“Everything about you is a lie,” Roden said. “It always was. Do you know what it was like the next morning in Drylliad? Everywhere I turned, it was celebration and talk of a new day for Carthya, and all for who? You?”
“Yeah, it was for me. I am Jaron. Maybe you don’t like that fact, but nothing you can do will change it.”
“Whatever your name is, you don’t deserve the throne.” Roden’s voice grew louder, sharper. “It was supposed to be given to whoever won in that tunnel. It was supposed to be me!”
“Then give me a sword and we’ll fight again,” I suggested. “If you win, you have me for whatever revenge you want. And if I win, I get what I want.”
“Another sword fight is pointless because I already have you.” Roden’s eyes narrowed. “And I know what you want: You thought by coming here you could somehow stop the pirates from invading Carthya.”
I nodded. “That’s still my intention, by the way.”
“Well, I’m their king now. And you’re out of time to stop me from doing anything. Tonight I’ve ordered a feast in celebration of my becoming king. Afterward, in front of everyone, I’m going to be the one to end your life, to show what happens to anyone who crosses me. I’ll use your death to solidify my reign.”
He hadn’t intended to be funny, but I laughed at him anyway. “I’m very glad you said that. Because until hearing you speak just now, I had thought I was the most ridiculous ruler in these lands.”
Roden raised his hand to strike me again, but this time I would not flinch and he slowly lowered it.
“Let’s go,” he told the pirates with him. “There’s a lot to do before tonight.”
“You can’t leave him like this,” the larger of the pirates said. “You were the one who told us the stories about him.”
“He got out of rope before,” Roden said. “Not chains. He won’t get through these.”
Actually, I would. The pin Imogen had snuck to me was still in my boot. It’d easily pick the lock on these chains.
“But if he did get free, he could climb out that window.”
Roden faced me. “I can’t deny that possibility.”
Neither could I. In fact, that was my plan.
Roden grabbed a club from a pirate in the doorway and walked closer to me. He swung it once in the air, testing its weight. Something turned in my gut, a warning perhaps. But Roden wanted me alive for tonight, so I hoped he only meant to threaten me with it.
“Sorry about this,” Roden said. And as he swung the club back over his shoulder, I saw what he intended.
“Don’t!” I yelled. “Roden, don’t!”
But he did. The club crashed into my lower right leg like I’d been hit with a cannonball. Lightning ripped through every nerve of my body and escaped through my screams. I knew immediately that the bone was broken, though with so much pain, I couldn’t tell how badly.
Held upright only by the manacles, I collapsed to one side and vomited, my head swimming in a dense fog.
“He won’t escape those chains now,” Roden said. “But if he does, he’s not going anywhere.”
I wished I could’ve had some clever response to that, but my world was quickly fading. Reeling from a toxic combination of pain, hunger, and exhaustion, I slumped forward and let the darkness take over.
It was the pain that eventually awoke me. The shock of Roden’s strike had sent me into unconsciousness, but that had gradually evolved into a restless and unproductive sleep. The chains around my wrists were too high on the wall to allow me to sit on the ground, so when I tried to balance on my injured leg and adjust my weight, a bolt of pain tore through me. My eyes flew open and I cried out. When I focused on Erick and Fink, I saw them standing on their end of the room, staring at me in horror.
“How long was I out?” I mumbled. Neither of them responded so I focused directly on Fink. “How long?”
“A couple of hours maybe.”
It wasn’t quite dark yet. From the angle of the sun coming through the window, I guessed there were still another two or three hours until sundown. Not much time.
“How does it feel?” Fink asked.
“Like butterfly kisses, what do you think?” I leaned my head back to stretch out the muscles, but it did little good. My neck had been in one position for so long, it was now angrily protesting my attempts to use it.
“Why did you talk to Roden like that?” Erick asked, clearly still upset with me.
“I made a mistake.” My hope had been that if I got Roden angry enough, he would challenge me to another sword fight. Clearly, that plan hadn’t worked.
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Erick said. “You were a king, you had everything. Now you’ve sunk to our level and you’ll lose everything. Not only your life, but he’ll come for your kingdom too.”
“You’re wrong on all counts,” I said. “I’m still a king. My title isn’t determined by my crown; it’s in my blood. Gregor is imprisoned here, so at least for now, my kingdom is safe.” Then I looked directly at Erick. “And my stature never sank when I joined you. You may be a thief, but there is far more good in you than bad. I’m better off for knowing you.”
Erick’s eyes fluttered and he finally looked down, silent.
I turned my attention to the more immediate problem. Roden wasn’t clear about when the supper would begin tonight, but without question I was running out of time.
The complication was that Imogen’s pin was in the boot of my leg that Roden had broken. I made a vain attempt to wiggle the foot, even though I knew it would hurt and would be useless in helping to remove the boot. I couldn’t get my hands down as far as my feet to pull it off, and even if I could, the manacle around my ankle made the boot tighter than usual.
I nodded at Fink, calling him to come. He hesitated and I said, “Don’t make me beg for help. Come here.”
Fink glanced at Erick, who didn’t acknowledge him, then crossed the room to me.
“As gently as you can, you’ve got to get this boot off my foot.” I winced as I spoke and Fink paled. To encourage him, I added, “They’re a little big on me anyway, so they should slide easily. Just go slow.”
Fink knelt beside the injured leg. I couldn’t do anything to lift it for him, and when he raised it slightly and tugged at the heel, I cried out and told him to stop.
“New plan,” I said between shallow breaths. “Try rolling the leather down.”
Fink touched the top of my boot. He pulled at the sides, and the pain flared inside me, but this time it was him who gave up. “I think that’d be worse than just pulling it off,” he said.
Still on his side of the room, Erick muttered something to himself, then stood. Without looking at me, he reached into his own boot and pulled out a small folding knife. “Back off,” he ordered Fink, who quickly obeyed. Then he went down on one knee and began cutting the leather down its side. It was a slow process since the knife was so small, and every time he moved my leg even by a hair, I gasped and tried not to pass out again.
When he reached the sole, it was a comparatively easy thing to lift the rest of the boot free from my foot.
