The Prisoner's Throne (The Stolen Heir Duology, #2)(98)

“And you had every reason to be mad. We did keep secrets from you,” Jude goes on. “Bad ones. Small ones. I should have told you what the Ghost had done. I should have told you when Madoc was captured. And—you should have told me some things, too.”

“A lot of things,” Oak agrees.

“We’ll do better,” Jude says, knocking her shoulder into his arm.

“We’ll do better,” he agrees.

“Speaking of which, I would speak with Oak for a moment,” Cardan says. “Alone.”

Jude looks surprised but then shrugs. “I’ll be outside, yelling at people.”

“Try not to enjoy it too greatly,” says Cardan as she goes out.

For a moment, they are silent. Cardan pushes himself up off the bed. Messy black curls fall over his eyes, and he ties the belt of his deep blue dressing gown more tightly.

“I am sure she doesn’t want you getting up,” Oak says, but he offers his arm. Cardan is, after all, the High King.

And if he slipped, Jude would like that even less.

Cardan leans heavily on the prince. He points toward one of the low brocade couches. “Help me get over there.”

They move slowly. Cardan winces under his breath and occasionally gives an exaggerated groan. When he finally makes it, he lounges against one of the corners, propped up with pillows. “Pour me a goblet of wine, won’t you?”

Oak rolls his eyes.

Cardan leans forward. “Or I could get it myself.”

Outmaneuvered, Oak holds his hands up in surrender. He goes to a silver tray that holds cut crystal carafes and chooses one half-full of plum-dark liquor. He pours it into a goblet and passes that over.

“I think you know what this is about,” Cardan says, taking a long slug.

Oak sits. “Lady Elaine? Randalin? The conspiracy? I can explain.”

Cardan waves his words away. “You have done enough and more than enough explaining. I think it is my turn to speak.”

“Your Majesty,” Oak acknowledges.

Cardan meets his gaze. “For someone who cannot outright lie, you twist the truth so far that I am surprised it doesn’t cry out in agony.”

Oak doesn’t even bother denying that.

“Which makes perfect sense, given your father . . . and your sister. But you’ve even managed to deceive her. Which she doesn’t like admitting—doesn’t like, period, really.”

Again, Oak says nothing.

“When did you start, with the conspiracies?”

“I don’t want—” Oak begins.

“The throne?” Cardan finishes for him. “Obviously not. Nor have you waffled on that point. And if your sisters and your parents imagined you’d change your mind, that’s for their own mad reasons. It’s the only thing on which you have remained steadfast for more than a handful of years. And, I will have you know, I thought the same thing when I was a prince.”

Oak can’t help recalling the part he had in taking that choice away from Cardan.

“No, I don’t suspect you of wanting to be High King,” Cardan says, and then smiles a wicked, little smile. “Nor did I believe you wanted me dead for some other reason. I never thought that.”

Oak opens his mouth and closes it. Isn’t that what this is about? Wasn’t that what Cardan believed? He overheard the High King tell Jude as much, back in their rooms in the palace, before he left to try to save Madoc. “I am not sure I understand.”

“When your first bodyguard tried to kill you, I ought to have asked more questions. Certainly after one or two of your lovers died. But I thought what everyone else thought—that you were too trusting and easily manipulated as a result. That you chose your friends poorly and your lovers even more poorly. But you chose both carefully and well, didn’t you?”

Oak gets up and pours himself a glass of wine. He suspects he is going to need it. “I overheard you,” he says. “In your rooms, with Jude. I overheard you talking about Madoc.”

“Yes,” Cardan says. “Belatedly, that became obvious.”

If I didn’t know better, I might think this is your brother’s fault. Oak tries to remember the exact words the High King chose. He’s more like you than you want to see. “You didn’t trust me.”

“Having spent a great deal of time playing the fool myself,” Cardan says, “I recognized your game. Not at first, but long before Jude. She didn’t want to believe me, and I am never going to tire of crowing about being right.”

“So you didn’t think I was really allied with Randalin?”

Cardan smiles. “No,” he says. “But I wasn’t certain which of your allies were actually on your side. And I was rather hoping you’d let us lock you up and protect you.”

“You could have given me some sort of hint!” Oak says.

Cardan raises a single brow.

Oak shakes his head. “Yes, well, fine. I could have done the same. And fine, you were losing blood.”

Cardan makes a gesture as though tossing off Oak’s words. “I have little experience of dispensing brotherly wisdom, but I know a great deal about mistakes. And about hiding behind a mask.” He salutes with his wineglass. “Some might say that I still do, but they would be wrong. To those I love, I am myself. Too much myself sometimes.”