The Runaway King
Page 8

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.”
Minutes later I charged through the doors of the throne room. All eighteen of my regents were there, with Gregor in the seat once occupied by the snake Lord Veldergrath. I still hadn’t selected regents to replace either him or Conner, and probably wouldn’t for a while. At least not until those who wanted to be chosen stopped preening themselves every time I walked by. Whatever conversation there had been extinguished like a flame in water. In a somewhat disheveled fashion, everyone lowered themselves into bows or curtsies, no doubt also tainting their noble breaths muttering the devil’s vocabulary.
“Whoever forgot to invite me to this meeting should be beheaded,” I said as I slumped into the king’s chair. “So, which of you is that?”
Most of the regents became suddenly fascinated with the folds of their clothes. Either that, or they were avoiding looking at me. The silence didn’t bother me in the least. Lord Hentower was seated closest on my right. I stared coldly at him and rather enjoyed watching his growing discomfort.
Gregor chose to break the tension. “Your Highness, this was a hasty gathering, and no offense was meant. If we had known you wanted to attend —”
“I never want to attend,” I corrected him. “Yet here I am. So what are we discussing?”
Again, the regents took an interest in their clothing, or their hands, or the tiles on the floor. In anything, really, but answering me.
“Lady Orlaine,” I said, “can I assume we’re all here to discuss the mating rituals of the spotted owl?”
She faltered for a few words before finding her tongue, then sputtered, “There was an assassination attempt tonight, sire.”
“Yes, I know. I was there.” I focused on Gregor. At least he had the courage to look back at me. “How did pirates get inside my castle walls?”
“That question is being investigated as we speak,” he said.
“But not by you.” I glanced around. “Unless you suspect one of my regents.”
“No, of course not.” Gregor cleared his throat. “We’ll find the people who did this.”
“It was done by the pirates. And King Vargan helped sneak them inside.”
Gasps followed the accusation, then Lady Orlaine asked, “Can you prove this?”
“Proving things is his job,” I said, pointing at Gregor. “He may not have told you, but earlier tonight I spoke with Vargan. He warned me that we were going to be attacked.”
“Why would he do that?” Gregor asked.
“You know why. To intimidate me into handing over our land first.”
A fact that didn’t seem to bother Gregor nearly as much as it should have. “Are you sure he said ‘attack’?” he asked. “Perhaps he meant it in another context.”
“Ah, one of the cheery definitions of the word, then?” I asked. “Such as an attack of affection, or an attack of goodwill toward Carthya? I know what I heard, Gregor.”
“What you think you heard,” Master Westlebrook, a younger regent at the far side of the table, corrected. “We cannot make any accusation based on such thin reasoning.”
Gregor leaned forward, his hands clasped on the table. “Jaron, our greatest concern, of course, is your safety. I’ve explained to your regents the threat that was made against you, and we believe we have a plan.”
“Which is?” This should be good.
Lord Termouthe picked up there. “First, we’ve agreed to give them Bevin Conner. We must make some concessions if we hope to have peace between us.”
From across the table, Gregor continued, “And of course, sire, your life must be preserved. We decided that you cannot be turned over to the pirates.”
I grinned. “A decision that probably came only after a long debate.”
I had expected some smiles at that joke, but there wasn’t even one. I cocked my head at that, wondering if there had been a debate.
“The regents believe that until the immediate threat passes, you must go into hiding,” Gregor said. “However long it takes, we will keep you safe.”
“Until when?” I was nearly at the end of my patience now. “Another four years? Or shall it be forty this time?”
Without answering, he continued, “Finally, we have to remove the motive for the pirates wanting you.” Gregor took a deep breath before this part. “I’ve proposed to the regents that they install a steward until you’re of age. If you’re not on the throne, then the pirates gain nothing by killing you.” He looked at me to respond, then with my silence added, “You may not like that idea, but it will save your life, Your Majesty.”
At the mention of a steward, my heart had stopped cold in my chest. I didn’t know where to aim the anger that had so suddenly filled me. At Kerwyn, for failing to warn me this was coming? Or Gregor, for pretending to be the most loyal of servants even as he plotted to pull me off the throne? Or myself, for giving the regents reasons to trust Gregor more than me? I settled on Gregor, because I was already annoyed with him anyway.
Then Lord Termouthe said, “Jaron, will you support this plan?”
I rapped my fingers on the armrest. “No.”
“Which part do you object to?” Gregor asked.
“The part where you began speaking.” I stood and began walking the room. “To start, we must protect Conner until I understand everything about my family’s murder. He’s our only link to the truth. The dervanis oil —”
“Conner told you that was irrelevant,” Gregor said in a raised voice. “Why this obsession with chasing shadows when the real question is how to keep the pirates out of Carthya?”
“It’s the same question!” I shouted back. “Can’t you see that it’s all connected? Something is wrong with his story!” Already, my talk with Conner had begun nagging at me. Something had happened there that I should have noticed, perhaps a message coded in his words, or in the tone of his voice. And yet the clues remained hidden.