The Runaway King

Page 56

We were quiet a moment, and then, in a much sadder voice, Mott added, “Why didn’t you let me come with you? I could have protected you.”
I looked at him. “But that’s just the problem. You would have protected me, which would have risked both our lives. And it had to be me who went. I knew at some point that I’d have to face Roden. He wouldn’t have returned with anyone else.”
“After the way he threatened you, I thought you’d have to kill him.”
“Only if there was no other choice. My hope was always to get him back on my side again.”
“He’s better off here with us.”
“And we’re better off with him,” I said. “He’s a dangerous enemy but a fierce friend. Carthya needs him on our side.”
“But how can you trust him? After all he’s done to you?”
“When we fought that last time, he could’ve easily ended things by striking at my leg. He never did, not once. If he wanted me dead, I would be.”
Mott nodded. “Then I’ll learn to trust him too. You do have friends, Jaron. We will always stand by you.”
I understood that better now. I pointed to his forearm, still bandaged tightly. “I’m sorry about your arm, outside Harlowe’s office.”
“I’d only arrived a little earlier that night. Harlowe was doing his best to deny having seen you, but it was obvious he had.” The corner of Mott’s mouth lifted. “He thought you were a runaway servant, probably owned by a noble in Drylliad.”
For some reason, that struck me as funny. I chuckled only until it hurt, then said, “Harlowe’s a good man. I asked him to be my prime regent.”
Mott’s eyebrows rose. “Prime? That’s going to upset your other regents. Some of them have been there longer than you’ve been alive.”
“They were ready to give control of Carthya to a traitor. Once Gregor’s treachery is known, they’ll be a lot humbler. Harlowe is the right man to lead them.”
“He’ll serve you well.” Mott pressed his lips together and then said, “He couldn’t understand how a king could abandon everything to join up with thieves and pirates. He worried that you had forgotten yourself.”
“I never forgot myself, not once,” I mumbled. “That was the hardest part.” Then I looked up at Mott. “Nor can I ever forgive myself, if you won’t forgive me.”
“For this?” He tilted his head. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“No, not for what I’ve done.” I lowered my gaze and fingered a loose thread on the blanket. “I ask you to forgive who I am. It will never be easy to serve with me.”
Mott’s eyes moistened. “I am certain of that. But I will serve you anyway.”
With that, I laid my head back on my pillow and rested. When Mott began speaking again, I opened my eyes but only stared forward.
“I should know better than to ever doubt you.” Mott placed a hand on my arm. “Today you live because of everything you’ve done right in your life. You did well.”
I smiled and returned to sleep. There was nothing kinder he could have said.
Imogen was there when I awoke. I must have slept through the night because it was a morning sun warming the room. This time she helped me sit up and placed a tray of food on my lap.
“You look like yourself again,” she said. “Whoever that is.”
I blinked a few times to put her in better focus. “An invalid? That’s the real me?”
“Of course not. But —” Short on words, she only shrugged. “You look . . . content. It suits you.”
I chuckled. “No, it doesn’t.”
“I suppose not.” She grew quiet for a moment, then said, “I shouldn’t have gone to the pirates, even on Amarinda’s orders.”
“Agreed.”
“We hoped that I could help. The hairpin, the flowers, they were meant to save you.”
“No, Imogen,” I said. “It’s you who saves me. And not just from the pirates. I need you. When we get back to the castle —”
“I’m not going back.” She exhaled slowly, as if hoping to silently express the worst news. “Jaron, please understand. I can’t be there anymore.”
“Why not?” Of course she’d come with me. How else would things return to normal? There was an edge to my tone now. “Is it the servants, or the princess —”
“It’s you. I can’t go back and be near you.” Her brows pressed together and a small line formed between them. “Things are different now. Can’t you feel it?”
In that moment, most of what I felt was frustration. When I’d dismissed her from the castle, I’d known that I had hurt her, but surely she understood my reasons by now. I said, “The night I sent you away, that was only —”
“It was the right thing to do and we both know it. Devlin would have used me to take the kingdom from you.”
I shook my head. “Yes, he tried. But it didn’t work.”
“What if he hadn’t let you fight him? Would you have told him about the cave to keep him from whipping me?”
She had made her point. Whatever my options, I could never have allowed him to harm her. Yet this was no solution. Finally, I mumbled, “You have to come back. It’s only a friendship, Imogen.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “No, Jaron, it’s not. Maybe it never was. Don’t you see that it hurts me to be close to you?”
Hurt — that was the effect I seemed to have on those closest to me. Maybe what I’d done over the past several days had been necessary for Carthya, but there was always a price for my actions. This time, it had cost me the dearest friendship I had.
Imogen brushed at an escaped tear with the tips of her fingers. “Besides, if I go back, I’ll be in the way of you and Amarinda.”
“That’s what’s bothering you? I can make everything work out there.”
She frowned, and even through tears her tone became brusque. “How is that? Will you choose me and humiliate the princess? Destroy the relationship with her country, our only ally?” She shook her head. “The people love her, Jaron, and they should. Choose me, and you would lose your people.”
Choose? I was so taken aback, I could only stammer, “I’m not choosing anyone!”
“You don’t have to. I’m making the choice.” Imogen’s eyes darted away, then she added, “Harlowe offered me a position to stay and watch after Nila, and I’m going to accept it. You must return to Drylliad and learn to trust Amarinda. Learn to need her.”
With a scoff, I turned away. After having come so far, I was back exactly where I had started. Imogen sat and touched my arm. “Jaron, she’s on your side; she always was.”
“She’s friends with a traitor.”
“She’s your friend, which you’d know if you had ever given her the chance to show it. How is it that you can see your enemies so clearly and never your friends?” Imogen closed her eyes, very briefly, to steady her emotions. “You are a king, and she is meant to become your queen. You’ll marry her one day.”
This time, I caught a tremor in her voice and wondered if I’d been mistaken before. Perhaps Imogen hadn’t been saying we were no longer friends. Maybe her message was that we were no longer only friends.