The Runaway King (Ascendance 2) - Page 19
Mott followed me into the chamber. My nightshirt and robe were laid out in case I was ready for them. A part of me wished to crawl between the plush quilts of my bed and try to sleep off this horrid night. The other part wondered how I’d ever sleep again.
No sooner had the doors shut before Mott tore away the rest of my cut sleeve, then reached for the bandage on my arm. “Who did this?”
“It seems I have even fewer friends than I thought.”
Mott harrumphed while he finished untying the bandage and studied the cut. “This needs some alcohol.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s bad enough. Fortunately, this isn’t your sword arm.”
“They’re both my sword arms.” I naturally preferred my left hand, but my father had forced me to train with my right. As a child, that had frustrated me, but the ability to fight with either hand had become a valuable skill as I grew older. “How is that relevant?”
“Because I’ve heard that the king spends every minute he can spare in the courtyard practicing with a sword. Why is that?”
“The girls enjoy watching me.” Mott scoffed, so I added, “It’s simple. I’ve been out of practice for the last four years. That’s all.”
“Except that nothing is ever simple with you.”
“Ow!” I yanked my arm away as he touched a sensitive area of the wound. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it!”
“I’m cleaning it. Next time you’re cut, try not to get dirt in it.”
“Next time I’ll get help from someone who doesn’t treat a wound like he’s scrubbing a chimney.”
Clearly annoyed, Mott said, “You should thank me for tolerating you. I had hoped that becoming a royal would cure your foul manners.”
“That’s interesting. My father had hoped that stripping me of royalty would do the same thing.” Then, more gently, I said, “Now tell me the news from your trip.”
He shrugged. “We traced Roden as far as Avenia soon after you were crowned. We think he’s back in Carthya now, but can’t be sure of that.”
I could be sure. Nodding at my arm, I said, “Roden just gave me that.”
“He was here?” Mott furrowed his thick eyebrows together. “Are you all right?”
“I already told you, the cut isn’t so bad.”
He shook his head. “That’s not what I asked. Jaron, are you all right?”
Such an easy question for an answer that turned my stomach to knots and choked off my air. Quietly I said, “It feels like a lifetime since this day began. And every time I think nothing more can go wrong, it does.”
“You got through Farthenwood. You’ll get past this too.”
I grunted at that, then said, “As horrible as it was, Farthenwood was a test of endurance. I always knew that I’d beat Conner, if only I could outlast him.” I looked at Mott. “But I can’t see the end of what must be done now. Or, I don’t want to.”
Silence fell while Mott continued to work on my arm. As he began wrapping it with a bandage, he asked, “Why did you send us off to find Roden? Why not just let him go?”
“Because I thought . . . we’d once been friends. It was Cregan who turned us against each other. I believed that.”
“And now?”
“It seems I was wrong. Everything we went through . . . none of it mattered. All I saw in his eyes tonight was hatred.”
As Mott finished tying off the new bandage, he said, “I’m worried about you.”
“Good. I didn’t want to be the only one.” I drew in a slow breath, then added, “If my only choice is between the unacceptable or the impossible, which should I do?”
“Which choice means you will live?” Mott asked.
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