Wet from the fountain and bleeding from my arm, I stumbled into the courtyard to see another patrol of vigils running toward me. I singled out one of them and told him to give me his cloak, which he did. They said something about my needing a physician, but instead I asked he be brought into the gardens to attend to the men there. Then I ordered the vigils to keep everything as quiet as possible, at least until the funeral ended.
With a hand clamped over the wound on my arm, I slowly walked to the chapel, where the funeral was underway. I should’ve gone to the funeral in the first place, rather than to the gardens. The attack on me would have happened anyway, eventually, but at least I’d have paid proper respect to my family. They deserved that much from me.
I had always missed my family while I was on my own at the orphanage, but here at the castle, their absence haunted my every step. I desperately wanted to go inside where I could properly mourn for them. But looking as I did, that was impossible. So I huddled like a spy beneath a small open window to listen, hoping that wherever my family was, they would forgive me.
Inside I heard the voice of Joth Kerwyn, my high chamberlain. He had been my father’s adviser and my grandfather’s adviser too. Possibly even further back. It seemed to me that Kerwyn had always existed. He was speaking of my brother, Darius, now, and I barely recognized the description of him. Darius was four years older than me, and had been about my age now when I last knew him. Still, if there was any truth to Kerwyn’s words, Carthya now had the lesser of Eckbert’s sons for a king. As if I needed another reminder of that.
Next, each of the regents was offered the opportunity to speak. Those who did gave predictably exaggerated honors to my family. A few were coarse enough to work in their politics. From Master Termouthe, who was currently the most senior of my regents: “And now we have King Jaron, who will certainly honor all his father’s cautious trade agreements.” Or Mistress Orlaine, a friend of Santhias Veldergrath, who couldn’t contain the ridicule in her voice as she said, “Long live King Jaron. If he leads us half as well as he entertains us, then Carthya has a truly great future ahead.”
Even in my condition, I nearly barged into the funeral then. I had in mind a few impolite words that would’ve provided weeks of entertaining gossip for the court.
“Jaron?”
I turned, not sure whether to be pleased or embarrassed to see Imogen walking toward me. She moved cautiously, clearly confused about why I was here and not inside.
Imogen had been a servant at Conner’s estate of Farthenwood and had undoubtedly saved my life there. One of my first acts as king was the small repayment of making her a noble. It was interesting how little her new status had affected her. Certainly, her clothes were finer and she often wore her dark brown hair straight down her back rather than in a servant’s braid, but she still remained friendly with everyone, no matter their status.
Her eyes scanned the dark skies. “Did it rain? Why are you all wet?”
“A nighttime bath.”
“Fully dressed?”
“I’m modest.”
Wrinkles formed on her forehead. “When you didn’t show up at the funeral, the princess asked me to come find you.”
Princess Amarinda of Bultain was the niece of the king of Bymar, our only ally country. Because of that, it had been arranged from her birth that she would marry whoever sat on the throne of Carthya, sealing the alliance. This was supposed to be my brother’s duty, one I believed he was happy to fulfill. Now the duty had come to me. The happiness over it had not. Amarinda had made it clear she was equally miserable over our betrothal. Compared to Darius, I felt like a consolation prize, and a poor one at that.
For the first time, Imogen noticed my wounded arm. She gave a soft cry, then moved closer to get a better look. Without a word, she crouched down and lifted her dress just enough to grab the fabric of an underskirt. She tore off a length, and used it as a bandage to bind my arm.
“It’s not so bad,” I said as she wrapped the injury. “The blood makes it look worse than it is.”
“Who did this?” I hesitated, and she said, “Let me get the princess.”
“No.”
Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “This is important. You have to talk to her.”
I’d talked to Amarinda plenty, with every polite phrase I’d ever learned, such as “That’s a nice dress,” and “This dinner tastes good.” But we’d both avoided any of the things that really needed to be said.
Imogen kept pushing. “Jaron, she’s your friend, and she’s concerned about you.”
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
“That’s not true.”
“I’ve got nothing to say to her!” An awkward silence fell, until I added, “Amarinda’s friends are already inside the chapel.” She courted friendships with the regents who disrespected me most. And she had laughed so much with the captain of my guard at supper last night that I finally went to my room so I wouldn’t be in their way. I wanted to trust her, but she had made that impossible.
After more silence, Imogen murmured, “Then talk to me.” She smiled shyly, and added, “I think I’m still closer to you than anyone else.”
She was, which was a tragedy. Because now that she’d put it into words, I realized someone else understood it too. Roden said he knew exactly whose death would hurt me most.
Imogen. If the pirates wanted to hurt me, they’d take Imogen.
I couldn’t imagine a day of my life without her there in some way. But if I failed to keep the pirates out of Carthya, then Roden would lead them straight to her. The thought of what might happen then was unbearable. A hole opened up inside me as I realized how dangerous it was for her to stay here. Allowing her to remain connected to me in any way was a potential death sentence.
As much as I hated the thought of it, I knew what must be done. Imogen had to leave the court. Worse still, she had to want to be as far from me as possible, so that nobody could ever suspect there was any benefit in harming her.