The Captive Kingdom

by Jennifer A. Nielsen

  “You’re our king,” a few of them grumbled, with more than one adding, “For now.”

  That was good enough for me. “As your king, I ask you to prove why Avenian pirates must be respected … if the fight is still in you.” I gestured toward the Prozarians, who were reaching again for their weapons. “I’d be especially appreciative if you’d prove yourselves now.”

  With their pride now at stake, the pirates eagerly growled and crossed behind me to face the Prozarians while I ran in the opposite direction.

  Ahead of me, the beach rapidly narrowed as a large outcropping of rock took its place. I recognized it immediately as the image on the first lens. The outcropping appeared to be made of the same lava rock as I’d seen elsewhere, and the hillside extending away from it was thick with trees and underbrush. I first ran toward the hillside, fully intending to get lost in it.

  Yet with my eyes too much ahead, I tripped and fell flat on my face. When I looked back, spitting out small pebbles and sand, I saw a dead and fallen tree near me. My leg had become caught in one of the half-broken branches.

  But perhaps the branch had done me a favor, for at this angle, I realized the hillside was far too steep. I wouldn’t get far on it.

  I untangled my foot and stood again, this time running to the right of the outcropping, skirting the edge of the beach. As I began to pass it, I realized this was no outcropping, but instead was an enormous cave, its only entrance from the beach being exactly where I stood. I darted inside to find myself surrounded by tall rock walls, some quite rounded, but others going straight up to a large opening overhead.

  An exit.

  An escape.

  Directly beneath the opening was a pit made of smooth black rock that descended deeper underground than I could see. It was probably a lava tube that had been created by the volcano that formed Belland, and might have gone endlessly underground.

  Careful to avoid it, I stepped to the right so that if I fell, I wouldn’t be carried to the devils, or farther into the earth than I might ever escape. I brushed my hands against the wall until I found a solid beginning for my fingers, pressed my right foot into an indentation, and began to climb.

  Despite the danger and the hurry and the protest in my injured leg, I couldn’t help but smile. This was the kind of wall I had dreamed of when I was beginning to climb. The rock was jagged enough to give me plenty of choices for a grip, but not so jagged that it threatened my balance. I was making good time and even wished the climb were longer so that I could truly test myself.

  In no time, I crawled through the cave’s opening, made easier by a wooden arch that had been bolted into the rock itself. I wasn’t sure what its use might have been in the past, but for now, it made rolling onto the hilltop much easier.

  And I did so just in time, for the voices below me easily carried upward.

  “Where is he?”

  Another Prozarian said, “He must’ve circled around back to the beach. You’d better hope we find him or we’ll be the next sacrifices.”

  Once they were gone, I lay beside the cave opening to rest, staring up at the dark sky and slowly becoming aware of a great sound of running water. With the next break in the clouds, I sat up and in the moonlight saw a hearty waterfall running down from hills much higher up the mountain. I could also make out a wide channel near me where the water had once been a mighty river that ran through the cave opening, emptying directly into the sea.

  But no longer. A wall of trees and rocks now held the water in, creating a deep pool. The excess water ran off in new channels away from the cliff, though it was far too dark to see where, nor did I much care.

  Turning in the opposite direction, I found the hilltop provided an incredible view of the Eranbole Sea, almost black this late at night. I walked around the cave opening, closer to the edge of the overlook, and saw the beach below and a dozen shadows all searching for me.

  But up here, I was alone. So I lay back in the grass with the intention of thinking over everything that had happened so far that night. Except this time when I did, I landed on top of the tin box that I had slung over my shoulder, forcing me to sit up again. My thoughts had been much more focused on the swords and on my escape, so that I had nearly forgotten about the box.

  I had few hopes of it containing anything worth the trouble of carrying it all this way. It wasn’t much larger than a book, but far heavier. I walked into the line of trees and opened the tinderbox I’d swiped. The charcloth was wet, but I gathered a few dried leaves and twigs into a pile and used the flint and firesteel to create a small fire. Then I picked up a rock and hammered it against the lock. After only a few hits, the clasp broke apart, and I opened it with no idea of what I might find. But the captain had seen fit to lock it, so it had to contain something of value.

  Except when I opened it, I quickly decided this was not the captain’s box, nor was it even Prozarian. When I angled it toward the fire to catch its light, I realized that, impossibly, this bore the Carthyan seal on the inner lid.

  So whose was it?

  My attention was first drawn to what had created the considerable weight of the box: rows of gold coins so tightly bundled in cloth they would not make a sound. I untied the first wrap and the coins that unfolded in my hand were also Carthyan, though they were older coins bearing the image of my grandfather. These hadn’t been issued since before I was born.

  Beneath the coins was a folded note on fine parchment. The words of the letter were simple: My eternal gratitude for your gift. May this money help you find your own happiness.

  I’d have barely paid attention to the note, especially as it was not signed, but it did not need to be. My heart was already racing, already twisting in my chest. This was my mother’s handwriting.

  Scarcely able to breathe, I reached for the next item, a second note, this one much longer, and with handwriting I also recognized. This had come from Mott, and within the first few lines, I knew exactly what this was. Mott had written a love letter.

  Which meant I knew whose box this was.

  I knew it was a violation of Mott’s emotions and Trea’s privacy to read the letter, but if anything could help unravel the mystery surrounding my brother, I had to understand it. I skimmed wherever possible, until I reached the line, As soon as I can make arrangements to repay my debts to Master Conner, I will repay yours. Then I will propose marriage, and I hope you will agree.

  I set the note down, utterly confused. Whatever debts Mott might have owed to Conner, there had to be enough gold in this box to cover all of it.

  So when did Trea get the coins, and why hadn’t she used them? And what connection did she have to my mother? Mott said Trea had worked her whole life for Conner, so she could never have been at the castle.

  Yet if she had never been at the castle, how could she have been there at Darius’s birth?

  Realization deepened within me, ideas I did not want to consider, suspicions I did not want to face.

  Truths that I should have seen before now.

  Despite what was recorded in the castle records, Darius had not been born at the castle. My parents had lied about that. They had lied in their story of what a simple birth it had been for my mother, with only a single lady-in-waiting to attend her.

  Accepting that as fact unfolded answers to questions I’d never realized I’d had. They led me down a path I did not want to walk, a path I didn’t know even existed. Yet here I was.

  Finally understanding why my father always seemed frustrated when he asked how Darius could be so like him, while I was not.

  Why, following the pirate attack on my ship, my father had kept me away from the castle in hiding and had allowed Darius to remain at the castle, where it was far more dangerous.

  Why my father was so insistent on my conforming to behaviors expected of a king, though as the younger son, I would only ever be a military leader, or manage the royal holdings, or become a priest. Never a king.

  I reeled back, pushing my hand through
my hair and fighting away tears for the truths I did not want to know, then finally letting them spill.

  For I understood now who really was the eldest son of King Eckbert and Queen Erin.

  Who was their only son.

  Me.

  Darius was my adopted brother.

  Once I understood the truth about my brother, I suddenly had to see him. A thousand questions were crashing through my mind, and the only way I’d ever get them settled was to talk to him and find answers.

  My stomach churned as I made my way back to the rock home deep within the forest. I was careful to check the area to be sure no one was around, then stepped into the clearing. I wasn’t sure where Darius would sleep, or if anyone else was inside, so I decided the best way to enter was through the door, as any normal person would.

  I put my hand on the door, only to find it opened from within, but most unexpectedly by Mott.

  I stood back, confused. He looked around the area, then said, “What are you doing out so late? You’d better come inside.”

  I followed him in and he closed the door, then locked it. We both turned to see Trea standing near the fireplace, a shawl wrapped over her shoulders and a solemn expression on her face. Mott began staring again.

  “This is Jaron?” she asked Mott, and he nodded. To me, she added, “You should not be here. Don’t you know what the Prozarians have planned for you?”

  “I’m here to see … my brother.” Never before had it required effort to speak those words, but it did now.

  “Your brother is part of those plans! He doesn’t want to be, but they’ve left him no choice.”

  “I’m here to see Darius.”

  Mott frowned. “Trea and I have been talking. We don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “I’m not asking if it’s a good idea. I want to see him.”

  Trea’s hand flew to Mott’s arm, gripping it with the tips of her fingers. “Oh no. He has the box.”

  It was slung crossways over my shoulder, as it had been before, and now I shifted it to rest behind my back.

  Not that it mattered. Desperation marked Trea’s voice as she asked, “Where did you get that?”

  “Captain Strick had it.”

  “The Prozarians raided this home shortly before they left for Carthya. That box disappeared in the raid, but I wasn’t sure who took possession of it.” She held out her hands for the box, then stared directly at me. “You didn’t open it, did you?” I wouldn’t answer at first, and she said, “Jaron, please tell me you did not open that box.”

  I blinked several times, hoping to push away any emotions, but my eyes welled with tears anyway. All I could do was nod.

  Trea put a hand to her heart, as if my simple action of nodding caused her pain, and maybe it had. She led me to the corner near the fireplace. “I’m sure you have questions.”

  Questions? Did she think this would be so simple that I could ask my question, then walk away, as if my whole world hadn’t just shifted from its axis? This wasn’t only about Darius, it was about lies my parents had told to me, to the entire kingdom. What else had they lied about?

  “Give her the box,” Mott instructed.

  I untied the rope around my shoulder and slipped the box loose, then placed it in her hands. She brought it to her chest, cradling the box as if it were a long-forgotten treasure. Mott put his arm around her, and when she leaned in to him, he kissed the top of her forehead, whispering that maybe this was for the best.

  Finally, she sat on a bench and invited me to join her, which I did. She said, “You were never meant to see this, Jaron. No one was ever meant to see it.”

  “Has Darius seen it?”

  “No, never.”

  “You said you’d answer my questions.”

  She frowned. “No, I said that I understood you’d have a great many questions. But I’m sorry, I cannot answer them.”

  “Then I’ll ask elsewhere.” I began to stand. “Do you want that?”

  Mott crossed between me and the door. “Sit down. We’re on your side.”

  “Do you know what is in that box, Mott?”

  “I know some of it. A letter I once wrote to her.”

  “If she told you anything else, I want to know it now. I’m tired of being the last person to hear the truth about my life!”

  Behind me, Trea sighed. “Every time Darius described you to me, do you know what word he most often used? Difficult. I didn’t entirely believe him … until now.”

  I turned to her, sticking out my jaw. “I’ll be as difficult as necessary until I get my answers. If not from you, then I will ask Darius directly. Is he here?” I looked back at Mott. “You know I will do this.”

  His shoulders fell. “You’d better answer his questions, Trea. I’ll get him something to eat.”

  Despite the cake I’d recently eaten, I was still plenty hungry. It was enough to get me back onto the bench beside Trea while Mott went to dish me up a bowl of stew, still in a pot hanging over a dwindling fire.

  Trea allowed me a few bites before she began. When she did, she started with a deep, anxious breath. “For a long time, your parents were unable to have children. It caused a great concern within the kingdom. Many people said because your mother had no royal blood, the saints would not grant her a child. Then one day, one of your mother’s handmaidens came to her with a proposal. You see, this handmaiden had discovered she was with child, but she was unmarried and without any means to support herself and a child. In desperation, she offered the child to your mother. Your mother not only agreed but welcomed the offer with great enthusiasm.”

  I tilted my head. “You were the handmaiden’s nurse?”

  “Not exactly. I worked for a regent named Bevin Conner. He knew of the handmaiden’s plight — in fact, he was the one who had suggested this solution to her troubles — and he offered to allow her to remain in his estate of Farthenwood until the child was born, even as Erin remained in seclusion from the public so that there could never be any speculation as to the adopted child’s origins. After the birth, the plan was to allow the handmaiden proper time for recovery, then to bring her back to the castle to continue her duties, and to always be near her child.” A tear fell to Trea’s cheek. “But the handmaiden died during delivery, and so the child — Darius — was seamlessly welcomed as the eldest son of Eckbert and Erin, the crown prince and heir to the throne of Carthya.”

  “Why should it matter?” Mott asked. “With his adoption, he becomes a royal.”

  “But his birth family does not.” I met his eyes. “Royals have adopted children before, but never an eldest child in line for the throne. If something ever happened to the reigning king and queen, the birth family might lay claim for the throne, shifting the line of succession.”

  “Away from you,” Mott murmured.

  “Jaron was a great surprise to them, for more than one reason.” Trea’s smile disappeared as she faced me. “When I gave Darius to your mother, she asked me to swear on my life that I would never reveal this secret to anyone. Now that you know, I ask for the same oath, out of respect for your mother’s wishes. Will you honor this secret?”

  To honor the secret required me to lie to my own people, and I’d never done that before. I’d have to lie to my closest friends, those I loved.

  Imogen. How could I keep such a thing from Imogen?

  It was bad enough when Conner had wanted me to become a false prince. Trea was now making the same request, for my mother’s sake. I would no longer be king, for reasons based on lies.

  But how could I refuse the sincerest wishes of my mother?

  Finally, I nodded. “I will keep your secrets, Trea, to my grave.”

  A creak on the staircase behind us made me turn, and there was Darius, tying a robe around his nightclothes but staring at me with a deep frown. “I thought I heard voices. We should talk.”

  Hello, Darius.”

  It was a pitiful beginning for my own brother, someone I had loved and respected and admire
d my entire life. He had meant everything to me, and I had just greeted him with nothing warmer than I would offer a passerby on the street.

  Making it worse, Darius answered with the same empty “Hello,” and there we stood, facing each other like strangers.

  “Did we wake you?” Trea asked.

  “Jaron did, when he mentioned his grave.” He turned to me. “That’s not the kind of thing anyone should say around here these days.”

  “That’s all you heard?” Trea asked.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Where can we talk?” I asked.

  “There’s a sitting room in the back of the house.” Darius walked down the stairs with his eyes fixed on me as if he didn’t know me. No, it was worse than that. He was watching me like I was the invader here.

  I followed him into a room that was simply decorated but that still gave a feeling of authority. Much like Darius himself. He sat in one chair and gestured for me to sit in another chair across from him. Uncertain of what to expect from this conversation, I remained on my feet.

  He took notice of my refusal to sit but said nothing. Instead, he leaned back and studied me. “You look exhausted.”

  Exhausted barely described the way I felt. Since the night our ship was attacked and destroyed, I’d barely slept two hours together. I wanted to sleep, yet every time I’d attempted it, something inside me had warned that if I gave in, I would miss some piece of information that I vitally needed.

  There was the irony. I finally had that information and it was tearing me apart. Rather than returning to the ship to steal that tin box, I should have found a comfortable bed to lose myself in. Truly, I wished I had gone anywhere else. Roden’s words echoed in my mind, that I should leave before I discovered things I did not wish to know.

  “You found my sword?” Darius asked.

  I withdrew it from the sheath and passed it over to him. “I have your crown as well, though it’s hidden.”

  “Where?”

  My eyes darted. “It’s hidden, Darius.”

  Any warmth that might have been in his expression cooled. “You’re the same Jaron as always. Sneaking around, making plans that you share with no one, plans that no one ever fully understands anyway. Keeping secrets.”