“Were you able to learn anything from their leaders about Mendenwal’s involvement in this war?” It was a question that still bothered me.
He thought it over for a minute, and then said, “Now that you mention it, two of the men who escorted me were in an angry conversation about Avenia sending them to die while Vargan held his own armies back. They weren’t leaders, but I’m sure there are others who feel the same way.”
“Ah, good.”
“It’s not good, Jaron. I’m sorry. You made me captain, and I failed you.”
“No one could’ve done more,” I said optimistically. “Besides, I’ll need your help tomorrow. Maybe our odds could be better — I admit that — but I believe we’re positioned very well for success.”
“Chained up in the dungeons of our enemy, on the verge of total defeat, and set for execution?”
I shrugged. “I already said that things could be better. But they could be worse too. Cheer up, Roden!”
“Do you remember our first morning here at Farthenwood? Tobias was still asleep, or we thought he was. You said it didn’t matter if you died, because there was no one left who loved you and so your death wouldn’t cause anyone pain.”
I remembered that well, though it seemed so long ago now.
Roden’s eyes shifted to Imogen. “That’s not true for you now, obviously. But it still is for me. If you have to sacrifice me to win this war, and to save your own life, I will be honored to go that way.”
“You’re being ridiculous,” I said. “Either my head will be in the noose next to yours, or I’ll figure out some way to save us both. Personally, I prefer the latter.”
Roden mumbled in agreement, then turned his attention to Imogen. “If they do take us, then without Jaron, they’ll have no reason to keep you here. So once you’re free, will you do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“I have only the one name for my gravestone, like a servant or an orphan would. But I’m more than that now, and I don’t want to be remembered only as Roden.”
“You may have any name you wish,” I offered. “Including that of my own house.”
Roden gave his thanks, but he already seemed to have another name in mind. He said, “When I was a baby, an old Avenian woman was my caretaker. But it was a brutal winter and she became sick. Before she died, she left me with a midwife and told her my mother had been named Havanila. She mentioned no other family, and the midwife eventually gave me to an orphanage. I’d like to use my mother’s name on my gravestone, Roden of the house of Havanila.”
Havanila. The name echoed in my ears.
“Why have you never told me this story?” I breathed out the words, barely able to use my voice.
He shrugged as if none of that mattered. “There was nothing to tell. Obviously my parents were dead, which is how I came into that old woman’s care. Why?”
I closed my eyes and shook my head. Roden’s mother had a name I’d never heard anywhere before, except from one other man. Roden was Harlowe’s younger son, the infant who had been taken in an attempt to extract a ransom from Harlowe. But before the exchange could be made, the Avenian woman who had taken him died. Unaware of his noble birth, the midwife sent Roden to an orphanage, where he remained until Conner brought him to Farthenwood. Roden was chosen because he looked a little like me, and I’d often been told that I looked somewhat like Harlowe’s other son and Roden’s brother, Mathis.
Except they were family, and I was not.
Roden had a father. Who would be in attendance tomorrow as Roden and I were hanged at the gallows. Roden deserved to know that, to look Harlowe directly in the eyes for a final farewell.
And yet I couldn’t force the words out. From the moment of our meeting, Harlowe had been as a father to me. Once Harlowe knew his son not only lived, but had been so close for all these weeks, his heart would naturally leave me and go to Roden. It may have been greedy on my part — I knew that it was — and yet I felt desperate for any sort of family. I did not want to give Roden this gift. Not yet anyway. I wanted a father.
With that, I scowled inwardly, berating myself for my unforgivable selfishness. I already had a father. Not alive, but I had his name and history, and memories I could hold on to. Some of them were better than others, but the failures were my fault as much as his. Once again, I recalled the image of having stood before him in the great hall as he accused me of being a thief. I should have explained then why I had taken the coins, and made him understand me. Or better yet, I should have tried to understand him. If I had, I knew now that my father would have helped that widow.
o;You tried to die,” I whispered. “Imogen, no.”
“I knew you were in the camp with me. I heard the soldiers pass by, discussing the things they’d done to you that day, or bragging of how they’d finally broken you. If I survived, I knew it would only get more horrible for both of us. So every day, no matter how hard they tried to heal me, I only got worse.”
I thought about how I’d have felt if our situations were reversed. If I’d had to hear them boasting about her mistreatment, and knowing full well it would only get worse if I survived. I couldn’t imagine how Imogen bore all that.
Tears welled in her eyes. “Then I heard all the commotion on the night you escaped from that camp — I think you probably rode right past my tent and never knew. After that, I knew you would survive, and that if I did too, I’d see you again. So from that moment, I fought to get better.”
“This is all very sweet,” Roden said bitterly. “But you see where we are. With worse odds for survival than any of us have faced before. Jaron, I want to hear your plan for escape.”
“I gave Imogen the key to her chains. That’s a start.”