The Shadow Throne (The Ascendance Trilogy #3)

The Shadow Throne (The Ascendance Trilogy #3) Page 30

At the mention of Imogen’s name, I stiffened and tried to remember to breathe. Every time I thought about Imogen, I felt as though I were nothing but hollowed-out flesh. And I had no idea how to react now — it hadn’t occurred to me that Amarinda didn’t know.

Standing nearby, Mott leaned over and whispered into Amarinda’s ear. Upon hearing the news, her mouth fell open and she let out a gasp of horror. Her eyes widened and tears spilled onto her cheeks like rivers of sorrow. “I thought if you escaped the camp, then she had too,” she choked out. “No one told me.” Still shaking her head, she staggered forward and closed me into an embrace, then held me tight.

I wasn’t sure if I was comforting her, or the other way around. But as she cried on my shoulder, it allowed me to mourn as well, in a way I had desperately needed. When she finally released me, the sadness lingered, yet I felt cleansed from the worst of it. I took her hand, kissed it, and then placed it in Tobias’s hand.

“She is always a royal,” I told him. “Love her as nothing less.”

He bowed humbly, then said, “We are forever in your debt. What can we do?”

“Back in Avenia’s camp you asked if I was broken.” I took a deep breath, in full recollection of how near I had come to my own end. “I was. But I am healing and I am ready to fight this war. Help me win, Tobias. Vargan must be stopped.”

Long after Tobias and Amarinda had gone to sleep, I sat awake near the fire, exhausted but unable to sleep. While my fingers brushed over the single coin in my pocket, I watched the flames dance along the wood, and the smoke swirl into the air in whatever direction the wind sent it. What must it feel like, I wondered, to be something that drifts in one way or another, with no will of its own. From my earliest years, I had always been the very opposite of that, endlessly compelled to fight against whatever force seemed to push at me, even when it was for my own good. Such a fool I could be. I vowed to try to change that part of myself. But only on the condition that the rest of the world stopped trying to make me change it.

After some time of letting me be alone, Mott came to sit beside the fire as well. He nodded at Tobias and Amarinda, and in a hushed tone said, “That was a noble thing you did earlier tonight. I would’ve expected more anger from you.”

“Why? They did nothing wrong, and deserve their happiness.”

“You didn’t feel that way earlier tonight.”

“No, but I do now.” I turned to face him so he could see my sincerity. “They should be happy. They have a long life ahead.”

“So should you, Jaron.”

I snorted softly. The odds of that weren’t exactly in my favor.

But Mott only said, “If she were here, Imogen would tell you the same thing.”

When I closed my eyes, her face came to my mind, as it always did, in the moment her fingers caressed my hair. More than once while in Vargan’s prison, I had dreamed about her, that we were together somewhere in the afterlife and I was begging her forgiveness for my mistakes. And though the details of the dreams had receded from my mind like waves from a beach, I remained certain that she had made her peace with me.

When I opened my eyes again, I looked back at Mott and said, “I think she loved me.”

“Of course she did.”

“Why couldn’t I see that before?”

“You always knew it. But you had the princess, your duty to the betrothal.”

“That I did.” I sighed and gazed into the fire again. “Villains and plots and enemies are simple things to me. But friendships are complicated, and love is harder still. It has wounded me deeper than a sword ever could.”

“If you hurt deeply, then it means you love deeply too. Love is a powerful thing, Jaron. In the end, love will help you win this war.”

I chuckled. “That’d be a fine new strategy, I think. When the enemy wields a sword against me, I’ll simply express my love for them. They’ll be so shocked, they’ll collapse on the spot and the victory will be mine.”

“I daresay you will be the first to claim victory that way.” His soft laughter dimmed when he saw I had grown serious. He added, “Tomorrow we will rejoin the war. So it’s time to decide who you are. Will you be carried off by this wind coming at us, or stand and face it?”

If only the complications of life could be simplified that way. I said, “This is no windstorm.”

“It’s your storm, and the future of us all depends on you now. So who are you? Sage, an orphan boy who cares only for himself? Or the undisciplined, rebellious prince your father sent away? Life has tested your resilience and strength and willpower, and you have succeeded in ways nobody ever thought possible. But the storm has never been worse, and it will either destroy you, or define you. When everything is taken from you, can you still stand before us as Jaron, the Ascendant King of Carthya?”

I closed my eyes again, but this time it wasn’t to picture Imogen in my mind. I was remembering the moment of emerging from my carriage after returning from the pirates, with a bruised body and a broken leg. It had seemed as though the entire kingdom had come to welcome me home. They had bowed and hailed me as the Ascendant King. Meant to rise from the darkest night and bring dawn to my country. The forces against us in this war were overwhelming. But if I did not find a way out, our doom was guaranteed. There would never come a day when I didn’t love Imogen, didn’t ache to have her back again. But I would have to rise one more time.

“Let’s get some sleep,” I said to him. “Starting tomorrow, we’re going to finish this war. We are going to save Carthya.”

The next morning, Mott was alone in camp when he suddenly found himself surrounded by a pack of Avenian soldiers who stormed in from all sides, took his sword, and forced him to his knees. The five men were armed and rowdy, and one of them said something about having come back to search for a missing soldier. Probably Mavis.

All the intruders were ugly — hardly unusual for Avenians, but it was the foulest of them all who spoke to Mott. He had a patch over one eye and thin, colorless hair that looked like winter grass sprouted from his uneven skull.

“Where’s your king?” the man asked.

“Not far,” Mott said. “And he won’t be happy you’re here. I suggest you leave now.”

The man laughed, revealing blackened teeth. It was rather surprising that he still had any left. “One of our newer recruits got into some trouble near here. He told us about you.”

“He told us about you too,” I said from above them. Earlier that morning, I had edged up the limb of a tree to a solid perch where I could wait for their arrival. Being as unaware as they were unintelligent, they had failed to notice me when they came. “Though your recruit didn’t get the description of your odor quite right. He said it was similar to a skunk’s, but I think that’s unkind to the skunk.”

In my hand was a bow Mott had brought along with him. The arrow was already nocked and ready to pull back. I wasn’t the best shot, but they were close enough that an accurate aim wouldn’t be a problem. The man in the center put a knife to Mott’s throat, and only then noticed his companions had already stepped away from him.

“You should drop that now, before you hurt yourselves.” It was the most warning I intended to give.