The Shadow Throne (Ascendance 3)

I sighed, relieved to be able to discuss this with her. And yet, speaking the words reminded me of the near impossibility of what I’d asked him to do. “He’s up north, on our border with Gelyn,” I said. “With forty of our best men, Roden’s job is to overtake Gelyn’s garrison there, then stop their army from coming through.”

“But, they’ll never succeed! Give up the border and bring Roden back. He and Mott can go after Imogen.”

I frowned. “Why not me? Why is my life more valuable than theirs?”

“The value in your lives is the same, Jaron. But not the value in your roles.” Amarinda’s grip on my hand tightened. “I think of Imogen as dearly as if she were my own sister, you know that. But if you get anywhere near that camp, you will hand yourself over to them and this war will be lost before it’s begun. It must not be you who goes.”

Her gaze bored into me until I finally looked away. She was right, and so was Mott — despite my arguing, I knew that. A pit formed in my gut at the thought of not being there to ensure Imogen was safe, but these last few weeks, I had tried to be better at taking counsel from others. It wasn’t a natural instinct to me, and the idea of having people in my life whom I could truly trust was something new. But the alternative, of acting entirely on my own judgment, had taught me several painful lessons that I had no interest in repeating. So I looked back at her and nodded. I would not go after Imogen.

Amarinda thanked me, and then smiled. “War is ahead, Jaron, and we know what risks that involves. But we must believe all will end well. Our plans for marriage will remain the same.”

I wished I could be as optimistic as her, but the reality of what lay ahead pressed in on me from every side. “No, they won’t.” I gazed steadily into her eyes, wide with concern. “I release you from the betrothal, Amarinda. You and I will still marry, but only if that’s your choice. Not because of any agreement between our two countries or any obligation you were born to fulfill, but if you can love me. However, Kerwyn was right before. Something may go wrong in this war . . . for me.”

“Then you must choose the next king.” Amarinda was trying to hide the edge in her voice, but it wasn’t working. “Am I betrothed to him now, or am I nothing to Carthya?”

Gently, I smiled at her. “You are a princess of this land, and as such, it will be your responsibility to choose the next ruler of Carthya. You can name yourself and rule alone with my official blessing.”

“The people won’t accept that.”

“But Harlowe will, if it’s my command, and where he leads the regents will follow. Besides, my lady, the people love you.” I sat back in awe of her and then chuckled at my own faults by comparison. “I daresay they’ll be relieved once you’re in charge.”

She weighed that in silence and then asked, “What if I wish to marry?”

“I ask only that you choose a husband from Carthya.” My thumb brushed over hers. “Someone who is the proper match for you.”

“And if I don’t want the crown?” she asked.

“Then you give it to anyone worthy and walk away from the throne forever.”

It was as if I had lifted a weight off her shoulders. She straightened her back and nodded. A moment of silence lapsed between us, and if I were someone with any courage I’d have sealed the agreement with a kiss. But I didn’t, and I was certain she took note of it too.

We finally stood and I offered to escort her to her apartments. But Mott was waiting at the doorway, his face pinched and grim. His arms were folded and he somehow seemed wider than usual, making it clear I wouldn’t get past him. Tobias also lingered nearby, so I asked him to see the princess to her rooms.

Even before they left, I could tell Mott was ready to scold me in the severest tones. I dreaded it, feeling as if Master Graves, my father, and the chapel priests had all combined their energies to prove once and for all how wrong I always was. “We need to talk,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t make this a fight.”

“I won’t, but you make everything a fight.”

Well, that seemed true enough. So I shrugged and let him follow me back into the throne room. When the doors were shut behind us, I turned and started to tell him of the agreement I had just made with Amarinda.

However, he was quick to cut me off. He unfolded his large hand to reveal a crumpled note tucked inside. I was relieved to recognize Roden’s stilted handwriting on an open corner of the paper. So at least he was alive, or had been when this note was written.

“When did you get that?” I asked.

“Not ten minutes ago. Roden’s messenger said he barely escaped Gelyn alive to deliver this.”

“Did you read it?”

“Yes.” By Mott’s expression, I knew the news wasn’t good. “Roden’s men successfully snuck inside Gelyn, and engaged the Gelynian army at the garrison along our shared border. Then Roden and his men set up traps that stopped most of the first wave of Gelynian soldiers that tried to come through.” Mott’s frown deepened. “He sent this note in anticipation of a second wave of soldiers. The rest are on their way.”

That could be hundreds of the enemy, or even thousands. “Does he say how many men he still has with him?”

“Eighteen.”

Eighteen out of forty. My heart ached at the thought of so much loss. And even though the men who remained would be among the finest warriors Carthya had to offer, the odds against them were terrible. It was likely that by now, none of them were still alive.

Mott handed me the note. “He asks you to bring reinforcements to join him. He believes it’s the only way they’ll succeed.”