The Runaway King (The Ascendance Series, Book 2)

Mott and Tobias were waiting at the doors to my chambers when I arrived there, and bowed when they saw me. I didn’t mind too much when staff at the castle bowed, but it was still uncomfortable for me when they did it.

Tobias was the last of the orphans Conner had taken. Mott was Conner’s former servant, and both he and Tobias had caused me no end of misery while at Farthenwood. Considering the odds against us there, it was an amazing thing now to call them both my friends. Over the past month, I had sent them throughout Carthya to find Roden. Now I realized what a foolish errand that had been.

Tobias was taller than I, had darker hair, and until my recent loss of appetite, he had been thinner too. Mott stood at least a head taller than Tobias. He was almost entirely bald, dark-skinned, and made of little else but muscle and disapproving frowns.

Mott’s eyes went immediately to my bandaged arm, and his brows pressed together in concern. “You’re wounded,” he said.

“Never mind that,” I said. “When did you get back?”

“Just now.” Mott’s gaze remained fixed on my arm. “The funeral for your family was ending as we arrived. Obviously, that’s not where you were.”

“They didn’t need me there. Everyone was mourning their own loss of power far too much to bother with grieving.” I turned to Tobias and noted the dark circles beneath his eyes. “You look exhausted. Haven’t you slept?”

“Not really.”

“Get some rest,” I said. “Mott can fill me in for now and we’ll talk more tomorrow.” I prodded him forward. “Go, Tobias.”

He bowed again. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“I’m Jaron. You know me too well for anything else.”

“Thank you . . . Jaron.” Tobias excused himself and hurried off.

Mott frowned at me. “You shouldn’t scold him when he was only using your proper title.”

“If it is my proper title, then you shouldn’t scold me at all,” I said sharply.

“They warned me you were in a terrible mood, but I underestimated it.”

“A mood to match this day,” I said.

Both his tone and his face softened. “What’s happened?”

The servant who held my door open adopted the notable traits of a statue when my eyes passed over him, though he was clearly absorbing every syllable we uttered. I paused in the entrance and said to Mott, “Let’s talk where there are fewer ears to gather gossip.”

Mott followed me into the chamber. My nightshirt and robe were laid out in case I was ready for them. A part of me wished to crawl between the plush quilts of my bed and try to sleep off this horrid night. The other part wondered how I’d ever sleep again.

No sooner had the doors shut before Mott tore away the rest of my cut sleeve, then reached for the bandage on my arm. “Who did this?”

“It seems I have even fewer friends than I thought.”

Mott harrumphed while he finished untying the bandage and studied the cut. “This needs some alcohol.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It’s bad enough. Fortunately, this isn’t your sword arm.”

“They’re both my sword arms.” I naturally preferred my left hand, but my father had forced me to train with my right. As a child, that had frustrated me, but the ability to fight with either hand had become a valuable skill as I grew older. “How is that relevant?”

“Because I’ve heard that the king spends every minute he can spare in the courtyard practicing with a sword. Why is that?”

“The girls enjoy watching me.” Mott scoffed, so I added, “It’s simple. I’ve been out of practice for the last four years. That’s all.”

“Except that nothing is ever simple with you.”

“Ow!” I yanked my arm away as he touched a sensitive area of the wound. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it!”

“I’m cleaning it. Next time you’re cut, try not to get dirt in it.”

“Next time I’ll get help from someone who doesn’t treat a wound like he’s scrubbing a chimney.”

Clearly annoyed, Mott said, “You should thank me for tolerating you. I had hoped that becoming a royal would cure your foul manners.”

“That’s interesting. My father had hoped that stripping me of royalty would do the same thing.” Then, more gently, I said, “Now tell me the news from your trip.”

He shrugged. “We traced Roden as far as Avenia soon after you were crowned. We think he’s back in Carthya now, but can’t be sure of that.”

I could be sure. Nodding at my arm, I said, “Roden just gave me that.”

“He was here?” Mott furrowed his thick eyebrows together. “Are you all right?”

“I already told you, the cut isn’t so bad.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I asked. Jaron, are you all right?”

Such an easy question for an answer that turned my stomach to knots and choked off my air. Quietly I said, “It feels like a lifetime since this day began. And every time I think nothing more can go wrong, it does.”

“You got through Farthenwood. You’ll get past this too.”

I grunted at that, then said, “As horrible as it was, Farthenwood was a test of endurance. I always knew that I’d beat Conner, if only I could outlast him.” I looked at Mott. “But I can’t see the end of what must be done now. Or, I don’t want to.”

Silence fell while Mott continued to work on my arm. As he began wrapping it with a bandage, he asked, “Why did you send us off to find Roden? Why not just let him go?”

“Because I thought . . . we’d once been friends. It was Cregan who turned us against each other. I believed that.”

“And now?”

“It seems I was wrong. Everything we went through . . . none of it mattered. All I saw in his eyes tonight was hatred.”

As Mott finished tying off the new bandage, he said, “I’m worried about you.”

“Good. I didn’t want to be the only one.” I drew in a slow breath, then added, “If my only choice is between the unacceptable or the impossible, which should I do?”

“Which choice means you will live?” Mott asked.

We were interrupted by a knock at the door, and I was grateful for the distraction. He wouldn’t have liked my answer. Mott went to the door, then turned to me. “Lord Kerwyn asks to see you.”

I nodded, and when Kerwyn entered the room, Mott made an excuse about finding more alcohol and left. I thought he looked a little exasperated when he glanced back, but people often did when they talked with me so it was hardly worth noting.

Kerwyn bowed before he approached, then said, “Jaron, your arm.”

“I know.”

“Gregor told me you were attacked. Praise the saints that it’s no worse.”

“It’ll get worse before this is over.” And I couldn’t think of any reason the saints would have an interest in me.

The creases in Kerwyn’s face deepened. I wondered how many of his wrinkles had been caused by me. More than my share, I suspected.

I said, “Will you call a meeting with the regents tomorrow morning? Gregor won’t support my position, so I’ll talk with them directly.”

Kerwyn frowned. “Actually, that’s one of the reasons I came. Gregor has just assembled the regents together. They’re meeting right now.”

“Without the king?” I muttered a string of curses, inventing a few new ones in the process. Then I stood and began unwrapping my damp tabard so that I could change clothes. The ache in my arm brought a grimace to my face, and Kerwyn stood to assist me.

“The regents will have to act now,” Kerwyn said. “While on the throne you’re a target.”

“As long as I’m Jaron I’ll be a target.” Then, in a stronger voice, I added, “Help me get dressed, Kerwyn. I have to be at that meeting.”