Mott nodded and took Conner’s arm. “Sir, Prince Jaron will be there. Let’s go.”
“I will get there in time,” I told Conner. “Have Mott secure the kitchen for us.”
They ran ahead and Imogen knelt beside me, asking, “You knew about Roden and Cregan. How?”
“It was their last chance to make Roden the prince.”
She reached for the hem of her skirt, intending to tear off strips for a bandage. “Where are you hurt?”
“Nowhere. Everything’s fine. Really.” I smiled and held out my arms to prove it to her. “I just needed a reason to get separated from Conner. Do you think Mott has secured the kitchen yet?”
“I don’t know. I don’t understand — you faked that injury?”
“I’ve got to go now. There’s not much time left.”
I stood to leave, but she grabbed my arm. “Your crown.”
“I won’t need it.”
“Sage —”
“Will you make me one promise, Imogen?”
She pressed her lips together, then said, “What is it?”
This was harder to ask than I’d expected, but I forced the words out. “Next time we meet, things will be different. Will you try to forgive me?”
“Forgive you for what, becoming the prince? Because I understand now why you’re doing it.”
“No, you don’t. But you will. If there is any reason to forgive me, will you try to do it?”
She nodded. There was so much trust in her eyes, so much innocence. She had no idea what she was agreeing to.
I kissed her cheek, then said, “Wait here until Tobias returns with the crown. With that, he’ll be able to get you both through to the throne room. I wish I could take you with me, but this last part I have to do alone.”
“Go, then, and may the devils give you clearance.”
The devils wouldn’t be a problem. It was the regents I needed on my side.
A meeting of the regents was in full progress when Conner breathlessly entered the throne room. He was the only one who had come in late, and his arrival caused an unwelcome disruption.
“If there were any occasion for you to arrive on time, Lord Conner, this would have been it.” The man who spoke was Joth Kerwyn, high chamberlain to King Eckbert. He was almost as much a part of the castle as the bricks and mortar, having served the king for his entire life. He wasn’t a large or powerfully built man. Quite the opposite, in fact, and yet he could command a room of a thousand with just the wave of his hand. There was no one who had been more loyal to King Eckbert and few who had ever loved Carthya so much. The lines on his aging face told the story of years of worry and the weight of counseling royalty on their most difficult decisions. Now he was facing the greatest task of his career: peaceably finding a new king for Carthya. Because if civil war broke out amongst the different factions vying for the throne, Carthya’s enemies would use the opportunity to advance on the country and destroy it.
Conner gave a polite bow to Kerwyn. “My lord High Chamberlain, I had trouble getting here. Forgive me, please.”
There were nineteen other regents in the room, seated according to their rank at a long rectangular table. Conner’s place was near the end, but he hoped that by the close of the evening, he would replace Veldergrath at the head of the table. This was a vain and largely useless group, few who had ever worked a real day in their lives. Even if they knew of the risk and expense Conner had undergone to bring a prince to the throne, they would never appreciate the valiancy of his efforts. Conner had accepted that it was his role to save Carthya. But this collection of stiff-necked, silk-wrapped snobs would never understand that.
“You may take your seat,” Kerwyn said. “I have already made the announcement formally declaring King Eckbert and his queen and son to be dead. In only moments, the death bell will toll, one round for each royal.”
Almost immediately, the bells sounded throughout the castle. Their ring would carry beyond the outskirts of the capital city and would signal to the commoners that a royal had died. Three patterns of the bells would confirm the rumors were true. The entire royal family was gone.
When the bells fell silent, Kerwyn continued, “Lords Mead, Beckett, and Hentower, who traveled to Isel this past week, have confirmed for us that Prince Jaron must have died in the pirate attack four years ago. Therefore, we are left with no alternative, but to —”
“There is something more to that story.” Conner’s words were smug and tilted toward the self-righteous. This was a speech he had practiced so often in his head that he could repeat it in his sleep. “May I speak, Lord Kerwyn?”
Kerwyn nodded permission at him, and Conner stood. “With deference to my fellow regents who searched for proof of Jaron’s death this past week, they are wrong. Prince Jaron survived the pirate attack four years ago. He still lives. He is the rightful heir to the throne and should be crowned this night the king of Carthya.”
Veldergrath stood, pointing a long finger at Conner. “Then I was right! You did have him hidden at your home.”