The Runaway King
Page 37

Wordlessly, I reached for his meaty hand. Into his open palm I dropped the rope that had tied me. “Thanks for the warning,” I said, still breathless. “But I never make wild claims.”
He cursed at me and threw the rope back into my lap, then left me in the corral as the other men followed him out. I pocketed the rope, just in case I needed it in the future. When I felt better, I stood and started toward the beach.
On the way I passed Fink. He started to say something, but with a growl at him I said, “No, I won’t show you how I did that. You’ve got to get away from here.”
Fink only nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
Carthya was a landlocked country, one of the crueler fates of my life. It was true that we had a favorable climate and some of the best land for natural resources of any of our neighboring countries.
But no sea of our own.
The pirates’ beach was full of rocks that became hot to bare feet if the sun got warm enough. But even an overheated beach was better than no beach. I could sit here all day gazing across the gentle waves at the line where the sea meets the sky. Somewhere on the other side were foreign countries I knew little about. Maybe one day I’d take a voyage, explore their lands and learn their ways. In fact, I had tentatively planned on doing something like that after Mrs. Turbeldy kicked me out of the orphanage for the last time. I had known my parents would hate the idea if they ever found out, which had somehow made it more appealing.
For a long time I watched a flock of seagulls circling just over the water, engaged in a mesmerizing dance in flight. I had some bread left from earlier that day and plucked off pieces to throw on the sand, then waited. A few of them landed and fought for the food. I gave them more, drawing them closer to me each time. Then I pinched a piece between my fingers and held it out to one bird who seemed a little braver than most. His head bobbed back and forth between my face and the bread as he debated whether it was worth the risk to take the crumb.
“C’mon,” I whispered. “You want it. Take your chance.”
He darted forward to grab the bread, but suddenly flew off as a rock landed in the sand near him. The rest of the flock scattered as well.
Behind me, Devlin snarled, “Miserable pests. They’re nothing but scavengers.”
As if pirates were any higher order of life. But I clenched my jaw and said nothing as I returned to staring at the sea. It was inevitable we’d have to talk.
He walked up beside me and said, “You seem deep in thought.”
I shifted on the ground. “I was.”
Devlin carried my sword in his hands, which he stuck into the sand in front of me. He dropped the scabbard at my side, then plunked down on the beach, leaning backward and propping himself with his arms.
I stared at the sword a moment, then asked, “Where’s my knife?”
“I’m keeping it,” he said. “It’s mine now.”
“Take care of it. It’d better be in good condition when I steal it back.”
He chuckled, then said, “Yes, Agor believes you must be a good thief, because your skills as a swordsman are dismal.”
I shrugged that off. “Dismal is such a judgmental word. I prefer to say that it was a close match and I barely lost.”
“No, I don’t think it was that at all.”
I smiled over at him, expecting another joke about my lack of skills, but his expression was far too serious.
“The reason I accepted you so easily as a pirate is because of the stories Erick told us about you,” Devlin continued. “How you stood up to King Vargan, or tricked him anyway. That you attacked a group of his thieves in Carthya, defending an innocent woman and child. You got a cut but several of them came home seriously injured. How did that happen, Sage?”
“Maybe I took them by surprise.”
“Yes, maybe. But in that noble’s house, there was a man who said it was better to give you whatever you want because you’d end up getting it anyway. Erick said you later killed that man.” He waited for me to answer, but this time I only stared at him. “I’m willing to bet you’re a very good swordsman. I think you threw the match with Agor so that you would look even less impressive. My only question is why you did it.”
I raised my sleeve so that he could see the assembly of bruises from that match. “You think I’d let him do this if I had the power to stop him?”
“Yes, I do.” Devlin’s lip curled as he evaluated me. “I think you’re more than just a thief. And although there is a cave full of Carthyan treasure somewhere, I think you intend to keep it for yourself. Above all else, I think that you are a compulsive liar.”
My laughter was tense, but sincere. “Hardly. In fact, I consider myself a compulsive truth teller. It’s only that everyone else seems compelled to misunderstand me.”
“And so that sword fight with Agor was a misunderstanding?” Devlin pointed at the sword. “Pick it up. I want to see it in your hand.”
After a loud huff, I stood and picked up the sword. I made no effort to pretend that I couldn’t hold it properly or that it was too heavy for me. He’d have seen right through something like that.
Devlin also stood, then widened his arms to show that he had no weapon. “I’ve been thinking about that priest. How did you say you knew him?”
“He took me in once,” I said.
“Ah. His name was Fontelaine. Did you know that?”
I shook my head.
“Fontelaine was well known, not only in Dichell but in all of northern Avenia. He took in a great many street boys over the years, more than could be counted, and never asked for or expected any reward.”
I wondered, briefly, whether my father had given Fontelaine any payment for taking me in. Probably not. He’d have worried that a payment might have justified the priest’s suspicions that I was someone more than a street boy.
“I gave him the finest reward he could have hoped for,” Devlin said. “Martyrdom. He got to die for a cause. Do you know why I killed him?”
The grip on my sword tightened. I had any number of reasons to justify using it against this evil man.
Devlin answered his own question. “He thought he had the young prince of Carthya at his church, a boy who somehow escaped from a ship we attacked.”
“You must have felt so stupid when he escaped,” I said. “How long did it take to realize you’d been tricked by a ten-year-old boy?”
His right eye twitched before he continued. “We thought he went down with the ship, until Fontelaine sent a messenger out to find the prince’s brother, who was searching Avenia for any news of the lost prince. Word of this eventually got back to us. By the time I got there the boy was gone. The priest assured me it hadn’t been the prince, but the damage was done. He should have told the pirates as soon as that boy arrived, and let us determine his identity.”
“If it wasn’t the prince, you killed the priest for nothing,” I said.
“Fontelaine died as an example of what happens to Avenians who fail to respect the pirates!” Devlin said. “If you knew him, then you can guess how he died. No pleas for his life, no tears, no bargains. Unfortunately, I had to make an example of him, so his death had to be slow and painful.”
“And what about the prince, now that he’s come back?”