The Runaway King
Page 18

The church had played a significant role in my life four years ago. After I’d escaped the ship in Isel, it was here that the kind priest first suspected who I was. Eventually, my father came to see me and this is where we had agreed that I’d be stripped of my royal identity and become Sage the orphan. If I had returned to the castle with him, I’d probably be in the grave now with the rest of my family.
But when I approached, I was appalled at how much the church had fallen into disrepair. The rock steps I had scrubbed for meals and shelter were cracked and pitted and thorny weeds grew between them. Windows of the church were broken out, and even the heavy wooden front door was off a hinge, so it didn’t close entirely.
Maybe the church hadn’t been left alone after all. I wondered about the priest who had taken me in before, and what he must think about this. I was eager to speak with him. Hopefully he’d remember me and would offer his help again. It would take some creativity on my part to convince him, but in the end, he’d tell me how to find the pirates.
“Who are you?” a boy asked. He was sitting on the steps, playing with a rat, which he placed on his shoulder as he stood to greet me. Like most Avenian children he was little more than skin and bones, but he had a bright smile and dark blond hair, closer to the color mine had been when I’d dyed it as Sage. He looked to be ten or eleven, and wore clothes that hung crookedly on his thin frame. I wasn’t sure whether he’d stolen them or if they had been handed down from an older sibling. Regardless, they weren’t made for his body. The only exception was his shoes, which were in good repair and the exact size they should be.
I replied in an Avenian accent. “Is the priest of this church still here?”
“No.” He squinted at me. “Never seen you before. You from out of town?”
“I’ve never seen you before either,” I said. “So maybe you’re the one from out of town.”
That amused him. “My name is Fink. Well, that’s not really my name, but it’s what everyone calls me.”
“What’s your name, then?”
“Dunno. Everyone just calls me Fink.”
“Don’t you have anywhere else to go?”
“Not really. Why d’you want the priest?”
“A doctrinal question. What punishment does the Book of Faith recommend for a kid who’s being too nosy?”
Fink missed the point and only said, “You can’t ask him that because he’s dead. Got himself killed about four years ago.”
Dead? The news hit me like a blow to the chest. My world blurred, and I had to stare forward in silence until I could speak. “Are you sure?”
“I saw it myself.” Fink pointed to a grassy area in front of the church. “Right there, a pirate cut him down.”
I didn’t dare ask, but the word escaped me in a breath. “Why?”
He shrugged. “How would I know? I was just a kid then.”
No explanation was necessary. Four years ago, the priest who had given me shelter sent word to my brother that the prince was here. The messenger undoubtedly told others of the rumor. The priest was eventually convinced I was only an orphan boy, but if the pirates thought there was any possibility I was Jaron, they would have come here. I’d already left, but the priest paid the penalty intended for me.
“You all right?” Fink asked.
I wasn’t. It was hard to breathe. Feelings of sadness and anger flooded me, choking me. “Who was the pirate?” I asked. “The one who killed him.”
Fink shook his head. “I’m not telling you that.”
I grabbed Fink’s collar and shoved him against the church wall. “What’s his name?”
Fink looked nervous, but Avenian boys are used to getting roughed up so he kept calm. “Why should I tell you?” he asked.
I reached into the satchel tied around my waist and withdrew a garlin, probably a month’s worth of money for him. “You’ll tell me because you’re hungry.”
He held out his hand. I put the coin on his palm, but pinched it firmly between my fingers. Fink glanced both directions before he leaned forward and whispered, “Devlin did it. But you won’t find him in these parts because he’s the pirate king now. You probably don’t want to find him at all, unless you want the same end as the priest.”
Devlin was their king? That explained why Avenia was willing to help with the assassination attempt. Because it wasn’t just about revenge on me for escaping the pirates four years ago. Together they were seeking the total destruction of my country.
I released the garlin, and as Fink’s fist tightened around it, I pulled him close to me again and muttered, “Now go away, or I’ll tell everyone where I heard that name.”
This time, Fink got the message. Without a second glance at me, he ran. I waited until he had gone, then left in the other direction.
I held my composure only until I found an alley where I could duck behind an old wagon that had been mutilated for spare parts, probably during the recent winter.
In the privacy of the alley, I pulled out my knife and stared at the blade, angry at Devlin for having killed an innocent man. No, angry at myself. Because I was the reason Devlin killed him. And because the priest died without even knowing I really was the boy he had initially thought me to be.
I first cut the bandage off my arm. The wound from Roden was tender but sealed. It was too soon to remove the bandage wrapped around my waist, but I tore it off anyway. I could not look cared for. A grim smile crept onto my face as I pictured what Mott would say if he saw me. Then it vanished. If Mott saw me now, he’d have nothing good to say.
Down on my knees, I grabbed a fistful of hair and sliced through it with the blade. There was enough hair in my grip that the blade cut unevenly, which is how I wanted it. The last person to cut it had been Errol, my manservant while I was at Farthenwood. He’d faint now if he saw what had just happened to the strands he had worked so carefully to trim.
The first cut had been in anger and felt to me like a rebellion, a rejection of the person everyone thought I should be. With the second cut I turned the anger inward, furious with myself that I didn’t think the way others did, and that my solutions to any single problem always created several new ones. With the third cut I found myself fighting back tears until it was pointless to pretend that any amount of resistance would matter. Devlin had killed a man whose only crime was to shelter a hungry and frightened boy. For reasons I didn’t understand, I wanted to know if anyone other than me had cried for the priest. Did he have a family? Anyone who would blame me for the part I had played in his death?
I had told Mott that I needed to kill Devlin, which was already an unbearable weight. But if Devlin was the pirate king, then the way out of this was so much harder, so much worse. I’d never get their loyalty, and if he controlled the pirates, Devlin would never give up wanting my life. The only way to make Carthya safe from them, and the only way I could survive this, was to destroy them all.
Mott was right. That was impossible. But it was my only choice now.
I drew in a long, steady breath to calm myself, then made a final cut of my hair, this one with resolve. I had to keep moving forward, and if the devils were willing, I could go home again.
What’s the matter with you?”