, and I gripped it tightly to keep it hidden. He said nothing more, didn’t even look at me as he left the platform.

The announcer on the platform said my name, gave my title as the king of Carthya, and then accused me of the crime of waging war against the kingdoms of Avenia, Mendenwal, and Gelyn. Ridiculous charges, considering they were standing on my land.

When he finished, he walked off the platform too. King Vargan stood and spoke the simple words, “Do it.”