The Shadow Throne
“You will all form a line,” Roden said. “The king is with us and he will see you now.”
I wasn’t sure if they lined up because Roden was demanding it, or out of deference to me. But either way, the men immediately created two rows on either side of the garrison’s narrow courtyard.
Roden began by addressing the men. “You fought well,” he said. “Another battle is coming soon and so I hope you will get some rest tonight.”
He looked over at me and I muttered, “That was the worst speech anyone has ever given. Ever. Work on that too.”
He only rolled his eyes and then followed at my side as we walked down one row, assessing the health of each man and trying to get a picture of what strength still remained.
As I passed, one older man touched my arm. I stopped to give him my full attention and he immediately went to one knee. “King Jaron, do you remember me?” he asked. I shook my head, and he said, “When you were ten years old, your father commissioned me to make you a gift, a sword.”
“You’re the swordsmith! I do remember now.” I’d used the sword in a duel against King Humfrey of Mendenwal, who now waged war against us. Conner had duplicated that same sword as part of his plan to install a false prince upon the throne. It was too small for my use now, but I still had it amongst my most valued possessions. Still looking at the swordsmith, I said, “You stood in the great hall when my father gave it to me. That sword has served me well.”
“Yes, sire.” With a cautious smile, he added, “I confess, I urged your father to give you a different gift, a horse or a journal for writing. But he only said that you’d use the horse to run away or the journal as kindling for a fire somewhere in the castle. He wanted the sword to encourage you to take your studies more seriously.”
“And I did.” Then I grinned back at him, as mischievous as ever. “Though you should know that I found other horses to help me run away and still started my share of fires.”
His laugh didn’t come as easily, and ended with an expression of sadness. “I remember the boy you were. So when you became king, I doubted you. But I was wrong, and I beg your forgiveness.”
I angled my head toward Roden. “You will not be equally wrong regarding my captain, I hope.”
“No, sire.”
Roden and I continued walking until we reached the area where the remaining Gelynians had been corralled. The walls around them were smooth and tall, and iron bars were set between rock and mortar walls. There was barely enough space for them to sit and not enough to lie down unless they agreed to stack themselves up. Buckets of water had already been provided for their thirst and they would be given any food we could spare. Hopefully they would not need to be in there for long.
“Remain at peace and you will live until Gelyn’s final surrender,” I said to them. “But there are consequences if you cause any trouble before then.”
I started to walk on, but a tall soldier with the markings of being their captain stepped forward and said, “We won’t be imprisoned for long. We’re only the advance group. Gelyn will pour out the whole of its strength with the army that is still coming.”
“The whole of what strength?” I asked. “Gelyn fights like bedridden grandmothers, only with longer knitting needles.”
“They’re not three days behind us,” he said. “And Mendenwal is coming too. Once we have defeated your men here, we will attack Drylliad and destroy everything there that moves.”
I snorted. “Your needles pierce walls now?”
“No, but their cannon does. It’s probably crossing the plains of Carthya as we speak.”
Certain that my worries would be revealed if our conversation continued, I instructed Roden to learn what he could from the man, then said I needed a private place to think and rest.
“My people do protect me,” I said, still walking away. “And I protect them.”
“Oh? What about the girl King Vargan captured? Did you protect her? I heard her described as a servant girl rumored to have caught your eye.”
I turned on my heel and returned to him. “You know about that?”
He motioned to the prison behind him. “Promise me a private room with food and a bed. I’ll give your men no trouble, but I cannot stay in here.”
I nodded at Roden, who gave the man his promise. Then he said, “My king heard it directly from Avenia’s top commander. That girl was central to Vargan’s plans to bring a quick end to the war. After he took her, he would allow someone to escape to be sure you got the news of it. That would lead him to his real target.”
In an attempt to seem indifferent, I shook my head. “Obviously, I didn’t go to rescue her, so his plan to capture me failed.”
But the soldier laughed in my face. “Arrogant boy! He never expected to capture you. Naturally, you wouldn’t be allowed to go.”
“Then what?”
“It would be too risky for you to send an entire army to rescue her — Avenia could kill the girl before your men got through. So Vargan figured you would send a very small group of your finest warriors — someone you’d trust with her life. That’s who he wants. Your most trusted man.”
Mott. I had sent Mott.
“Why?” I asked.
“Once he’s captured, Avenia will force him to reveal all your strategies, everything Avenia needs to know to win this war. And if he won’t talk, then Vargan will remind him of his responsibility for the life of the servant girl. They will stop at nothing until he breaks or she is dead.” His smile became outright laughter. “So which would you have him choose, Jaron? The girl you pretend not to love, or this country you are sworn to protect?”
I stumbled away without responding. Any answer I might have given risked turning my heart to stone.
Roden caught up to me once we had moved farther from the men. “Don’t walk away. We have to talk about what he said.”
“Why? Can you change it?” My mind raced as I struggled with the Gelynian’s question. I thought Vargan’s plans were for me, so Mott would have the better chance of moving safely through the Avenian camp. But no, even if he was careful, Mott would enter that camp with no idea that the vigils there were watching for him.
Mott wouldn’t tell them my strategies for the war, no matter what they might do to him. But it wasn’t only his life at stake. What would he do when Imogen was threatened?
Roden asked, “How much does he know, Jaron?”
“Enough to bring Carthya to its knees.” Mott had asked me to trust him, and so I had. And now both he and Imogen would pay for that.
“Let me take some of the men from here.” Roden grabbed my arm to slow me from walking. “We’ll rescue them both.”