The Shadow Throne (Ascendance 3)

“Get him out of here,” I said.

“Escort him to the crowd in front of Farthenwood,” Vargan ordered. “Make sure he has a good view of his friends.”

Tobias tried to remain in the room, and put up a better fight than I’d have expected. Once he was gone, I turned to Roden. “Forgive me.”

“You made the right choice,” Roden whispered. “Though you did choose his name rather quickly.”

“He has a skinny neck. He’d have died faster.”

“That’s why you chose me? Because it’ll take me longer to die?”

“Yes, Roden, that’s exactly why.”

“Enough bickering!” Vargan grabbed a quill from Conner, then shoved it at me. “Sign these papers, Jaron. With your signature, Conner becomes king and Carthya becomes mine. Sign them or else you’ll —”

“No threats are necessary.” I stood and dipped the quill in the ink. “I gave myself up to do this very thing.” As I was writing, Roden, still kneeling in the back of the room, gasped. I knew he expected better from me, and certainly not my surrender. But I was doing the only thing I could, whether he understood that or not.

When I’d finished, I threw the quill against the back wall and told Vargan to get this next part over with. Conner inspected the document while Vargan called for my hands to be tied again. Conner asked for the honor of doing the task.

I held my hands out in front of me, but Conner ordered them at my back and wound the rope tightly against my wrists. With the sores already cut into the flesh, the rough cordage was far more painful than the chains had ever been. I suspected Conner must have known that, and likely took pleasure in it. Once we entered the great hall, I began working to untie the ropes, but Conner put one hand over the knots, preventing me from any movement there.

We stood at the doors of Farthenwood as an announcement was made that we were coming out. While we waited, Vargan leaned over to me and said, “Who did you think you were, to stand up to someone like me?”

I remained facing forward while I said, “I am Jaron, the Ascendant King of Carthya. You will regret ever bringing war against me.”

And the doors opened.

It was an unusually beautiful morning, warm and bright, with sapphire skies that were better suited to a picnic than a hanging. A light breeze stirred the two nooses hanging from the gallows in circles. The beams weren’t tall, the kind that would snap a neck as soon as the floor collapsed, causing instant, relatively painless death. These were the shorter ones with a knot at the center of the neck. They’d cut off our air once the stools beneath our feet were kicked away, creating a slow and terrible death. That had been a deliberate choice, I suspected. They wanted me to suffer, and for everyone in the audience to have a long time to understand the consequences of defying King Vargan.

For there was indeed a large crowd gathered, many more than I had anticipated. Most of the audience was the soldiers of Avenia and Mendenwal. Tobias was now standing with my other regents near the front. Like those around him, his face registered dread for what was about to happen. But something more seemed etched into his expression — perhaps the conflicted feelings of guilt and relief that I had chosen him to escape the noose. I wished he wouldn’t torture himself with that. The choice had been mine, and I’d made the correct one. If he would’ve looked directly at me, I’d have tried to communicate that to him, but his eyes were cast downward, ashamed.

The other regents were looking at me, and I gave them a respectful nod for having come. I suspected that immediately after our deaths, they’d be taken to Vargan and forced to give oaths of fealty to him and Conner. Kerwyn was missing from the group. Either he was still in Mendenwal, or else he had escaped Vargan’s demands that he be in attendance. Standing beside Tobias was Harlowe. His eyes were filled with horror as he stared at me. Considering who walked beside me, it was wrong that he should care so much about my death.

I lowered my head and said to Roden, “There’s something I should have told you last night.”

Roden’s voice wavered when he spoke. “Yes?”

“You have a father, Roden. He’s alive, and he is here.”

“What?” Roden jerked his whole body toward me. “Who?”

I cocked my head toward the center of the crowd. “Rulon Harlowe, the prime regent.”

“How could you know that?”

“His wife was named Havanila. Harlowe is your father.”

“But —” Roden paused and considered that a moment. “He lost a younger son as an infant. Didn’t I hear that?”

“It was you. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you last night.”

“Do you think so?” He cursed and craned his neck to look in the crowd. I knew by the slump in his shoulders when he located Harlowe. Then his tone softened. “Does he know?”

“No. I thought you should tell him.”

“I wish I could.” We took a few more steps, then he said, “I know you tried to save us, Jaron. I forgive you for failing.”

With a coy smile, I glanced over at him. “What failure? Everything is exactly as it should be.”